The rest of Kalos was something.
Something that was hard to believe could be placed in the same region as Lumiose, let alone be associated with it at all. It was like comparing a shitty rundown house made of twig to the sleek geometric design of a skyscraper. Things just didn't compare. Not that the rural countryside was a bad thing, per say—just very different, in a strange sort of way.
That saying the locals have though? 'You can see Lumiose from anywhere in Kalos'? Well they weren't lying.
He could still see the light from the city behind him this far out west, displaying itself among the backdrop of clouds in the night sky. He wouldn't be surprised if you could see the damn thing from space. The contrasting darkness of the rural towns and routes really did serve to amplify the city's natural radiance though. The road to and past Geosenge was almost as detached from society as the roads to the more mountainous side of the region, albeit far less rugged and admittedly far less interesting. As a result, few trainers and lights could be found there.
Dark, peaceful, and with little to no people.
Spending most of his days in a city that was almost always lit up to hell in some way, shape, or form made this change somewhat refreshing too, at least for the lessened strain on his eyes and a bit of nostalgia. He'd been out on the less populated routes while on jobs, yes, but he didn't really have time to focus on the scenery since there was always something that took precedence. Usual things like twelve foot raging pokemon that killed for sport, or taking down an enraged Noivern via wingsuit off a thousand foot drop… and then futilely cleaning the brown bits out of his pants afterwards with industrial grade detergent.
Expecting a less than stellar trek to his destination, shoes shuffled and crunched in the grass as he walked, minding his surroundings idly, even if it was mostly a small forested area with a few overgrown bushes here and there. Didn't hurt to be prepared. If all else failed, fuck everything and run was a time honored strategy that seldom didn't work.
Hypervigilant as he was at the moment, it was doubtful anything short of the ghost he was hunting or some kind of invisible entity could sneak up on him.
In a place such as this, the dim sliver of natural light allowed him to finally open his eyes without squinting, the dark being no obstacle to them. He shook his head with a chuckle at the clear idiocy of what he was doing and how often he told others not to do it. Then went and acted like a giant hypocrite and did it anyway. Walking alone, in the dark, and pokemonless on a route or open wilderness was immensely dangerous and stupid on many levels, mainly because of muggers, wild pokemon, and other assorted things that wanted you maimed, dead, or eaten. Possibly a combination of all three, and hopefully with dead coming first. As a result, that specific combination was heavily beaten into trainers not to do under any circumstance, experienced or not.
And here he was doing exactly that.
To be fair though, his alternatives were limited regardless. Besides, he did have a sword. Granted, he was probably in over his head again and the metal stick with an edge probably wouldn't do jack shit against most pokemon in general if they were fast enough, or if they turned him into human paste with hyper beams, but it was better than nothing really.
He'd passed Geosenge a few hours ago, before the sun had set, and still had a ways to go. The town was odd with its monument of stones arranged in strange patterns, and the people there weren't very accommodating to strangers it seemed. Given recent events though, he couldn't necessarily blame the townsfolk for hurling metaphorical pitchforks at tourists.
Apparently some kid and a bunch of ridiculously dressed idiots in red suits had done something that nearly blew up the town and caused a massive earthquake that almost sunk it too. There had also been talk of a legendary pokemon that had swooped in and killed the perpetrators with an attack that sucked the very life of anything that stood in its path. The locals were not amused.
Those metaphorical pitchforks? Make them real pitchforks. On fire.
Did Riven believe it? Yes he did.
Three years ago, he would have called it a gigantic wad of Mankey shit like any respectable skeptic, but after the whole slip through time debacle, it was safe to assume that legendaries were always up to some really obscure shit behind the scenes and definitely were not to be fucked with. Much less caught. Even under the best conditions and with champion level pokemon at your disposal.
The dead patch of grass along the outer edge of town also served to reinforce that story—long gashes of withered brush and grass nearly three hundred feet in length didn't just happen to die off like that. You could say that a pack of wild Sunflora had picked a fight with a group of energy ball toting Haunter as much as you absolutely fucking wanted, but nobody would believe something so ridiculously stupid.
At least that's what logic would dictate.
Unfortunately, the pitiful nature of human stupidity and intense aversion to making fucking sense proved true again as the story composed of nigh military grade Tauros fecal matter made headlines in the paper. Just as much as the cover up of what happened in Lumiose did. If the Geosenge incident was a three story tower of bullshit, then Lumiose was Mt. Coronet. Made you wonder what exactly they weren't telling you.
Such as, there's a massive Legendary pokemon that can wreck your shit wandering about and you might accidentally die. That and some misguided idiot went and tried to catch it. Digging through public records in a library yielded some rather interesting stories in recent years, all of which correlated with supposed legendary pokemon sightings—most likely all of which were contained behind the scenes, barring the fiasco in Hoenn during the Magma and Aqua's reign of dickery.
They weren't trying to incite mass panic, true, but there was a point to these things.
The legendaries of this region had their own legends even if they were hardly ever seen, and their powers understood less so. Of all the books he'd read about them, their supposed powers were all guesswork and conjecture based on the surrounding areas in which they were spotted. The stories went that one had the power over life and the other over death—a fairy of life and a being of pure destruction. Where one went, plants and vegetation keeled over and died, and where the other went, flowers bloomed and blossomed uncontrollably.
Considering those two prospects, he'd prefer to stay far, far away from either of them. Especially the fairy, instant death was preferable to agonizing pain. That dazzling gleam was intense, to say the least. From a non-legendary run-of-the-mill psychic too. Give it to a Legendary? Who knows what agony that'd bring about.
The goal wasn't the legendaries though, they could go to sleep for a thousand years for all he cared. He was here to investigate and settle some unfinished business.
After that dinner with Jesica, she managed to translate the report on the attacks for him, sending it to a non-wiretapped holo caster he'd bought himself—there was absolutely zero reason he should let Isole and Cormac in on what he was doing anyway. The file contained most of what she'd already informed him of, just with more details, number of attacks, sightings, testimonies, wounds—things he already knew for the most part. What really interested him were the dreams people kept having. The phrase Jesica described to him was common among the victims of the attacks. However, there were some variations among them, those specific variations seemingly serving no other purpose than to torment the victim. It seemed that the ghosts that were doing this really liked screwing with people.
Then again, ghosts lived to screw with people. Not that the wretched things were alive, per say, but that's what they did most of the time. Except for the more malevolent ghosts that were only found in the most gruesome of locations.
Rubbing his temples, Riven looked up at the starlit night and couldn't help but feel a sense of peace and relief. The skies lit up in constellations of all types in the darkness of the wilderness and if it wasn't for the things he had to do, he could lay on the grass and watch the bright points of light in far off space for what seemed like an eternity. In his world, the stars, while beautiful, only served to make the dread feel that much worse. They were so far away, away from the violence and atrocities the world had to offer—disconnected from suffering and shining radiantly without a care.
He exhaled, smiled ruefully and pressed on. Only bad part about thinking deeply and philosophically in a rural part of the region was that you got distracted and forgot where it was you were actually going. Shameful that for all he had prepared for up until now, a few thoughts had thrown him off track. He wandered around a ways north after blindly heading northwest and getting even more lost. That was when a yellow beam of light hit him in the face and he recoiled from the sudden influx of light in his poor retinas.
"Hey, you there! Guy! What are you doing?" Came a voice on the other side of the flashlight. Riven couldn't quite make out a face given there was practically a mini sun shining into his eyeballs but the voice didn't sound hostile.
"First-" Squinting, Riven lifted an arm to shield his face. "-get that flashlight out of my face. My eyes are melting."
The flashlight moved from his face to a patch of grass on the floor, letting Riven blink repeatedly as he saw after-images of the flashlight's center. "Thank you," he said, blinking in a daze. "God damn."
When his vision cleared, he saw a ranger standing in front of him, with a Stoutland beside him. He noticed the crest on the man's beret, a sideways wing of a Fletchinder. 107th Kalos Rangers, Coastal Division. They were usually assigned to the Geosenge and Cyllage areas, but were found closer to the coast as well. Their divisions hardly saw any action though, considering the rural nature of the towns they were assigned to. Because of that, it was no secret that rangers prayed to whatever god they believed in not to be assigned there. And for the ones that were…
Well. When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade, because life probably kicked you in the dick and stole the sugar. And your water along with it. Tough.
"You're a ranger," Riven pointed out rather obviously. The Stoutland nodded, adding in a small, "land." Its trainer grunted in response.
"And you're a stranger," the ranger said instead, frowning. "What are you doing out here so far from towns? There are no trainers here for you to battle."
"I'm not a trainer. I was just taking a walk," Riven replied simply. Terrible excuses were still reasons, and he was taking a walk, technically.
"Sure. You're not from here," the ranger pointed out. "You're a foreigner. It's the voice."
Okay then, Riven thought, holding in a frown."I was taking a long walk."
"At night?"
"It's less hot."
"Without a flashlight?"
"I have good eyesight."
The ranger rolled his eyes. His Stoutland had been snooping around for this guys scent for a while back already and the paths the pokemon led him in were irregular, like someone had been wandering. Naturally, he had to investigate. He snorted. "You're lost, aren't you?"
"Absolutely," Riven admitted shamelessly.
The ranger buried his face in his free hand, muttering things about tourists, merde, and other unintelligible French words that most likely contained a variant of "idiot" in them.
"I've been walking northwest for about an hour," Riven continued through thinly veiled amusement, pointing up to the bright star directly up in the sky. "I have no clue what the hell I'm doing. I've just been following that star and walking west in a diagonal line. At least I think so. Aha."
Looking Riven up and down with a scrutinizing eye, the ranger sighed. "Listen, I don't know what you're doing here, or where you're going, but I can escort you there or give you directions. It's dangerous out here sometimes. Wait…" A beam of light settled on Riven's waist and belt, revealing no pokeballs whatsoever, and therefore concluded this guy's extent of sanity was proportional to the number of pokemon he had on hand. The ranger's mouth twitched. "And with no pokemon too. Are you stupid?"
The mercenary shrugged, chuckling in self-depreciation. "I wouldn't say stupid-"
"Stupid," the ranger held. "Along with very."
"Okay, there are some people that would agree. I know this is unwise on several different levels but I can handle myself. I think."
The ranger gave him a flat look. "If a pokemon attacks you, what will you do? Punch it?"
"Whatever works," Riven smiled again, waving a hand dismissively. "I'll be fine. I do need some help though."
"Help with what, punching a pokemon in the mouth? Sorry but you are on your own there," the uniformed man refused. "I have a family to go back to. I don't want to die so soon." He was a ranger, yes, but he wasn't suicidal. This guy? Clearly had a death wish.
"I meant directions."
"Oh, well then. Where do you want to go? Shalour City? Geosenge is south from here. You're in between them so I guess you might want to go to one of them? Nothing much to do at Geosenge except look at the rocks and Shalour has a gym there. Tower of Mastery too, if that's your thing. They take disciples in a few times a year, but since you're not a trainer and don't look like much of a martial arts guy, I don't think you care about that, right?"
"Right. Actually, where I wanted to go was-" Thinking about it for a second, Riven raised a finger, shut his mouth and hesitated. His destination was known for setting people on edge, but there were no landmarks near there that he could point out to the ranger except for the destination itself. Being endlessly vague would get him nowhere. Cursing mentally, he took a shallow breath. "I want to go to the Blade Graveyard," he stated. "The battle site everyone's afraid of."
As expected, the other man visibly flinched and his expression fell, eyes growing wider. His brows furrowed in concern. "Why in god's name do you want to go there? That place is-" Shook his head. "-wrong. There's ghosts everywhere, to say it's dangerous is putting it lightly. People have gotten seriously hurt there. Don't think there hasn't been any murders there either, because there have been. A lot."
"I know it's dangerous," Riven noted, "but I'm prepared and interested in the site's history, and I'd like to document my experiences there. Trust me, I do this quite often and while I've gotten more than a few scares, I've come out fine, really."
"You don't look like a researcher," the other said idly.
"And acorns don't look like nuts," Riven replied dryly.
"Actually they do?"
Riven scowled.
"Can you help me or not, ranger? That is your job, right? Escorting lost idiots back to civilization before they kill themselves in the wild?"
I just called myself an idiot. But I guess I'm not quite wrong on that front either.
"Unfortunately…" The ranger grumbled irritably. "All you researchers are too crazy for your own good. But if you die it is not my fault," he groaned. Riven snorted. The Stoutland appeared to be relatively amused, flicking its gaze between its trainer and the man in question. "My name is Carlan, not ranger. I can show you the way but just don't say anything, you make my head hurt." Turning around, he motioned for him to follow, muttering more curses under his breath.
True to word, Carlan didn't talk much, and had a face that screamed he absolutely hated his job. Bags colored his eyes and he slouched his shoulders at times, followed by long sighs of exhaustion. He looked like people who got stuck with guard duty for a week.
Sadly, that's exactly what being a ranger was like anyway. The poor bastard had probably been out on the road for the better part of the day and then some. Add that to the fact that he was assigned to the most boring post in the region and near midnight to boot? It was akin to watching paint dry while having someone spit on your face.
An hour into the walk and Carlan finally spoke up with mild disinterest. "What's your name?" He asked dryly, yawning a bit.
"Nathan," Riven replied, making it seem as natural as possible.
The ranger nodded once and stopped, placing a hand on his Stoutland's head and scratching behind his ears. "Ah. What are you really trying to do there? At the Graveyard?"
"I wasn't lying when I said I wanted to go investigate," Riven answered evenly. "I admit it's not for research purposes but I do want to see what's going on there."
"The attacks," Carlan concluded. "That is not something a foreigner should be looking into. Definitely not a foreigner without pokemon, either. Especially a stupid foreigner without pokemon."
"Maybe not," Riven said, "but I have personal business with the one behind them. Business that left me hospitalized."
"Hospitalized…?" Carlan went silent, brain working through that. None of the recent victims had been hurt too badly, at worst they suffered semi deep cuts along the arms and legs—never enough to warrant an extended stay at the hospital. This only meant he was attacked before the recurrence of assaults in the area."Where were you attacked?"
"Parfum Palace, like everyone else. In the maze by the water fountains."
"I guessed as much…" The ranger grimaced darkly. "How are you still alive? I mean, they let us see some of the pictures… you know, of the ones that got-"
"Cut to pieces?" Riven finished, making scissoring motions with his hands.
Carlan gave him a dubious look, then nodded.
Riven still had trouble accepting that himself, and what happened after that… well. He lifted the sleeves of his shirt up, revealing the darkened skin and constriction marks the Doublade had left him. "Barely got away. It tried cutting me in two but you can see what it chose to do instead."
Eyeing the wound with apprehension and understandable distrust, the ranger gasped as he inspected Riven's right arm. "It tried to drain you?! I heard only that the Honedge only do that to those they believe worthy."
Riven lifted a brow, waiting for the obligatory double-edged sword.
"Or to those they want to punish."
"Yeah, that's what I figured," the mercenary chuckled. "Always a downside. I honestly don't know why it did what it did, but I do want to find out somewhat desperately."
Carlan stood in place, expression stony. He shook his head, closing his eyes. "I can't take you there."
Riven bit his lip, knowing that it would come to this, given his destination. "Why not?"
"What do you mean, why not? You're looking for the one that's been attacking people and even murdering them, and think you'll be just fine? No. I might have taken you if you were going there to take pictures or something, but confront that thing? You would be a corpse by morning. No."
"Argh." The mercenary ran a hand through his hair, figuring he'd probably really regret this later. He looked at Carlan, then grunted. "You know all the ranger divisions right?"
"Of course I do," Carlan said matter-of-factly. "What of it?"
"Do you happen to know the Santalune forest Division led by Sargos?" Riven asked, hoping that would ring any bells. And it did, judging by the flash of realization in the ranger's eyes.
"Ah, yeah. They had quite a problem a while back. Hulk of a murderous Pangoro loose in a forest full of weak pokemon and beginners. I'm surprised they even managed to take it down. Heard they killed it too. Had to. And that some crazy mercenary with a sword helped them do it too. Can you believe that? A sword! The guy's an idiot," the ranger snorted.
"Yeah… about that…" Riven said nervously, then gestured to himself. He waited a couple seconds in silence, both men staring at each other, one with a glint of amusement, and the other with a swiftly deteriorating smile.
Carlan's face went from amused to "really" in about half a second after he realized just who in fact, this black-haired man really was. He pinched the bridge of his nose, held out his hand and clawed his fingers as if to strangle him while devolving into a sputtering and incomprehensible stream of French insults. Looking up at Riven, he shook his head furiously in disapproval.
"God. You are an idiot."
Riven snickered lightly. "Will you take me now?"
"Gladly." The ranger shook his head. "But this is your damn funeral, merc!"
"Good. This way if I die you'll have the honor of cleaning my pieces up, right?" Riven beamed. "Should be fun."
Carlan crossed his arms and groaned once again.
"Merde."
So this is it, huh? The Graveyard of Blades.
Finally arriving sometime after two in the morning, Carlan had led him here and swiftly fucked off before anything came out of the woodworks to slice him into itty-bitty pieces. Smart move. Before leaving, he told Riven that he'd come back with a search party in the morning to pick up the pieces of his body that were still left, and that he'd write 'dumbass foreign idiot' on his gravestone.
Nice guy.
Thoughts about him aside, Riven focused his eyesight on the area before him.
The Graveyard of Blades. A historical relic thought to be cursed and too depressing to be fit for tourist use.
He walked among the site, taking in the hundreds of rusted blades embedded into the ground, scattered among the field of grass in no apparent order or structure- grim reminders of the Kalos region's bloody past. They were arranged in odd places, some grouped together and others farther apart; it was a hurried thing, done by the survivors of the conflict before heading out immediately. Broadswords, longswords, shortswords, and even knives could be seen, with rusted bits of metallic armor spread about or jutting out of the ground. If he had a shovel, the ground beneath him would probably be full of bones. Not just human ones either. The pieces of armor that were still visible were far too large for even the largest man's body, and others appeared to be protective plates placed upon equine and feline pokemon. Pyroars and Rapidash perhaps. The larger pieces to Charizards and Blastoises, among others.
After Jesica had told him about it, he checked out the history of the location and wasn't surprised to find out that this was the site of a large battle between two kingdoms in the great war of Kalos three thousand years ago. Pokemon and people fought for control of a weapon the king had designed, the very same located in Geosenge. All that senseless waste of life just to bring back the life of one pokemon.
He scoffed in disgust. Humans were really despicable creatures.
Even so, standing among the unmarked graves, he felt a sense of familiarity. At his core, he was still a soldier, and he knew what this was like. A pyrrhic victory. To win a battle but sustain so much loss it could hardly be considered a victory. The swords were graves of their own, placed where their owners fell. No time for digging graves. Not in war. Making graves for people was extremely personal, and hurt more than any wound ever could. A sword in the ground was easier for the party that was still alive, both physically and emotionally.
He walked up to a longsword, its steel blade long since rusted over, covered in flecks of dull orange and brown with darkened stains on the edges, the dried remains of what used to be blood running down the length of the blade. He didn't dare pull it out as a sign of respect, but it was far more decorated than the other swords, marking the ground where a high ranking officer had fallen. Yanine came to mind in that brief moment and he placed a hand on the pommel in silence, closing his eyes.
Muttering a short sentence to show respect to the fallen, Riven let go of the blade and turned back to the rest of graveyard.
The entire location reeked of despair, sadness, and grief. But most of all… regret. Regrets of life and of purpose, the question hanging unsaid in the still night—was it all worth it? For some perhaps, but when you were in the thick of battle watching others fight and die while you lived to see the nonexistent fruits of their sacrifice… it wasn't ever an easy pill to swallow.
But looking at it now… it made sense why this wasn't a tourist location and why people seemed to avoid this place at all costs. The air was heavy and difficult to breathe in, like it was composed of gaseous lead, and the haunting sight of the moonlit blades sent chills up the spine, causing the hair on the neck and arms to stand upright. Ghastly and Haunter often roamed these places and nothing made people run faster than ghosts did. Regrets and feelings of resentment were as tangible as the air and grass. Most people couldn't fathom what it felt like, so they stayed away.
People are afraid of what they don't understand. Many don't want to understand.
War and death were a part of humankind just as much as hypocrisy was. Kalos wasn't any different, even if things were much more peaceful than they used to be. This remnant of a long forsaken battlefield demonstrated that the depravity of humans hadn't been eradicated, only shoved under a rug and glossed over.
After all… history has a tendency to repeat itself.
Riven caught glimpses of shadows shifting in and out of the material plane, purple amorphous masses floating slowly across. Roaming ghosts were spotted here often and weren't as harmless as the ones found closer to civilization. These ghosts resulted from much darker conflicts and leaned towards the malevolent side rather than the tricksters people usually dealt with.
His left hand gripped a knife in his pocket as he headed over to the area with the greatest concentration of blades, shifting it in his palm. It was a knife fashioned out of a Weavile claw and was often used to ward off ghosts; he'd picked it up for insurance against the less… tangible ones. Came in handy when a Haunter had gotten curious and tried to come up behind him but a cut of the knife sent it sprawling into the darkness again.
His object of interest was the raised hill by far the most impaled with swords. With such an imposing appearance, its power could felt as easily as it could be seen. Tragedy, death, and regret wandered these plains like the ghosts that were born from them, remnants of what the fallen once felt before they met their end.
Riven smiled sadly. "I guess we're all a broken part of something. Remnants of what once was."
His thoughts were interrupted by a strange giggle behind him. Taking out his sword slowly, he turned on his heel, breathing evenly as his eyes set upon the entity the sound had come from.
Had to be. Just had to be, right?
It was that fucking Espurr with the berries again. The psychic stared soullessly at him, munching on a berry in its paw like it gave absolutely no shits about where in the hell it was currently standing. A psychic in an entire field of ghosts, and there it was, being all creepy and munching on a god damn berry.
"You," Riven hissed.
The Espurr giggled, unblinking. Then bit down on the berry again.
"What are you doing here?" Riven demanded, pointing the sword at it. "I doubt it's to munch on berries in a field full of ghosts and rusted swords."
Its response was psychokinetically shooting a berry at his face like last time. Then it laughed at him, continuing to stare.
Eyeing it closely, Riven scanned the surroundings in case that Doublade tried to sucker punch him again. He wouldn't put the ghost above using the Espurr as a distraction, probably as a front to mentally unhinge its victims into letting their guard down or turn their backs. "Where's your friend? The Doublade that's been attacking everyone? It's been rather adamant about what it wants. You know anything about that?"
The Espurr continued munching, cutting a blade of grass with its psychic power and then evenly slicing it into neatly chopped pieces before letting it fall. Taunting him, again. Trying to say he'd end up like that blade of grass? Or maybe it was just being a creepy little fuck. Probably both from the looks of things.
Riven gave up trying to speak to it. Even if it did have the desire to speak to him, and he doubted it would, given the amount of dick it was being; the effort trying was wholly useless as things were. Psychics couldn't use telepathy or any kind of psychic move on him apparently. Heal pulse had some interesting interactions with him but wasn't as effective when compared to its effects on a non dark pokemon or human. The move healed superficial wounds and facilitated recovery while slowing blood loss from more grievous wounds but everything else bounced off entirely.
Was odd though. That this Espurr was everywhere the Doublade was supposed to be. First at Parfum, and now here. Maybe a strange partnership, like Haona and Baron's had been? Opposites of each other. Not unheard of, but certainly unorthodox.
He closed his eyes, and waited, focusing his hearing on the wind itself.
A few seconds in the stillness of the Graveyard passed and a faint hum resonated in the heavy air, at the same moment the spell tag in Riven's coat had lit up in a flare of bright red light. The slip of paper shot forth as Riven threw it behind him, turning into the motion to face the light.
As red flames flickered and died in the wind, a crimson blade sliced through the air in front of him, aiming low at his legs. He jumped up, dodging the attack and bringing his blade up to guard as he turned in the air once again, intercepting the following attack with the blunt edge of the sword. The strength of the blow rippled throughout the metal, sending him back a foot.
Riven stood firm, knees bent and blade up. His attacker remained afloat in the air, twin crimson blades whirling in the air as the soul sucking sash of the Doublade swayed with the wind. Yellow eyes with slits for pupils bored back into his atop the central point of the handle guards, intrigued and fierce. In fact, they seemed to hold dull surprise.
Holding back a smirk, Riven was glad he'd gotten a hold of a spell tag used for detecting ghosts in proximity. They reacted to ghostly presences and lit up in bright red patterns when near the disembodied entities, and burst into repelling fire when they were close enough to harm a human. Since he'd gotten attacked from behind the last time, he assumed it would try the same, using the first hit as a distraction and follow up with a deadly blow.
He'd guessed right.
"Sucker punches won't help you now," Riven said confidently, pointing to his eyes. "I can see you just fine, so don't even try to use the dark to your advantage. I'm sure you know that already though, don't you?"
He ran a finger down the flat of the sword, challenging it.
The Doublade remained in place for a second before launching itself at him, attacking with both blades at once as Riven moved to deflect the hits. The attacks were like that of a dual wielder, strikes meant to overpower and break through an opponent's defense with quicker blows than they could handle. Cross slashes and diagonal one-twos followed by split attacks going for the legs and chest, diverting the focus of the enemy so they could open gaps in the defense. But the hits weren't nearly as fast, nor as strong as some of the ones that humans could pull off—no, if anything, these were just test blows. Like what two humans would do before starting to get serious.
The amount of human traits this ghost was displaying worried him. There were theories about how ghosts came to be, but none were proven, or could be proven for that matter.
It was testing him, probing him. But for what? Grimacing, Riven relaxed his stance slightly, wary but not poised. The Doublade's eyes seemed to change, as if asking him what he was doing.
"You know who I am," Riven stated. "You've been attacking people looking for someone. Me. Why? Is it because I survived? Or is it because of what, I am."
It said nothing, the sash on the ends of the blades twitching momentarily.
"Speak. Ghost," Riven demanded. "You're not like that Espurr. You can understand me and can surely speak with humans, even if in a dream state. Don't play stupid with me." He pointed his sword at it. "Talk."
When his question finished, a hazy, light-headed feeling came over his mind. His body seemed to resist the influence and although it took some effort, he prevented the intruder from getting in. "No. You will speak to me out here, not in my mind. It's my own, not yours to play with. That might work with other humans, but it won't work on me. I'll repeat my question in case you forgot what it was. What do you want with me?"
The ghost seemed to recoil slightly, eyes blinking duly. A deep, disembodied voice came from it, seeming to be in every direction at once. Riven didn't twitch, however unnerving it was.
Why do I care about your existence, human?
Riven scoffed sardonically. "You've been testing my reflexes and with everyone you attack, you search for the same person again and again, with the same message. 'Ancient prince, broken by fire and rejected by time?' I'm the only one who fits those conditions. Unless you've come across another time traveler in your little sprees. You sucked my life force out, and from what I've read, that comes with memories too. Children lie better than you."
A deep snort and the Doublade attacked again, this time with faster and stronger strikes, pushing Riven back further. Red blades collided with steel in a series of slashes, the sound of metal grating on each other filling the air. When the ghost let up its assault, Riven shook his right hand out, a few drops of sweat forming on his skin.
Your life force was interesting, it said, with a tone of excitement through the words. Great fighter, good soldier. A yellow eye flashed bright yellow in the dark, the pupil enlarging momentarily. I was too.
Riven's mind came to a halt. "Soldier?" He stuttered.
The ghost vanished and reappeared behind him, striking down in an overhead slash, both blades cutting deep into the ground. A jagged gash was etched into the dirt as Riven side stepped, bringing up his own sword to block the onslaught that followed. The attacks appeared like a blur of crimson lines in the night—a spider web of red tracing along the arcs of the swings as time seemed to move slower than normal. With the adrenaline pumping in Riven's system, and with the stunningly inhuman speed of the attacks, seconds seemed to stretch on for minutes as it pummeled on him. Too fast, too strong. Given he was fighting a pokemon, it seemed like an obvious observation, but holy hell. He couldn't so much as attempt striking back at it like this. The flurry of attacks kept him on the defensive, style shifting as blades became less coordinated, attacking at more random intervals and from different directions.
When it started mixing in pursuits, things got even trickier.
The thing about fighting human opponents with swords was that they had limits. Limits in terms of how far their arms could extend outward and how hard they could hit depending on how they swung. If someone with two blades was attacking you, there wasn't any way he could attack you both from the front and back simultaneously, and he either used both blades, or switched between them. There was also the fact that human fighters had actual bodies, ones you could wound and disable.
Cut apart a tendon or cut off a leg and the fight was over. Cut off their hand and their movements would be slower, their defenses and strikes growing weaker. Stab them and the blood loss would kill them quickly.
But a floating pair of swords composed of steel that could best be described as unnatural pokemetal? Didn't have quite the same limitations.
It could attack from multiple angles, the swords weren't necessarily bound by the natural limits of elbows and joints, there were no feet to speak of and thus the positioning and stance of the body was impossible to read, mainly because there was no body. No balance, no hyperextension of the limbs, no muscles, no body. No weaknesses. Just a pair of swords with a mind of their own and the power of a pokemon behind them.
Even if he could counterattack, what would he attack? Just like with the Bisharp. He was starting to really dislike steel types now. The silver lining—if you could consider it one—was that at least it wasn't a Steelix. Bad comparison though, the giant Steel snake with a hammer for a face at least had some sort of body that wasn't entirely a weapon.
Oh, and having no body meant you also couldn't get tired. Battle of attrition was out the window. He had to come up with something.
After deflecting a frontal strike and swiftly pivoting his body to block the attack from behind, Riven jumped onto one of the blades and flipped over to the other side, taking a moment to catch his breath. Fortunately, since his opponent was strong enough to push him back and didn't possess an arm, that little maneuver was perfectly viable. On a regular person the sudden weight of his body pushing downwards would just end up in an embarrassing and sloppy fall for both fighters, not to mention being potentially fatal as well.
Impressive. Such agility and technique cannot be found on humans of today, the Doublade mused, sash coiling and uncoiling. Riven watched the clothlike fabric with well deserved apprehension. You asked me why I wanted to find you.
"I did," Riven replied after a moment.
Truthfully… The Doublade said. I just wanted a good battle, I have been asleep for over three thousand years, and I am incredibly bored.
Three thousand? Just the right length of time to coincide with the war… But if that was the case… What if Honedge really were born of the souls of fallen humans? And if so, how? If that was true, why did the souls not become Haunter or Ghastly, who seemed to have no recollection of their past lives? Perhaps it was a reflection of who the humans were in their lifetimes rather than how they died. Things certainly began to make sense in that regard.
"This Graveyard," Riven realized, recalling the rumors on how Honedge were created. "The reason you chose this place. Why it's special. You… you fought here. You died, here. So it is true… You were one of the king's soldiers."
Swords were littered everywhere, with plenty of dead souls lingering about. If there was a factory for producing Honedge, this would probably be it.
That was so long ago… The Doublade let out a demeaning chortle. But I can remember. What I used to be. Who I was. A man who sacrificed his life for his people, his country, and for his king. But this place… It was a pointless waste of life for a foolish king. I realized that after I became what you see. Now I am free but without purpose. All I have left is to do what I have always done. Fight. Don't you feel the same, dark prince? Deep down you're just like me.
Riven fell into silent contemplation. The ghost wasn't wrong. As much as he'd like to reject those claims, that he did have a direction, somewhere to go to. His pokemon came to mind, although they were safe, not in danger. They were his responsibility. A purpose on the other hand… he didn't quite know. He didn't have a direction, hell he was only doing this because there wasn't anything else to do. Was it out of curiosity? Boredom?
"Were you a knight?" Riven asked suddenly.
Perhaps I was, it replied, almost reminiscent.
The human clicked his tongue. "Heh. Here I thought knights were supposed to be chivalrous. Not kill innocent people." Some of the victims were petty thieves and trespassers but-
Whoever said they were innocent? The ghost corrected.
There it was. He had a feeling there was more to it than that.
Riven shrugged, rolling his eyes. "Are you saying they deserved it? You saw my memories when you attacked me. I assume you saw their's too? Something didn't sit well with you?"
A deep growling came from all directions as the Doublade's eyes seemed to dull. I did not enjoy watching what they did. The depravity some of them carried out was sickening, even to me. I may not be a knight anymore but I still have standards.
"Fair enough," Riven accepted with another shrug. "What I don't understand is why you haven't gotten yourself caught by a trainer to fight in tournaments. If fighting is your passion, that's the most logical place to pursue it."
I do not serve idiots with the inability to lead.
"Plenty of experienced trainers know how to lead," Riven returned flatly. "The idiots that don't never make it past the fifth gym."
Hmph, they also don't know how to fight. Useless.
"So is that what this is about?" The human pounced. "You're trying to find someone that is worthy enough to wield you. Seems the pokedex does get things right sometimes. Not entirely full of ridiculous claims, that's nice to know."
"How about we wager something?" Riven proposed, raising his arms into the air. "Fighting to the death against a mere human is inherently unfair, you know."
If you consider yourself just human, then there is something wrong with you, the Doublade pointed out dryly. You have more in common with us than you believe.
Riven gave it a small smile. "Maybe so, but it still doesn't change the fact that I'm neither as strong nor as durable as a pokemon. I'm also only using this flimsy sword. So let's wager. If we're going to fight until you kill me, then let's make it interesting."
The ghost pokemon stared at him, eyes expressing intrigued curiosity. Name your terms then.
"If you win, you can drain me of my entire life force. I know you ghosts savor that. But if I win…" He flipped the blade in his hands in the air a few times. Angling it to reflect the light of the moon, his expression went serious, tone growing focused. "You will become my set of blades. I may not even classify as royalty, but if I defeat you, I would be worthy of your service, correct?"
After all, using the Honedge line as weapons was fairly common in the past. Kings rode into battle with Aegislash and some of the fighters of this world's legends had used Doublades to solidify their legends into history. They were stronger than regular swords and most importantly, could grow stronger. A blade could not. Having a Doublade as both a pokemon and a viable weapon was rather enticing, not to mention convenient too.
Sashes of ghostly fiber twirled and twitched as the ghost thought about the proposition carefully. After a few moments of pondering, its twin blades settled into a ready position once more.
Both combatants didn't need to say anything to know what that meant. Steel screeched against steel as Riven and the Doublade clashed in the center of the field. Through his peripheral vision, he saw that the Espurr was still watching them with bemusement, sitting atop one of the swords.
He thought it'd be different this time, attacking and defending against the hits. But it wasn't. Not at all, actually. The attacks were still coming from impossible angles, quick and precise. This pokemon seemed to be a fan of using pincer moves with the blades, attacking from two angles that were—simply put, difficult as shit to block. He was barely scraping by, defending and just managing to deflect the slashes with his sword before the next hit, and the next. When he did manage to counterattack, steel simply bounced off steel like a parry instead of a direct hit.
God this was frustrating.
His sword had absolutely no special properties, and his opponent wasn't human. If perhaps his attacks did manage to hurt it, even slightly, he'd long be exhausted before the damage would accumulate anyway. The amount of counterattacks he was able to get in compared to the amount of time he spent getting pushed back by a flurry of inhumanly fast strikes weren't nearly as proportional as he would have liked.
The Doublade eased for a moment, with only one blade attacking Riven instead of two. He'd have called it a breather if he didn't know any better.
He did.
Purple energy began to flow around one of its crimson blades, enveloping it like a protective coating as shadows poured in to fill the gap. The light it gave off was dull and faint, and solidified until the sword was colored a blackish purple, the length of the blade appearing longer and more serrated than it was.
Riven knew it was shadow claw. What he didn't know was how much it hurt getting thrown into a cluster of swords with what amounted to a casual swing. The force of the attack rattled against his guard and pierced through it like it was made of paper, the power of it lifting him off his feet and into the air—right into a group of about thirty blades. At least they weren't sharp, or it'd have been quite a problem.
Picking himself off the ground around some of the disturbed swords, he noticed the Doublade coming at him again. Reaching for one of the fallen blades, he picked it up and used it in conjunction with his own to fend off the dual attacks of the pokemon, being far more successful this time around.
Was it disrespectful? Probably. But he was about to die. Pride killed more warriors than any weapon ever did.
This sword he picked up didn't last too long, breaking into useless pieces of rusted metal after a few hits. So he kept using more. There was an entire field of them, after all.
Like he said before, pokemon vs human? The matchup was completely unfair, even if he was different from standard humans—which brought him to his next predicament.
His own typing.
Ghosts were extremely vulnerable to dark attacks, and based on what Isole and Kai told him off that day where he'd gone berserk, he had access to them. Of course the only problem being exactly that. There was always the possibility that if he did allow himself to be taken over by the Nightmare, he may not be able to come back. Power boosts were welcome, but they weren't worth losing yourself forever.
But he also didn't have much of a choice. His sword couldn't harm a being made of metal that couldn't bleed, and he had no pokemon of his own to fight with. Riven was out of options.
There was only one thing to do then.
Deflecting another strike, Riven backed away and closed his eyes, leveling out his breathing. He'd never actually tried to bring out the dark, mostly out of reasons already specified, but mainly because he didn't know how.
Kai said that dark types use negative emotions to bring out their potential. This field, my own thoughts, they're extremely similar. Yeah, this can work.
Going deep into his memories, he began reliving them, details as vivid as they'd always been. The blood and death were the same, no detail missing in the slightest. His head began to pound and a familiar feeling arose inside, twisting, coiling-
Focus. Connect it with the battlefield. What do you see? Where can you draw power from?
Placing a hand on the ground, memories poured into his mind.
What he saw was the violent clash of two grand armies, hordes of armored pokemon clad in steel plate fighting alongside armored knights. The sun bore down on them as blood flew. Both human and pokemon fell, cut to pieces of perforated by vines. Others were blown to bits by beams, incinerated by flames, or crushed by the very earth they stood on. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the air, just like the battlefields he'd been on. Pokemon lay dying as they bled alongside their own, torn apart by the enemy side.
He could feel what they were thinking. Anger, pain, regret, and sorrow spoke to him, backed by the overwhelming sense of hatred that flowed throughout the air on that very day. The torrent of negativity cascaded into his mind and he almost fell into agony. Resisting it was like trying to struggle against rapids upstream as water blasted you back down. He was drowning in them, flailing about, feeling like his mind was going to shatter.
Use it as a weapon. Fighting is what you do. This is what you are.
He exhaled slowly.
For a split second, the world went black as power surged within, dark energy passing through his veins and into his limbs, giving him a newfound sense of strength. Even with his eyes closed, he could see patterns of negativity flowing throughout the air, flashing in various colors from red to pink. Auras, perhaps? Or what Kai called, the "Other". Streams of them coalesced around the Graveyard, appearing to him as the auroras of the north—beautiful, if a bit twisted when you thought about it.
Knuckles cracked and he opened his eyes again, the blue on his right replaced by the very same color of the Doublade's swords.
The ghost was stunned momentarily, witnessing the same aura it'd felt when it last drained the human's lifeforce. Why was this one so different from the others? A feeling of fulfillment washed over the ghost—something it hadn't felt since it was last alive. Joy, like lighting a match in a room devoid of warmth. What it once thought was empty sparked to life again by the thrill of fighting a worthy opponent. It couldn't wait to cross blades again.
And they did, steel sparking against steel as they fought, both fighters falling into a dance in the night.
Riven couldn't believe how different this felt. His body movements were stronger and more importantly, faster. He was driving the Doublade back now, the darkness coursing throughout his blade hurting it far more than any regular strike could. This felt… honestly amazing.
As amazing as it felt, however, there was a time limit. The negativity and dark thoughts were barely being kept in check and inside his shirt there seemed to be a small object burning intensely into his skin. The Diancie stone was flashing a bright pink as it warded off the dark. If anything, that was the only reason that he was still able to keep in control. But it wouldn't last.
He had to end this quickly.
Blocking another pincer, Riven slash the pommel of one of the swords, leaving a shallow black cut on it as the ghost backed away. Using pursuit, the steel type slashed in an upwards arc with one sword, the force of the blow lifting dust, and its target high up into the air. The next sword appeared in front of him, thrusting forward in a stab. Riven brought his blade up and intercepted it using both hands, but the attack had sent him backwards into an off balance fall.
As he fell back towards the floor, the ghost vanished and reappeared a distance away, rearing up from another shadow claw. Purple energy surrounded both its crimson blades as the Doublade cut in a cross—purple shockwaves slicing through the air and ground as they traveled. Riven turned upside down in midair, gathering what little dark energy he could into a small point at the tip of his finger.
"Dark pulse," he called, and darkness howled forth.
The Diancie stone cracked.
Both attacks collided, resulting in an explosion of dust and grass, uprooting more blades in the vicinity. Riven landed on the ground again and recoiled as he felt his mental state start to wane. Something wanted out, and badly.
He closed his right eye, now burning furiously. Panting, he tried to think of where to strike his enemy to cause the most damage and end the fight before he ended himself. The blades were out, considering they were probably meant to take punishment, and the pommels were fairly sturdy from the test cut he gave to one of them. The darkness helped, but the steel coating made it resistant to physical attacks and he doubted he could fire off another dark pulse without going insane at this point. Unless-
The sheath. Every time it attacks me, it keeps those a good distance away, even more so when darkness suddenly started listening to me. If I can hit that with my strongest attack, I should be able to end this.
The only problem was getting to it. If need be, it could use pursuit to escape as much as it could use it to attack, shifting location at will. Annoying. Maybe-
Riven narrowly avoided getting killed only by falling backward as two crimson blades emerged out of his shadow like spears.
Well that's new.
It was when he saw the sheath emerge soon after that he got an idea. Waiting until the Doublade began attacking him again, he disregarded the ghost's blows, ducking under overhead swipes and sidestepping past downward slashes to get near the sheath. As expected, the steel type used pursuit to shift its position before Riven was able to connect with his own sword.
Behind him, a crescent shaped slash headed for his head as he turned into it with roll, jumping back up to his feet with a handstand. Slicing horizontally to parry the following hits, he jumped high into the air, spinning as he came down to add momentum to his strike. The blade came down, dark energy flowing around it, ready to cut deep.
Then the blade snapped in two as the Doublade managed to bring up one of its swords. The broken piece of the sword whirled past Riven's face as he came down.
Fuck, why now!?
His curses were cut short as pain erupted along his back, stinging like fire as his knees crashed into the floor. A long gash had cut into his back when he was unable to defend against the slash from behind, extending from shoulder to hip in agonizing pain.
Barely managing to escape the ghost's attacks, he could feel the warm liquid trickling down his back as he rolled along the grass. His sword was gone, the only thing left remaining was a jagged stump that couldn't cut even if it married a grindstone. That left one thing he could use, his last resort.
The Weavile claw knife.
It could channel darkness far better than his sword could, but he doubted he could use it to parry the Doublade's attacks at all. Sturdiness wasn't something dark types had in spades, or at all for that matter. As much as Haona could dish out damage, she couldn't really take a hit.
Heh. Same with me, I guess. One cut and I'm reeling from pain.
Picking himself up again as his back screamed, he pointed the remains of his sword at the Doublade. If he could use darkness to his advantage, there was something else he could use too. A move universal to practically all pokemon.
Lunging forth this time, Riven held onto the knife with his left hand, the right holding onto his stump of a blade. The Doublade slashed in a crossing crescent, blades sweeping from head to feet. Springing into the air amidst the slashes, he extended his body as it fell; leveling out into a roll and back onto his legs as he went straight for the sheath.
A smile broke out on his lips as the Doublade attempted to pursuit again. Its body vanished and reappeared behind him as expected, blades coming down on him. Except this time, Riven was ready. Flipping the sword over into a reverse grip, he raised his right arm, locking with one of the Doublade's. Exposed on his left, the ghost attempted to blindside him but was astonished when its blade was blocked completely by the human's forearm, as if it was made of steel.
Upon closer inspection, a small blade of condensed darkness blocked the metal from tearing skin. Yellow eyes blinked in surprise as they saw Riven smirk.
His right arm broke away from the blade lock, sending one of the swords awry. Floating low in the air, Riven jumped onto it, using it as a platform to boost his speed. At the same moment, energy pooled into his legs, illuminating his body in white light momentarily as he kicked off, leaving after-images of himself along his path.
Flying through the air, a small Weavile knife came out of his pocket. Channeling all the dark energy he could without pushing himself over the edge into it, a fierce red glow outlined with black wisps coated the knife. Spiraling, Riven turned his body with a spin, using the speed boost from the quick attack as well as the night slash within the knife to turn himself into a makeshift drill.
The Doublade was unable to react as the Weavile knife stabbed into its sheath, followed by a rising wave of dark power. The night slash blew outwards from the stab, red and black spirals of razor sharp darkness shredding the grass behind it in a cone ten meters wide while snapping swords like twigs. Metal cracked as the Doublade fell limp from the attack, floating weakly in the air.
Riven gasped for air, holding onto the Diancie stone like his life depended on it, which was layered with cracks. His head felt like splitting and his body ached all over. Throwing away the now useless piece of metal that was his sword, he felt like screaming from the migraine. Darkness receded around him, the colorful auras vanishing as it did.
The small pink stone that clung to his neck seared into his hand like molten iron, then shattered as well, shards scattering into the wind.
Breathing hard and slowly getting to his feet, Riven approached the Doublade. Crimson and brown met yellow in understanding.
"Looks like you lost," Riven managed amongst his labored breathing.
It seems… I did, the ghost responded. Truly amazing. To be bested by a human of all things. What are you?
Riven looked up longingly. "Don't know myself. But-" He nodded at the steel type. "I'm going to find out. No matter what I do. I promise you that."
Resolve… Perhaps you do have what it takes to wield me. Don't disappoint me, I get bored easily. The Doublade chuckled. But a wager is a wager. My name is Efrain, and I, am at your service, new King.
Grasping both blades with his hands, Riven pointed one at the sky and swung the other, releasing a shadow claw with a mental command, carving a few words into the ground.
Now it's my turn to attack.
Exhausted and wounded, he headed Northeast to Shalour, a ghost of a smile on his face.
Well, that took a hell of a long time to do. 4 weeks, ouch. Sorry about that, I've just been busy to the brim lately. Practically my entire days are booked with class and work. I also picked up metal gear rising recently and that took up quite a bit of my time. That game is life.
Also, I revised some earlier chapters and polished them up a bit. Story rating changed to M because reasons.
I'm also trying to be more descriptive in battle scenes. Let me know if it's working. Describing the movements of a Doublade is difficult when it doesn't have a body unfortunately, so I could only use general descriptions. Bah.
Will try for regular weekly releases again. I've got my permanent schedule now so things should be progressing a more smoothly from here on out.
Thanks for reading and review/follow/favorite at your own leisure.