49.

Ambushed

IMPORTANT A/N AT THE END. GOING ON HIATUS. :')

Pinch, pinch, pinch go Candice's fingernail clippers over the foil of an instant coffee packet. She tears open the sugar packets with her inch-long holographic silver press-ons, and then runs just a bit of piping hot water into the plugged sink and stirs the mixture with a tiny straw. This "luxury hotel room" didn't come with ceramic bowls. Just the usual plastic ice bucket, and that's already had her feet in it today.

Flint says she shouldn't spite herself like this. "Candles, you don't have to sleep in the hotel. Candles, don't whip your coffee in the sink. Candles, I'll talk to Volkner as soon as I can find him."

But Flint doesn't have to know she's drinking sink coffee. Flint's busy. Last time she checked, Flint's at the pharmacy because "Volkner had an accident in the workshop" that's obviously just an unhinged ploy to skip rehearsal. Candice unpacks the hand mixer she took from the penthouse and plugs it in above the sink, blending the sugar-coffee-water until it bubbles up into a pungent brown foam. She scoops it up in both hands and lets it dribble into a styrofoam cup. In goes a bit of whole milk, and she's sucking it down, shuddering at the mixture of bitter and sweet.

Above the sink, glaring back at her in the mirror, is the face of His Ascendancy's imminent bride. Her eyeliner's spiked. Her bubble braids are tight and bouncy. Her lipstick is just pink enough to make her lips pop against her pale skin. She'll be a diamond dust darling in her own summer fairytale, and no one is going to ruin this for her. Especially not that lightning jolt junkie and the rando he found for a date!

There's coffee clinging to her chin. Rubbing it smudges her foundation.

Cyllene sits alone down in the hotel's breakfast room and coaches herself to chew her granola and oran berries thoroughly before swallowing. She's never eaten anything so sugary in all her life. Fall Harbor's humble fruits were never this sweet. The Fieldlands of Hisui were more barren than anyone believed. Drought only made things obvious.

She's getting weird looks from other tables. An old woman sees her and does a double-take. The concierge raises an eyebrow. People are straight-up staring like there's something wrong with her face . Sure, she did wake up in a cold sweat on the floor of her room, a vivid nightmare of black holes and blue paper and a burning, bloody chain still clawing at the back of her mind. Her eyes are sunken, and her hair is a staticky mess. She's grateful for some food, at least, even if Luxray and Abra can't join her.

If she looks dead inside, it's because she was born this way.

"Are you Cyllene?"

One of those staring people has come right up to her now. A man around her age in a shiny orange jacket and pants that cling skintight to his svelte, athletic body. He gives her a warm smile she can't bother to return.

"Yes," she says.

He pulls out the other chair. "Hi, Cyllene. My name is Aaron. I'm one of Flint's groomsmen. Is it okay if I sit with you?"

"It's fine."

"Great," says Aaron, and after taking a seat he begins to mix some kind of potion in front of her. Water sloshes inside a metal canister when he unscrews the lid. Into it, he stirs a scoop of brown powder, then a smaller spoonful of white powder and a generous drizzling of deep golden honey. He replaces the lid, shakes it for a bit, and then starts sucking it all up through a metal straw.

"Magnesium for my muscles," he says, when her look is questioning. "Plus B complex, biotin, collagen, organic honey, and a helping of my homegrown prebiotic cocktail. Every other man in my family goes bald by thirty, and look how thick this is! It cowlicks hard if I don't comb it!"

Aaron doesn't look thirty. His hair's shiny and silky and green as spring grass. His skin's flawless. Peachy and glowing with youth.

"Hey, thanks for doing this," he adds. "Flint n' Candice have delayed this wedding for over a year now. They want it to be perfect and keep changing stuff like the theme and the outfits. Someone's gonna complain I won't take my shirt off, but I hope everyone has a little fun. An extra bridesmaid will definitely help."

Cyllene shrugs. "To your benefit, then, I didn't volunteer for anything. Flint threatened someone I care about. If I could put him in his proper place right now, I would."

Now Aaron's the one who looks confused. "But… you shouldn't?"

Her legs are restless beneath the table. She'd get up and run, but another cold, cold glare is suddenly pinning her in place.

Click, click, click go a pair of kitten-heeled sandals on the tiled floor. Cyllene looks up and wants to somersault to safety. Marching toward the table is Clover of the Miss Fortune Three, alive and angry and dressed in a bouncy, flowery sundress and leggings that look too hot for the weather.

The bandit girl leans over and slaps both hands on the table, shooting daggers at Aaron.

"Get," she growls.

The man in the orange tracksuit shakes his head and smiles brighter. "Didn't you get my text? I'm going shopping—"

"Absolutely not, green bean. You don't need a bikini."

"Well, I can look for a tie to match my swim trunks."

"You can buy a tie on your own. No, wait. You should have a tie already! What's with you men and not even having ties the day before the wedding!? The instructions that came with the gift boxes specifically said— UGH! It's BOARD SHORTS! NOT SWIM TRUNKS! AARON!"

Shaking with fury, she wrenches her neck around and turns all her attention to the woman who has yet to make any reaction at all. Her voice this time is almost sickeningly sweet:

"So nice to meet you, rando. I hope you understand this isn't just an Elite meet and greet. This is my weekend. Who am I kidding!? This is already falling apart! My fiancé spent all morning hiding ten days of Augmentin in a BOX OF ÉCLAIRS!"

"Candice, Candice, breathe, " says Aaron. "Breathe. Stop shouting. I wanna help you however I can. That's why I wanna come with—"

"No, I heard the story. Flint's sending you along to supervise ."

Aaron takes a deep breath. "This has nothing to do with Flint. I'm in Sunyshore City not on business, and I wanna go to the market."

Clover, no, Candice, apparently, leans back and tries to contain whatever composure is left between her levitating braids.

"You look like a criminal," she snaps at Cyllene.

Aaron stands up and raises both hands. "Hey. Be kind."

"She does! Look at her spiky hair!"

"No, go ahead," says Cyllene, also standing now. "Tell me I'm ugly. I've been called a lot worse. I've endured worse. You should thank me, actually, for making you look so much prettier by comparison. Especially when you're the spawn of miscreants."

Candice's thin black eyebrows go way up at that. Her cheeks are pink. Silver claws clutch the strap of her blue leather handbag, and her nostrils flare without smoke. Cyllene's blue moon glare grows darker and meaner the more their eyes combine.

"Fine," says the bandit-now-bridezilla — this incredible look-alike — who reflects the past even more than Flint's scarlet curls inspire memories of Zisu. There's no knife in her hand, but the ringing voice is there — if she suddenly started ranting about different shades of orange Cyllene wouldn't be surprised.

"Fine," she says. "Perrin's hungover anyway. If I'm gonna spend my morning with a backstabber, why not make it you."

All of Cyllene's muscles tense up. Now of all times, she wishes she could grow and transform. Before she can think of a sharper comeback, Candice has already stormed off toward the hotel's front doors. Aaron puts his hair potion in a drawstring backpack and softens his smile to something sympathetic.

"Don't mind her. She's actually very nice," he says.

Cyllene rolls her eyes, digging her fingers into the pockets of the black moto jacket she kept from the Sunyshore Gym. As soon as she's alone again, she's having Abra steal her another up of cold brew.

"Aaron, don't think I'm strange for asking this, but what's a bikini?"

The tram cars are painted electric blue, and with a soft whirr they skid by themselves along a track laid in the pavement, bending and kinking in places like a Wurmple whenever there's a turn.

The single car that stops for the three of them is a rickety older model — the inside walls all still wood paneling and windows scratched and foggy. When it lurches forward, Cyllene almost trips. She digs her toes into her sandals and clutches tightly around the pole running from ceiling to floor. Again, she feels the eyes all over her. It's as if people can tell she's different, or at least from out of town.

Aaron's face is neutral, lost in thought. His eyes are trained outside the window toward the cloudless sky. In a slow, silent gesture, he grabs the pole, sliding his fist down to touch one of hers. His feet shift so his body blocks some of the gawkers. With the new angle, a ray of sunlight catches on a small golden pin on the collar of his track jacket — a diamond shape within a vertical rectangle. If Cyllene squints, it's almost the emblem of the Security Corps.

And then there's Candice, sitting in the seat by the door, her handbag in her lap. She's the only one who doesn't spare Cyllene a single glance. When they reach their stop, she's the first one off the tram, already speeding in her heels toward the large array of covered pavilions crowded around a red-and-white striped tower on a corner of where the city meets the sea.

"Have you been to the market before?" Aaron asks Cyllene. He's matching her stride and walking so close she can smell something citrusy emanating from his armpits.

"No, I haven't. It's my first time in Sunyshore," she admits. "Volkner's too tired to give me the grand tour."

"He would be. Volkner's a busy guy. He can put on a show during gym battles, but a lot of people say he's pretty boring when they meet him in person."

"Boring? No, not at all! He's anything but boring. It's more like he's…"

She stops, wondering where Volkner could be right now — what his young face would look like if she dared describe him. Aaron stops right beside her. His hands are shaking, and he continually looks upward every few seconds. Cyllene tries to find what he's seeing, but between the sea of tent covers the sky is all blue.

"Volkner is adventurous like you couldn't imagine," she decides. "And he's clever, and caring, and he's full of… a completeness of spirit."

"Completeness of spirit?"

Aaron wrinkles his nose at that. Cyllene realizes she's smiling and averts her gaze. Again, there's that sinking feeling. It's lightning in her blood, the way things are still moving way too fast for her to handle.

Then a strong scent of ginger hits her nose — and sweet pinap berries and the tang of honey mead. Except for the herringbone bricks in the street, this isn't much different from the harvest fairs far back in old Hoenn. People are swarming between the stands to buy and sell. It's more food than she's ever seen in one place, and so neatly packaged.

"Doesn't this look fun?" Aaron asks, switching gears. "Everything on the outer edge is completely fresh and local. There's produce, bread, cheese, fish, jams — even some red meat if you like that. I'm largely vegetarian, or I try to be. The Pokémon Decathlon really kicks your butt if you're not getting the right macros."

There's an entire stand just selling paper bowls of blue yolk eggs plucked from the shrub, freshly-boiled, and served with a savory golden sauce. The line for them stretches down an entire aisle of tents Already Cyllene's stomach is growling for something substantial. She squares her shoulders and casually slips into place to wait.

"I forgot to bring any money along, but would it be too much trouble for you to buy me an egg bowl like that?" she asks.

She's expecting further friendliness. A smile and a nod. But instead, Aaron couldn't look more nervous. He winces hard, fingering the strings of his backpack for a long, awkward moment.

"I'm… sorry if that was impolite. It's been an overwhelming last few days. I had a comfortable jacket I liked to wear, but Volkner said it's not fashionable here and made me take it off."

"Volkner told you that?"

The line is moving forward. Candice has left them, already distracted by glass jars of loose-leaf tea.

"Well, it's… just an old-fashioned jacket. I like old-fashioned things. I suppose Volkner doesn't want me to feel out of place here in his hometown. He must know more than I do."

Aaron's eyes dart upward again. His hands tremble worse than ever. This time, a large, dark shadow clearly flits in the corner of Cyllene's vision. There's a light breeze swirling around her ankles, and the man beside her clutches the strings even tighter.

"Here," he says, and slides the whole backpack off to push into her hands. "I have cash in my wallet. You can get yourself anything you want."

"Oh, is that the polite thing to do? I pay for things myself?"

"Yes."

It's a curt answer, and just as Cyllene's digging for coins, Aaron grabs the bag one more time to dig out one of those "phones" everyone seems to have. The best Volkner can describe them so far, they're like magic mirrors, allowing people to see things and talk to people far away. Aaron starts tapping at the glass screen with his thumbs, his neck tense and his lips pressed into a line.

"Aaron, there aren't any coins in here. What do I…"

Suddenly they're at the front of the line. Aaron slips his phone into his pocket, then snatches the bag back and digs out a few shiny slips of paper, which he offers to the vendor. He takes the egg bowl for himself and then ushers Cyllene off and into a more open and sunny part of the market. Here there are craft booths, selling Pokémon dolls made of fabric and wood — felted purses with crochet flowers — pots and cups and platters and vases all fashioned out of glazed and fired clay. The red-and-white striped tower glints at the top, like it's tipped with a glass jar filled with diamonds. On either side is a guardrail, where people stand to have their feet sprayed by the misty sea.

Cyllene starts toward a stand selling what appear to be old-fashioned Poké Balls made of apricorns! Again, Aaron matches her pace. His eyes burn into her shoulder, and that dark shadow hovers above, more obvious now that she knows it's up there.

It's watching her.

"You're suspicious of me," she tells him. "Flint is suspicious of me too, isn't he? Why? Is it because of the broken bottle? I would've smashed it over his head if he'd lain a hand on Volkner when he's already injured. Am I really supposed to call a man like that a Heavenly King? He's a charlatan."

It's harsh, she knows. Probably the worst thing she could say. A mess for Volkner to try and clean up later, on top of all he's already dealing with. Aaron certainly feels the weight of her words. He stands firmer. Bolder, even, holding up one hand as if to ward her off by will alone.

"We're not suspicious. Flint just said it's a little weird how Volkner actually found a date for the weekend."

Cyllene steps even closer. People are really starting to stare now. This is getting ridiculous. "Do neither of you believe Volkner can be happy without a partner? He's weird because he has ambitions other than romance?"

Aaron sets his jaw. "No one's calling Volkner weird."

"You already called him boring. No wonder he doesn't want any part of this wedding. You're making him out like the fool who'll ruin it. I'll just have to help him."

"OH, AARON, YOU SNEAK!" shrieks Candice, who's just as aware of the apparition. At her feet, a glittering pale-blue Glaceon charges up an Ice-type attack.

Aaron stiffens. "Candice! DON'T!"

"AURORA BEAM!"

The Pokémon digs its paws into the brick, diamond tail thrashing, and out of its muzzle pours a rainbow mist that arcs and twists and spirals upward until it just misses the dark belly of something zooming overhead.

Aaron makes two fists, with his thumbs and pointer fingers extended. His wrists twitch rhythmically, and the shadow flits perfectly out of sight — too fast to catch a direct glimpse at. It's humming now . Dark. Huge. Almost nonexistent. An invisible shadow?

"Aaron, put your bug away," Candice snaps, finally stepping between the man and Cyllene.

Aaron shakes his head. "I can't do that."

"Put it back in the Poké Ball, or we shoot it down."

"Don't attack my partner when we're working."

Candice grabs one of his twitching wrists and squeezes it as tight as she can. Aaron's fingers vibrate in response. Just like Volkner's, Cyllene thinks. Or, almost. He's controlling a Pokémon without verbal commands. He's a master trainer.

"I don't need you being a jerk today," Candice starts. "Put Ninigon away and get lost. Please."

"I can't do that, Candice. Flint and I are fully armed. There's a situation."

"Oh, Flint's hiding things from me the day before we get married. That's nice."

"Nice? No. This is bad, and Flint's doing the bare minimum. It should be you telling him to cover his ass better, not me."

"My fiancé can bare his ass if he wants to—"

"I'm done talking about this with you. Hey, Ninigon! Wanna snack?"

Aaron rips his hand free. His fingers all spread wide, knuckles shaking unnaturally fast, and all at once the shadow hovers right above them. A horrible shiver runs through Cyllene's entire body. The Pokémon is obviously Bug-type, with its wiggling claws and giant red compound eyes and green-veined wings that buzz and vibrate sideways to keep it aloft. It shimmers golden in the sunlight, though its abdomen's a dark, ashy gray, and throbbing .

"I hate bugs," Cyllene whispers. "Why would you become a master trainer of bugs?"

The giant bug — Ninigon — presses its mouth parts into Aaron's outstretched palm like it's nuzzling him. He then offers it a bit of egg. Twin claws on each green arm shred the snack apart in seconds. The wings pulse heavily. The compound eyes swivel in their sockets, unblinking.

"Aaron thinks Bug-type Pokémon are just adorable," Candice grumbles beside her. "If it freaks you out, we can try our best to ditch him. But everyone in Sinnoh knows he can control Wurmples with his mind, so we're stuck."

Aaron frowns. "That's not true—"

Cyllene doesn't wait to hear his argument. She calls out Abra's name, and her guardian appears, taking her shoulders in its claws and popping her away to somewhere less crowded. They're back on the beach now — warm sand and turquoise water and a breeze that smells of salt and earth and equilibrium.

"There's a man who trains Bug-type Pokémon," she says aloud again. "If he doesn't control Wurmples with his mind, he at least keeps them for company. Abra, this future is so strange. Shall I turn us into something brainless when Volkner fixes the Red Chain?"

Wordlessly, Abra hands her a cup of cold brew.

"Oh my god, thank you."

The creature almost smiles as it rakes its claws through her spiky hair. They cross the beach to a secluded place where a branch of the Solar Boardwalk begins in a shining black staircase. A sign on its railing warns of burns to those without closed-toed shoes. In the shadow of the first landing, Cyllene plops herself down and tries to focus on her breathing. Her heartbeat. Anything to tell her she's still alive and human.

The waves wash in, and she shudders.

"Volkner's still asleep, I take it."

Abra nods where it hovers beside her. It gestures at its left leg, claws closing in over the fur and teeth bared."

"I wish I wasn't so angry at everyone. First I'm a stranger, and now I'm making myself an enemy of kings. I'm too used to fighting. No matter how far I get, I keep getting immersed in what other people think. You didn't get to see Flint's bride call me a criminal because of the way my hair looks.

"And Flint himself! There's something about him… Well, no, it's not just anything. It's that he looks just like Zisu, and he's getting married just like Zisu did, and suddenly I'm told to be nice and look pretty on the altar next to her — him, I guess—"

Her partner curls up in her lap. Her head rests heavily against the black glass wall, and her heart is racing.

"I was angry at Zisu on her wedding day," Cyllene whispers. "I always was. It never went away. I should've been happy for her, but for two years I felt so alone. I felt different and ugly and… "

She feels Abra tense up in her lap. The creature makes a small squeak, tail whipping into the sand and scattering it across into the weeds.

"You were an insufferable wretch," comes a voice, and a new shadow spills darker and heavier over both of them.

Cyllene's eyes snap up. A figure looms — dressed in all black with a hood obscuring his face. With one hand, he plays catch with a modern Poké Ball. The other softly strokes a plump orange Raichu on the tip of its thunderbolt tail.

"Honestly," he continues. "Don't try and make me pity you. We all had our silly little traumas back then. No one in Hisui was of sound mind. You couldn't be. You, Captain, could've been great, but you chose to languish instead. At least you had one thing right — nothing of that village remains. Pity you won't get the credit for burning it down."

Abra suddenly seizes and collapses in her arms. Cyllene jerks, but before she can make it to her knees, the figure twitches two fingers, and Raichu's cheeks sparkle with power. A static shock pulses through the partly wet sand, shooting into her hands and locking her jaw up with pain.

"What the hell is this about?"

The figure responds with another strange gesture. Raichu creeps closer, curling its tail around one leg of Cyllene's sweatpants. A hot current blazes right through the fabric, and she can't help but whine in her throat.

"Scream," the man says. "Scream. Cry. You thought you were smart to come here. You thought no one could follow. You were wrong. "

Follow!? She was followed from the waste and distortion!? Cyllene strains to move her neck and get a better look at his face. A smile curves upward, little fangs digging into where they've already torn scars, and calmly he decides to indulge her, lifting away the dark hood.

"Hullo, witch," says Rei Fisher, with a ponytail and a thick black beard, but keeping the same scared gleam in his eyes that she's known for two years.

He waves his hand, and the current relaxes. Cyllene slumps into the sand, her whole body hot and tingling. Moving hurts, but somehow, she finds her footing.

"Rei. It's you. You've grown."

The man shakes his head. "I don't go by that name anymore. The Original One calls me Mercury. He gave me this body and shared with me the deepest secrets of the universe. His power runs through my blood as I stand here. It feels… out-of-this-world."

Her legs are asleep. Cyllene's face twists in anguish as she braces herself against the black glass. Furtively, one hand dives into a pocket of her jacket, squeezing around Luxray's Poké Ball and popping it open.

"I thought the Noble Pokémon killed everyone. The Bloodmoon Beast in the Mirelands… All those sleepwalkers—"

"Oh, they're dead, Cyllene. Dead and destroyed. Zisu. adamaN. All of them."

"But then—"

"Well, someone had to come and destroy you, too. The Original One won't be pleased otherwise. I'll gladly go last if it means you get to go first."

Luxray snarls. Sparks pour from the tip of his tail, and blue lightning crackling between his fangs. He lunges for Mercury's Raichu, and in an ozone-smelling flash, the two of them spit and screech and roll over the sand together. Claws tear at fur. Little strings of static lance out, bursting in the sand and billowing up as black smoke.

Mercury grabs Cyllene by the hair. She throws a punch, but he catches her fist and wrenches her whole arm behind her until her shoulder's bent funny and a wave of cold unease runs all the way down her back.

"Rei, I'm not a witch. I never meant to scare you—"

"I could kill you here and now for what you did to Professor Laventon. I'd revel in it. Truly. But in order to destroy you, we need you asleep. Can we make it a game? Coffee and sugar until you finally collapse and submit? The moment you sleepwalk, the moment it's over, and you don't have the Red Chain anymore to protect you."

He kicks over the cup of cold brew, and it sloshes out into the mud.

"LUXRAY!" Cyllene cries. "GO GET VOLKNER! Tell him to mmmph!"

A large, steady hand presses over her mouth. Mercury's eyes are glowing a deep, bloody red. For a frightening moment, Cyllene feels something turn over in her stomach. A gross, bubbly, twisty feeling — immediately familiar. Her eyes grow wide. Her heart is thundering in her chest, and she's powerless against it.

Then the fanged man laughs. He takes both hands away and uses them to make a grand sweeping motion — copied perfectly from Volkner's repertoire. Luxray's already on his hind legs raising a paw to strike, but before the claws scrape flesh, Raichu's tail stabs perfectly into his side and a shockwave blasts through the shadows, silencing the thunderous beast.

When the smoke clears, Luxray lies in the sand, stunned.

"Volkner doesn't know how to help you out of this. If he knew who you really are, he wouldn't even try."

Cyllene can't respond. By this point, there's no reason to argue. With all her strength, she shoves him away. Then she recalls Luxray into the Poké Ball, scooping up the dazed Abra and sprinting back down the beach.

"Volkner… We have to find Volkner…"

He's chasing her. Catching up far too easily when he's used to shocks. Since when? Cyllene thinks, and then chalks it up to Space and Time and whatever tricks this "Original One" wants to play with her.

"Aye, Captain!" Mercury shouts. "If we can get Volkner on our side, we'll have lightning at our fingertips! We'll succeed in our mission at last!"

"Our mission? "

She has to risk a glance. People have heard his words. All around her, the women in scanty strings and the guys in nothing but shorts are staring, mouths wide open. There are dozens of anxious faces. A hundred eyes narrowed in on her face and form. Everyone's standing completely still. The beach is silent, save for the crash of white foam and the distant drone of a flying machine that cuts the sky in two.

The black hoodie is unzipped and thrown away. Beneath it, her stalker wears a light gray vest that hugs a skintight black turtleneck. The left breast bears a spiked golden G, just like the one on Cyllene's jacket sleeves. The entire beach gasps in horror. Some start screaming. Others draw Poké Balls, throwing them down like firecrackers and watching all manner of magical creatures come to life out of pillars of light.

Mercury grins at them, clearly impressed with himself. His muscles bulge through the fabric; whatever he's gained through his strange communion is more dangerous than he's willing to tell. He's totally high on life.

"Or should I just say, 'Welcome back to Sunyshore City, Captain! And for the infinite glory of Team Galactic, I, Commander Mercury, am at your service! We will be immortal! We will be gods!"

"Stop!" Cyllene snaps back. "You're not making any sen—"

"YANMEGA! GET ME STEADY! NINIGON! BUG BUZZ! SILENCE THAT BASTARD!"

A gargantuan insect swoops down from the sky, dark green segmented tail twitching. It sweeps side to side on four great wings, and standing upright on its back is a furious Aaron, both hands vibrating as he commands the smaller Ninigon to circle Mercury and drown out his voice.

In an uproar, the beachgoers cheer. Yanmega spirals upward, Aaron balancing perfectly. It's as if he wills the bug to rise — a living platform that grants him the powers of the sky. The hairs on its six legs twitch and grab at the air. Its bulbous eyes gleam pink and white in the sunlight.

"If it isn't Aaron the bug catcher!" Mercury cries. "RAICHU! THUNDERB—!"

"FURY CUTTER!"

Ninigon blurs and becomes a shadow, striking at Raichu too fast to see. The plump rodent's sparks fizzle erratically. It skitters around as if blind, searching the sky for something it can't quite trace.

"DRAGON DANCE, THEN POISON STING! VESPIQUEN, ATTACK ORDER! DRAPION, TAIL WHIP AND SPIKES AT THE READY!"

By now, the man with the G on his chest has drawn allies. There's a svelte, fanged mammal with flames around its neck. A great raptor plucking blood feathers from its own wings to use as arrows. And then, inevitably, the thousand-pound curly-furred Snorlax, who gurgles and roars and throws itself at a spiked purple ogre of a Pokémon swinging its scythe-tipped tail.

"Come on!" Candice shouts at Cyllene. "Let's get out while they're distracted! Aaron can take care of things here. He's got a big grudge to work from."

She hasn't even noticed the cruel girl is here. Cyllene tugs her arm away, but the grip of those fake nails is stronger than it looks, and while Aaron's partners tear up the sand with their barrage of sparkling scales, she's being led off toward the silver staircase and Sunyshore proper. All around, her Glaceon kicks up a miniature storm of diamond dust that hides them in a cloud of foggy white.

"Run," Candice urges. "Everyone's going to the gym to set up for the reception. We can go through the woods. If any idiots try to follow, I'll freeze their hearts right where they stand."

"Luxray's hurt bad!" Cyllene chokes out, almost slamming into a silver pillar holding up the boardwalk.

"Luxray'll be fine. I'm sure it's nothing jumper cables can't fix—"

"But I don't understand. Team Galactic? What… What did that creep mean—"

"Look, trash-talking the Elite Four in the middle of the market didn't help your case, space cadet, but—"

"What's my CASE!?"

"OH MY GOD, QUIT YOUR TRY-ME ATTITUDE!" Candice shrieks. She takes Cyllene's hand firmly and marches with her in the shadows of the Boardwalk, her whole face drowning in disbelief.

"Do you trust me?" asks the cold girl.

Cyllene shakes her head.

"Do you trust Volkner?"

This time, she's hesitant. It's the smallest little pool of warmth rising up in her chest that tips her into mouthing yes.

Candice rolls her eyes. "Fuck," she growls. "Just… fuck. WHY?"

"Don't ask me!"

"And obviously I won't," Candice sasses right back. They've reached the final staircase leading to the neighborhood where Vista Village stands tall. "But if you don't want stares, then you need a new hairstyle and an outfit that shows your curves, stat, and I guess it's my job to make it happen."

~N~

Hey! This is a long time coming, and I've never said anything like this before, (since I joined FFN in February 2017,) but it's been an excellent past six months for me. Moving, traveling to Europe again, starting physical therapy, buying an air fryer and stuff. So I'm in a place now to make this important announcement:

I'm taking a brief break from fanfiction so I can finish the manuscript for my original novel, "Faster Than Light For Uninteresting Girls," and take the next steps toward becoming a published author IRL.

Where it NeVer RɅins is STILL a priority. (This chapter ends on a huge cliffhanger, so of course, lol.) But with my 25th birthday coming up this year, I really want to double-down and get my weirdness banged out. (It's… it's really weird, lol. Like, way weirder transformations than this story.)

At the very least, I'll be away from FFN and AO3 for a few months. If you want to reach out, I'm always active on Discord with the same username, so please send a friend request there!

Originally posted by scrivenernoodz on AO3 and FFN January 1st, 2025. Thanks for reading! Don't repost.