As the setting sun slowly sank into the horizon, its fell embers reflected against the vibrant green details of the land below. Somewhere in this faded red evening luster, in a wide grassy field nestled within an even wider forest, a stout man was hidden among tall stalks of grass. He lay prone in a small patch of soft dirt, and where his body met the ground, layers of mud had caked up and melded to his person. He was middle-aged, though his ragged complexion belied a much older appearance. His hand moved to massage his eyes, where deep, dark lines ran underneath, built up from days of unrest. Akin to how a predator might stalk its prey, his body remained still and steady as his eyes scanned the scenery. Each breath he took caused ripples of motion throughout his body, oxygen-deprived blood rushing to his aching muscles. He had thus learned to stifle his breathing so as to not perturb the grass around him. Still, his lungs fought for more air, as was their purpose, and every breath was heavier than the last. After hours of repetition, his movement became more pronounced; his doubts gnawed deeper into his psyche; all things that might appear unremarkable to the hunted would stand out to the hunter. Still, he remained concealed within the grass, determined to see through whatever conviction had him bound there. Unfortunately, the forest recognized him the moment he stepped foot under its first tree, and it saw that he did not belong. Suddenly, the man's body tensed up, his hollow eyes now filled with life. His attention was directed towards a small parting in the grass, just wide enough to make out the details of a creature not so far from where the man lay.
A green segmented body built from an exoskeleton, like an overgrown bug, with a thin set of wings like a hornet's; a lone scyther roved among the tall grass. It slowly shambled about, its body hunched forward while the wings were motionless, save the occasional twitch. It appeared as if a snarl had permanently lodged itself into its face and its eyes were glazed over, the man assumed in blind rage. Despite its rabid appearance, though, it quietly and slowly made its way across the plot of grass. It seemed almost peaceful within this setting; the sun falling into the treeline, the cast shadows encroaching upon this small grass sanctuary. The man's eyes did not waver in their judgment of the creature. He observed the path the scyther had created from stepping among the grass around it. It led out south of the clearing, to the left of where he was currently hidden. The man weighed his options. If the scyther had been coming from its home, then he could wait for it to leave so he could safely follow the south path into the forest. He'd report the location of its home to the authorities so they could take care of the rest. Then, he could finally go back home and get the rest his body so desperately yearned for. Alternatively, the scyther might not have been traveling from anywhere significant, in which case he'd have to follow it until it finally returned to wherever it was nesting. He suppressed the rising dread that had been conjured by that thought and continued. Realistically, he bartered with himself, he could just return now and inform people of the fact that he spotted a scyther within this area. That much info was likely enough for those who were much more competent than him in these matters. Interrupting his thought process, his attention was drawn back to the scyther, which had abruptly halted halfway across the glade. Its body was shuddering and tensing up, its eyes and ears scrutinizing every bit of sensory information around it. The surrounding field of grass was expansive, and the forest surrounding the field was even wider, yet the only life that could be observed was the swaying grass, the wild scyther, and the tired middle-aged man. Even still, the scyther stayed ever so vigilant, ready to hunt down any poor soul it noticed first. Luckily, the man was still hidden well enough so as to not fall in the scyther's line of sight, which continued to sweep across the area. In contrast to this, the man's eyes were affixed directly onto the scythers sharp figure. Before he even realized it, a dark determination began to well in the back of his mind. As he observed the scyther, his body had begun to stiffen in anticipation, and he began to slowly and meticulously move his hand to his waist. There, in a pouch attached to his belt, three shining red and white pokeballs sat waiting to be used. Slow, slowly, the man urged his arm to move even slower still. Whatever impatience within him that survived from hours of lying in wait was quelled by the deathly pressure he now felt enshroud the entire area. His deeply worn eyes stayed fixed to the scyther's figure, watching its every movement and picking up on its every indication. He watched as its long scythe hands flew through the long shoots of grass, accidentally cutting through some with its sinister edge. One of the scythes twitched and the scyther once again stopped in its tracks, causing the man's hand to immediately freeze in place. He tried to stay composed; meanwhile, the cold sweat running down his back and pulsing anxiety in his heart begged him to flee. What was simply a fleeting moment felt like ages to a man who had already been hiding for hours. Eventually, rewarding the man's patience, the scyther loosened again, seemingly uninterested in whatever it had detected. As relief washed over the man, his attention was soon diverted back to his hand, which had found its way into the pouch at his waist and now firmly gripped a pokeball in its palm. The man's stare followed the scyther as he contemplated his next course of action. To catch it in one fell swoop, he'd have to wait for the perfect moment when the scyther is caught off guard. Given the Scyther's behavior, one could only guess how long that could take. When handling a possibly dangerous pokemon, it was still preferable to having to weaken the pokemon in battle.
Of course, most pokemon weren't really that "dangerous," so to speak. Sure, they had the capability to cause problems, but even the more territorial pokemon interacted at least somewhat amicably with humans. Nevertheless, pokemon like the scyther the man was searching for were an exception. Whether it was due to the circumstances of their upbringing or just the innate inclinations gifted to them by nature, when left to their own devices, they could go on to cause significant damage. Thus, once encountered, these wild pokemon were usually handled accordingly. The man didn't exactly know what that "according method" would be for the scyther after he caught it, but the grim situation that led him to this point painted an equally grim future for the pokemon. Of course, all this only mattered if he could even catch the scyther. Watching closely, the man clutched the pokeball tightly in his pouch as he waited for an opening. While he knew this area must be near the scyther's territory, he had no clue why the scyther was sticking around here for so long. There were no other pokemon around for it to chase away, it didn't appear to be running away from anything, and whatever other reason there could've been eluded the man's mind. The man wasn't really certain it had reason to be here to begin with, its mind so far gone now that all it cared to do was wander aimlessly and attack. The moment the scyther might lower its guard seemed to be so distant, and the man shuddered at the thought of how long he might have to lie here, waiting. No, he thought to himself, it will have to rest at some point; perhaps when it finds something to eat, there might be a moment of relaxation. Even better if it can't find anything and collapses from exhaustion. Could he last that long? Perhaps he would be the scyther's next meal. The man closed his eyes and tried to steel his resolve. He begged his heart to still its pace and pleaded with his arms to cease their trembling. The man felt peace in the fact that he had even made it this far. He tried to remind himself of how close he might be to the finish line, yet hesitation, fatigue, and fear began to outpace him in this race. The faint sound of his tired breaths, the shaking of his weakened muscles, and that fear... all these irregularities would usually have been unremarkable, but now...
Opening his eyes, what little courage the man had mustered vanished like smoke at the sight that lay before him: the scyther was gone. Had the scyther finally spotted some poor pokemon for its next meal and given chase? Had he really been distracted that long? Or... had the scyther seen him? The man reasoned with himself and suppressed his panic. If the scyther had noticed him, the man concluded that he would've long since been dealt with by now. So, where had the scyther gone? The man could barely see the trail of trampled and cut grass from his position on the floor. Worried the scyther would have gotten too far, he slowly began to pick himself up off the ground in order to follow its trail. The lower half of his body felt entirely numb, and his shaking arms and legs threatened to collapse in on themselves due to hours of sitting idle. As the man moved carefully, he felt the faint evening wind brush against the skin of his neck. The sky had begun to shift from its dull red tinge to a deep, dark navy blue, and its sight inspired a sad nostalgia in the man's eyes. Then, even fainter than the passing breeze, an uncanny noise from behind him pricked his ears, quiet enough to barely be perceived. Immediately the man whipped around, and not even 3 feet from him, the scyther loomed silently, blank eyes facing his direction. The man's legs spasmed and buckled from the unexpected movement, and he stumbled backward back onto the ground. The scyther simply stood there motionless with its mouth slightly agape, which revealed a sharp set of teeth. So it had detected him? Perhaps it was not the violent pokemon he was after? The man's confusion mixed and melded with his terror, causing him to sit quivering in the face of what he thought would be his demise. Each moment was like an eternity of time he felt slipping away from him, an eternity of waiting for the fruits of his mistakes. An eternity of stress and even an eternity of relief, that this whole charade would finally end. Except, did eternities usually last this long? The moments passed and continued to pass, and the man was still there, all in one piece. The scyther stood there silently staring at the man; the man sat silently and stared back. Did it perhaps not see him as a threat? Had it not interacted with humans before? This could very well just have been some good-natured pokemon, not the one he was searching for; he couldn't imagine this scenario would've played out otherwise. He began to feel a bit silly for his previous fear of the pokemon and he relaxed slightly. In any case, this could be his chance to escape, he thought to himself. While it seemed like a very simple-minded scyther, he couldn't take any chances. If he continued to move very slowly, then he could throw out one of his own pokemon to fend it off for a bit while he runs away. Then he could recall his pokemon and hide in the forest. The man imagined what a funny story this would be, how great it would be to see his village and family again. At this thought, a forlorn shadow crept across the man's face, and he began to recall what led him to this point. The scyther's arm twitched once again, the point of its scythe flitting above the ground. The man's eyes were drawn to it, where he immediately noticed a small detail he had not seen when he had watched it from afar. There, on the flat side of the blade arm hanging stiffly from the motionless scyther in front of him, was a minuscule dried-up red stain, barely noticeable. A dark recognition flashed across the man's eyes.
This was the scyther he was looking for! As the man stared at the small red blotch on its otherwise clean arm, he struggled with the dread and despair inside him. Coming to his aid, though, were the memories of his family and his friends back at his village, and determination began to boil away his pessimistic thoughts. If he left this scyther to its own devices, if he ran away now, what had happened to his village would happen to others as well. A rage also began to cook inside of him, fueled by the pride this creature had shattered. His hands began to tighten and tremble with anger, and he felt his grip on the pokeball tighten in the bag at his side. He slowly began to bring it out of the bag, watching for any sudden reactions from the scyther which stayed watching him from where it stood. Its eyes didn't seem to even be following any of the man's movements; it just stared straight at the man's chest, almost like it was looking right through him. When the pokeball was fully revealed, though, the scythers' undilated eyes immediately honed in on the shiny red ball in the man's hand, causing the man to flinch considerably. In a panic, the man immediately tried to throw the pokeball at the scyther. The man watched as the ball spun through the air; each spin felt impossibly long. Had he done it? Would this nightmare finally be over? The scyther's eyes affixed themselves to the ball, and the man waited for its reaction. In its gaze, the man could almost see a gleam of recognition at the pokeball's reflection. Like a flood of mania, the scyther's pupils glazed over and a shrill noise, like a sharp edge being dragged over steel, poured out from its snarled mouth. In one swift motion, the scyther brought its sleek arm up and sliced the pokeball in half. Mere moments ago, the man felt success to be inches away, but now he stared down his hopes, sliced in two and scattered on the ground. The shadow of the scyther's arm raced over it, eclipsing the man in his entirety. The man looked up to see the raised blade, poised to reap what little hope had been left. All the man could do was meekly raise one hand up in protest, his other frozen at his side. In less than the blink of an eye, his life would be snuffed out by a being more adept and ruthless than he could ever be. Despondent, he resigned himself to his fate… yet once again moment after moment passed, and he remained in this world. Moving his hand slightly, he could see that the scyther had stopped in its tracks now inches from him, its arm still raised, ready to attack. It shook and twitched like a broken machine still trying to function. It hissed and bared its teeth at the man like its intent to attack had never faded, yet it fought against its own movements like a man conflicted. The man was dumbfounded by his situation, that by some miracle he still remained alive. The man's once frozen hand moved towards his pouch, where his pokemon lay resting in their pokeballs. The will to flee had completely receded within him, eclipsed by his desire to triumph in the face of this fortune. He watched the scyther struggle with whatever conflicts plagued its mind and thought happily on how, as a human, he would not make that mistake now. All his emotions over the past few hours began to compound within him. When he had once been so powerless, now he could remedy his broken pride. Tickled by this thought of retribution, he grasped one of his pokeballs, and slowly began to pull it out of his pouch. In the last dying light of the falling sun, the pokeballs shone as he pulled one out. The scyther saw this and immediately sprung to life once again, quickly advancing on the man.
This time, though, the man was prepared and immediately backed away from the scyther before he prepared to release his pokemon. Two hunters, juxtaposed as man and pokemon. All that was left was for the victor to be determined, one winner in a deadly encounter. Yet, before this, the man took one last look at the scyther. Its eyes held a pain as they eyed down their adversary, the man standing in their reflection. Deep down, despite the man's reluctance to relate to this beast, he understood this pain. Even further down, the man imagined a different world, a world where this pokemon lived with him and his family. A world where it played with his kids and helped around the house. A brighter, more peaceful world. Yet hunters should not wish for peace, and these otherwise harmless thoughts caused him to hesitate for just a moment. In this same moment, the scyther advanced on him at blinding speed, and regret did not come slowly this time but instead passed the man in a blur. In seconds a large gash appeared on the man's shoulder, and he was sent sprawled out on his back, blood leaking from the wound. The scyther had glided past him and now doubled back to finish the job. Despite his pain, he could only think of the irony, that the hunter would so easily become the hunted. He felt quite fed up with this whole hunter and prey nonsense, quite frankly. Like a fool he thought he could conquer nature, and yet he only fed into its cycle. At the very least, as he watched the scyther slowly approach him, he felt relieved that he would no longer be contributing to such a system. He cursed the cycle of violence that led to this point. Still, as the scyther's blades reached ever closer to him, he felt the pull of life within him. He still wanted to live. Was there any way he could, in this scenario? Please, he begged with all his heart, if there is any chance at salvation, then let it be so! Even if he had to continue to contribute to this cycle, he still wanted to live. Then, the scyther was upon him, and he closed his eyes.
"...STARVY, USE WHIRLWIND!"
Suddenly, a massive gust of wind blew both the man and the scyther away, sending the scyther tumbling across the grass and the man rolled over onto his side. The man clutched his shoulder and clenched his teeth as the sharp pain from his wound spiked down into his nervous system. He watched, bewildered, as the scyther slowly got up and reoriented itself, somehow even angrier now. It dashed back towards the man and let out another guttural cry, but was interrupted when a young girl appeared in between them, throwing a big blue jacket she'd been wearing into the scyther's line of sight. She wore a black shirt with a pink skirt, and atop her head was a white beanie. Despite her somewhat small stature, she stood tall and dignified; to the man, she appeared resplendent with the very bravery he lacked. Her eyes, however, presented a much darker impression of her character. Cold, nearly lifeless eyes took in all surroundings and confidently faced her opponent. A staravia gracefully flew down and landed on her shoulder. Her name was Dawn.
She looked back towards the man, whose eyes gleamed with awe and gratitude towards his savior. "You're a real moron, y'know that?"