So…it's been a while!
But seriously though, my sudden 3ish month hiatus was not a planned endeavor. What started off as computer troubles spiraled into some more serious IRL issues. I won't go into details here, but sufficed to say they were serious enough that I haven't had the chance to do some writing in a long while. But I'm back and ready to continue this story! Now I won't be able to do a specific schedule like I had been able to previously. I'm adopting a post-when-able approach and we'll see where that takes us!
I just wanted to extend a big thank you, as always, to anyone who has followed, favorited, reviewed, or even read my story! Your support is what keeps me motivated to share my writing.
With the addition of Cherie, Malic's already slow pace dwindled to what, in other circumstances, would best be described as a stroll. Still, the loss of speed was easily outweighed by the comfort of Cherie's hand in his own.
Glancing back, he saw Cherie focused on the ground, picking her way around what twigs and leaves were visible in the dim moonlight. She had taken his request of silence literally, not having said a word since they set out. And as much as he would love to talk with her, maybe lecture her on the stupid decision to follow him, making it out of the forest alive took priority.
The forest had been quiet, and Malic hadn't seen hide nor hair of any Pokemon. It was odd. During his hike through the forest, Pokemon had scurried across the path or flitted through the trees. And while Hoenn had fewer nocturnal Pokemon than other regions, Professor Birch's enclosure was said to contain Pokemon from all over the world as part of his new study into regional forms.
They walked until Malic spotted a hole in the leafy ceiling, letting him finally catch a glimpse of the sky. The moon loomed overhead, having climbed high enough in the sky that it was difficult to see from which direction it had risen. Malic worried his bottom lip. In his haste to find Cherie, he had yet to make note of his original direction of travel. Without the moon as a reference, Malic would have to press on as best he could and hope he managed to get somewhere close to the lab. If they got out of the forest, navigation would be more straightforward.
A soft grunt quickly reminded Malic that his little group consisted more of him and Cherie. "Slakoth," Malic whispered, "do you remember where we were headed before I found Cherie?" Slakoth tilted his head as if pondering the question and raised a hand off towards Malic's right.
With nothing else to go on, Malicand started heading towards the right, at least until he heard something scurrying through the bushes. Taking hurried steps back, Malic just managed to get out of the way as two Rattata crashed through. Putting himself between them and Cherie, Malic felt Slakoth slip off his back, landing at his side with arms raised and ready.
The Rattata, on the other hand, didn't seem interested in them and continued to sprint in the same direction, vanishing into another set of bushes. Malic stared at the bush, then at Slakoth. "Well, I guess not every Pokemon here is set on fighting, huh Slakoth?" Checking behind him, Malic saw Cherie staring off into the distance with a strangely blank expression. "Cherie, you okay?"
His words seemed to break her from her trance, and she nodded slowly. "Yeah, I'm fine." Malic frowned. Cherie had always been expressive, and hearing her so taciturn reminded him of… himself.
He retook Cherie's hand, lightly squeezing it, and began to move in the direction Slakoth indicated. Hopefully, Slakoth had good instincts.
Alton staggered through the underbrush, his high-quality clothing now marred by streaks of mud and jagged tears. Abandoning his Surskit to serve as a distraction for his escape seemed like a shrewd move, and so far, it was working. After all, he was a Creed—his very name synonymous with ruthless efficiency and unyielding progress. For Alton, cutting away anything that impeded his goals and relentlessly pushing forward were not just strategies but principles ingrained in his very being.
At least, that was what he told himself. Hidden behind his mask of bravado and his forced confidence, Alton's heart beat wildly. Every shadow seemed to hold a Gengar, every twig snapping the mark of a stalking Shiftry. The Creed's principles of ruthlessness felt far removed from his current situation; all he wanted was to escape the forest and avoid any more danger.
As he emerged into a slightly more open area, he was met with a sight that froze him in his tracks. What he thought was a natural clearing was really the wake of a marching Pokemon. The massive form, half-shadowed, continued its steady pace, steps shaking leaves from the trees it didn't immediately knock over.
Alton recognized the Pokemon. He had seen them while tagging along on one of his father's business trips to Galar.
"C-Copperajah."
Alton staggered back a few steps, a cold sweat breaking over his body. The Pokemon was obviously powerful, and he was totally helpless without one of his own–not that the useless Surskit would have been much help. The only thing left was to sneak away without it noticing him.
That plan lasted all of three steps. The first two were sufficiently stealthy, but the third landed squarely on the tail of a sleeping Rattata, who awoke with a pained squeal and a snap at Alton's heel before scurrying off into the underbrush.
The squeal echoed in Alton's mind as he jerked his head up, meeting the steely eyes of the Copperajah staring right at him. The Copperajah released a thunderous trumpet, then charged toward him with alarming speed. Alton's heart pounded in his chest as he stumbled backward, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. He turned and ran, crashing through branches and brush with no clear direction, just trying to escape the rampaging Pokémon.
Every crashing step of the Copperajah felt like a hammer blow against his already frayed nerves. The ground shook with each charge, and Alton's terror only intensified. He ducked and darted through the forest, the rampaging Copperajah relentlessly pursuing him, apparently driven by the mere sight of him. For Alton, the situation was a nightmare come to life, and all he could think about was how to survive this harrowing chase.
felt the ground begin to tremble beneath his feet. The vibrations grew more vigorous, staggered in a way that almost felt like…footsteps. "Malic?" Cherie moved closer, her eyes locked onto the forest as her hand gripped tightly to his sleeves.
"Slakoth, up front." Malic felt the Slakoth slide down from his back and stand before him, claws vaguely baring toward the sound.
Before Malic could react, a disheveled figure burst through the treeline. Though mud coated his clothes, and his formerly sculpted hair was now a Pidgey nest, Malic recognized the cocky rich boy from the lab, Alton.
He had a wild look in his eye, like a cornered Poochyena, and that gaze was locked right onto Malic and Cherie. With the pounding sound growing louder, Alton ran straight for the pair, forcing himself past and pushing Cherie to the ground. "Enjoy the Copperajah! It's your problem now!"
"Asshole!" Malic swore as he dropped to his knee and helped Cherie up, a frigid glare fixed in the direction Alton ran. It was one thing to insult him, but the second the rich poof laid his hands on Cherie, all bets were off.
"Come on, Cherie! Get up! Slakoth, with me!" he urged, pulling her to her feet. The sound was getting closer. Something had been chasing Alton, and he had led whatever it was straight in their direction. They needed to get moving.
Cherie winced, clutching her scraped knee, but managed to stand with Malic's assistance, Slakoth flanking her other side. They had just gotten to the other side of the clearing before something burst through the treeline, sending trees crashing to the ground. Malic pushed Cherie behind himself, shielding her from view with his body.
Copperajah stood there, its massive, panting form framed by the moon. Malic froze, some residual instinct screaming at him to stay very still and very quiet. Cherie trembled behind him, her face pressed tightly into his back.
It was the Copperajah that moved first. With an air-shaking roar, it smashed its trunk into a fallen tree, splintering it in half and tossing the leafy end into the air. It rampaged, each swing of its trunk sending shockwaves through the clearing. It didn't seem to notice them, but Malic was paralyzed. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move. He–
"M-Malic… What's that?"
Cherie's whisper, barely audible over Copperajah's fury, shattered his heart. A different sort of fear began to swirl in his heart—not fear for himself, but for Cherie. He knew he had to act fast.
The Copperajah's bloodshot eyes swept the clearing, gliding over him and Cherie several times. Even though they were in plain view...Malic knew what he had to do. "Cherie, listen carefully. When I give the signal, you run. Do you hear me?"
"Run? Malic, no! We can't split up!"
"This fight isn't one I can win. I'll slow it down for as long as I can. In my bag, in my left pocket, there's a map. It's your only chance to get out. Head for the professor's lab. You'll be safe there."
"But, Malic, you—"
"I need you to trust me, Cheire. This is the best possible plan I can come up with. I can't concentrate on this unless I know you're safe."
Malic couldn't look in her direction and couldn't afford to lose focus, but he heard the sniffles and felt her hand grip the back of his shirt. "Just…please don't die."
He nodded, just once, not trusting his voice, and her hand left his back, brush shaking behind him. "Guess it's up to you and me, huh Slakoth?" Malic's vision slowly swirled, a teary veil enveloping his eyes. "I'm sorry I got you into this. Honestly, I'm surprised you're still here. I mean, we've only known each other for a couple of days. Are you sure you want to go through with this Slakoth?"
A clawed hand rested on his leg. Malic blinked away the tears, one or two escaping down his cheeks, and looked at the resolute form of Slakoth standing by his leg. He couldn't tell if it was him or Slakoth that was shaking, but it didn't matter. He and Slakoth stood their ground here and now for Cherie's sake.
The Copperajah had paused in its mauling of the forest, billowing breaths noisily escaping its mouth. Even temporarily exhausted as it was, the Pokemon cut an intimidating figure. Still, Malic would use this tiny bit of reprieve to his advantage. He had no illusion that Slakoth could do more than annoy it, which meant he needed to be smart about this.
The small booklet he had been given on Slakoth detailed the two basic moves that the Slakoth line started with: Scratch and Yawn. While Scratch was reasonably self-explanatory, Yawn was something that Malic had a bit more trouble understanding. Supposedly, the Pokemon condensed the sensation of drowsiness and exhaustion into a ball and surrounded it with a thin layer of something called Aura. That Aura kept it contained until it made contact with an object or other creature, which would cause the sleepy sensation to be released.
It caused an increase in tiredness but not sleep itself. Strong enough Pokemon could resist the effects, and Malic had a feeling the Copperajah would be resistant. Still, it was the best chance they had to disorient it, at least.
"Slakoth, think you can manage Yawn?" They hadn't used it before, something Malic was regretting at this point.
Slakoth inhaled, stomach swelling slightly, then blew out a stream of pink-tinged bubbles, which floated in the air and made their way in the general direction of the Copperajah. They moved slowly, and a breeze blew a couple off course, but they grew nearer and nearer…until one popped against a branch.
The Copperajah whirled towards the Yawn bubbles, a bellow ripping from its trunk. It snatched a tree trunk from the ground and hurled it, smashing through the bubbles easily and heading straight for Malic and Slakoth.
Malic grabbed Slakoth and hurled himself to the right, barely able to hear the crash of the thrown tree over the Copperajah's trumpeting. Splinters and dirt rained down on them, a few wooden shards ripping through his shirt and into his shoulder. Malic struggled to his feet, and the Copperajah's gaze was firmly fixed on him for the first time.
It charged, and the earth shook.
Malic hauled Slakoth out of the way, dodging the charge as another spray of wood and earth splashed against them. If he led the massive Pokemon into the forest, he might be able to lose it. It didn't seem to have good night vision or vision in general. The only problem was that it relied on him being able to dodge around the trees faster than the Copperajah could charge. He could probably do it; he would just need to return Slakoth.
A hand went down to his belt and grabbed nothing but air. Malic frantically patted down his waist, but the Pokeball wasn't there. And the Copperajah was gearing up for another charge.
The bellowing roar echoed across the forest once more. Arthur felt his right thumb twitch, instinctively resting his hand on the scuffed Ultraball that hung around his neck. This whole trainer exam had been a shitshow from the beginning, and he had a sinking suspicion it wasn't getting better anytime soon.
The trail had been tricky, the trainer hopeful obviously running scared, plowing through bushes and trees with reckless abandon. More than once, Arthur had found a thorny bush with flecks of red clinging to its leaves. While he could empathize with the kid's fleeing, Arthur couldn't help but silently tick off points in his head. Keeping a calm and level head was crucial to surviving as a trainer, potentially even more so than the Pokemon. Someone who tended to panic like this would quickly find themselves challenged by the rigors of a Journey.
Arthur shook his head. Now wasn't the time for critiques; his job was to find this kid and haul him back to the lab.
Hopps paused in front of him, black carapace shimmering in the moonlight. Arthur skid to a stop of his own, eyes darting around. "Hopps, report!"
People tend to underestimate the intelligence of Pokemon. While it was confirmed that not all of them possessed the intimidatingly prodigious intelligence of an Alakazam or Metagross, they all held an ability to sense people's intentions. Arthur didn't understand it thoroughly; he wasn't a researcher, but he couldn't deny it was true.
Hopps saluted him with a posture that wouldn't be out of place on a soldier before gesturing to the clearing ahead. A clearing that certainly hadn't been on the maps of the enclosure. A clearing that was in a straight line, with a deviation that just so happened to be in line with the path being fled by a particular panicked applicant.
"Shit."
Hopps was returned, and Gale was released once more. Arthur quickly slung himself onto her back, and she rocketed into the air. From the sky, it was easy to follow the path of broken trees back towards the lab. The new offshoot continued in the distance, towards the East forest section. A nudge of his heels, and Gale was off.
The Copperajah's fury was relentless. Each swing of its trunk was a devastating force that sought to smash his bones the same way it shattered trees. The Copperajah's eyes glared with unbridled rage, and Malic scrambled to keep up. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he tried to dodge the Pokémon's attacks, a desperate attempt to keep himself and Slakoth alive.
The Copperajah charged again like a battering ram. Malic carried Slakoth and jerked aside, barely avoiding the crushing swing. The Pokémon slipped clumsily, struggling to regain footing on the dewy forest floor. "Slakoth, use Yawn again!"
Once more, pink bubbles filled the air, flowing in a slow-moving stream toward the recovering Copperajah. This time, the bubbles hit, impacting the side of its head with a staccato of pops.
The Copperajah's massive form began to sway, its roar turned into a low, rumbling growl. While not asleep, Malic could see its movements slowing as it fought to stay awake. Malic, drenched in sweat and shaking with adrenaline, crouched beside Slakoth, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts. "Can you do it just one more time?"
Slakoth's entire body trembled as it yawned, the stream of bubbles smaller and shakily floating. Just when they were going to impact the Copperajah again, the drunken swaying stopped. Copperajah swung another tree it had grasped in its trunk, popping the pink bubbles uselessly against the rough bark before tossing the tree in the same motion.
Malic tried to run, dragging the limp form of Slakoth with him. This saved them from the trunk, which crashed into the soft ground mere feet from them. It wasn't enough to save them from the branch that smashed down onto Malic's shoulder, pinning him underneath it.
Blinding, white hot pain radiated from his arm, but Malic couldn't move. His body was shutting down; the pain had been the last straw. Slakoth was beside him, laying so limp that, if not for the rise and fall of his chest, Malic would have thought him dead.
Like tolling bells, Copperajah's footsteps fell, each one pressing the icy grip of death tighter around his neck. Malic knew this was the end. There was nothing he or Slakoth could do. It was simply too strong. At least Cherie had gotten away. He could only hope she was safe.
A glimmer caught his attention. There, softly rolling across the grassy ground, was a familiar red and white Pokeball. His Pokeball. How it ended up here was beyond him, but that meant he could still do one last thing.
He forced his good arm up and in front of him. Once it began stretching, the branch shifted, more weight falling onto his damaged shoulder. He screamed, unable to contain it even if he wanted to, but he kept reaching his arm. Tears flowed, and more screams flew, but he stretched and stretched until the smooth, cool surface of the Pokeball was firmly grasped in his fingers.
He turned his head, meeting the exhausted gaze of Slakoth, eyes barely open. "H-hey Slakoth, sorry for the trouble. You were great out there; you really were. I actually thought we could do it… how arrogant is that?" Malic trailed off, his throat thick as the Copperajah continued its steady march to them.
Slakoth blinked slowly, struggling to keep its eyes open, its breath ragged. Tears mixed with the sweat and dirt on Malic's face as he pulled the Pokeball closer to his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've protected you better… I should've—" His voice broke. He could feel the end closing in, the Copperajah's shadow looming over them, blocking out the moon.
He wanted to fight back, to do something, anything, but his body was broken, his spirit crushed. "You deserved better than this… you deserved a real chance." Slakoth let out a weak, trembling cry, as if telling Malic it was okay, that he didn't blame him. But that only made it worse. Malic's grip on the Pokeball tightened. "That's why… I'm going to give you that chance." Slakoth had time to look confused before Malic returned him, sealing him safely into his Pokeball.
"Thank you, for giving me a chance."
The Copperajah raised its foot, hovering over the branch that had Malic trapped underneath. Malic used every bit of strength he had left to throw the pokeball. It was an awkward toss, but the red and white sphere disappeared between the trees.
"Goodbye."
The foot stomped down.