The Quest for the Legends, now with its ILCOETH revision!

[Dragonfree]

For your convenience, I'll have a chapter index here, which will link you to the post each chapter is in so you won't have to search through all those pages.

Spoiler: Chapter index

Prologue
- Extra I: Chalenor
Chapter 1: The Pokémon on the Road
- Extra II: Wait a minute... levels?
Chapter 2: The Book
Chapter 3: Vuiii!
- Extra III: The Agreement
Chapter 4: Cleanwater City
Chapter 5: The Lake of Purity
Chapter 6: The Mammal, the Monster and the Mental Change
Chapter 7: Charmeleon's Trainer
- Extra IV: The Full Story
Chapter 8: The Master of the Clones
Chapter 9: Mew's Escape
Chapter 10: The Mew Hunter
Chapter 11: The Lizard and the Mantis
Chapter 12: Let There Be Light
Chapter 13: The Black Desert
Chapter 14: Thief and Victim
Chapter 15: Darkness and Poison
Chapter 16: The Third Badge
Chapter 17: The Shark and the Serpent
Chapter 18: Enemies Forever
Chapter 19: Good or Evil?
Chapter 20: The Warning
The Pokémon Festival - May 21st: Evolution
The Pokémon Festival - May 22nd: The Attack Approval
The Pokémon Festival - May 23rd: The Pokémon Frenzy Tournament
The Pokémon Festival - May 24th: The Threat
The Pokémon Festival - May 25th: Chaletwo's Arrival
Chapter 26: Dead or Alive
Chapter 27: Past, Present and Future
- Extra V: Guilty
Chapter 28: Scyther's Revenge
Chapter 29: Stormblade and Shadowdart
Chapter 30: The Dragons of Ouen
Chapter 31: Spirit
Chapter 32: The Birthday Party
Chapter 33: Thunderyu
Chapter 34: Return to Cleanwater
Chapter 35: Suicune
Chapter 36: The Crater
Chapter 37: Carl
Chapter 38: Volcaryu
Chapter 39: The Workings of the War
Chapter 40: In the Dark
Chapter 41: Return to Scorpio City
Chapter 42: Splitting Up
Chapter 43: To Champion Island
Chapter 44: Polaryu
Chapter 45: The Ouen League HQ
The Ouen League - Chapter 46: Day One
- Extra VI: Letting Go
The Ouen League - Chapter 47: The First Preliminary
The Ouen League - Chapter 48: The Second Preliminary
The Ouen League - Chapter 49: The Rage of a Scyther
The Ouen League - Chapter 50: Friendly Competition
Chapter 51: Fake-Out
Chapter 52: The League Finals
- Extra VII: April Fools
Chapter 53: Away
Chapter 54: Reunion
Chapter 55: Unprepared
Chapter 56: The Ouen Safari
Chapter 57: Three Conversations
Chapter 58: Sins of the Mother
Chapter 59: December
Chapter 60: The Swarm
Chapter 61: Mewtwo
Chapter 62: Diplomacy
Chapter 63: Recovery
Chapter 64: Hide and Seek
Chapter 65: Three Dragons
Chapter 66: Doubts
Chapter 67: Friends
Chapter 68: Truths
Chapter 69: Lies
Chapter 70: Waraider
The Final Stretch - Chapter 71: Shattered
The Final Stretch - Chapter 72: Rick
The Final Stretch - Chapter 73: Recuperation
The Final Stretch - Chapter 74: Unraveling
The Final Stretch - Chapter 75: Mewtwo²
Chapter 76: Chalenor
Chapter 77: Home

PM list (post if you want to be on it or removed from it, but if you like it enough to want to be on the PM list and are posting anyway, I would really appreciate if you included an actual review and not just a "Please put me on the PM list"):

Kaizer; Sike Saner; fishyfool; Ysavvryl; SamuraiDragon1; Razor Shiftry; Estuary; Seiryu; Amras.MG; TheSequelReturns; GastlyMan; moonlightning; gmoyes; Chimpchar; biggggg5; Agent Tectonic; Wartiger97; Sidewinder

Note: From now on, every time I post a new chapter I will actually go through this list and remove anyone from the PM list who hasn't been online for a couple of months during which I have been posting chapters. If they do come online, they'll see a PM about at least one new chapter anyway, which would make them at least check the thread again. Also, if you're interested enough to be on the PM list and not want to get yourself removed from it, it really is common courtesy to leave a review to let me know you're actually reading those chapters I keep PMing you about, m'kay?



NOTE FOR NEW READERS (3/3/2012; edited 2/20/2013)

This fic is not very good. That's not modesty talking; it's the decade of writing and general life experience that I've acquired since I first started it. Today I criticize the hell out of fics that do many of the same things I did in the first thirty or so chapters of this fic (it gets somewhat better after chapter 31 or so). I'm still writing it because I'm stubborn as a mule and still love it as my demented little brainchild, warts and all, but there are warts, not as in "Well, it's not perfect" but as in "No, really, there's a wart right here, and here's an exact diagnosis of why it's definitely a wart."

Lots of people seem to enjoy it anyway, and that's great - I love entertaining people, and I sincerely hope it manages to engage you too if you read it (after all, even if your child has warts, you still love them and want them to do well in life). But this does mean you should keep a couple of things in mind:

1) Do not try to reassure me that there are no warts. Again, this isn't modesty talking and I'm not fishing for praise. If something doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother you, but that doesn't mean it isn't a bad thing generally. I'm thrilled if you like it in spite of its flaws, but it is not flattering to insist that there are no flaws, any more than it would be flattering to tell you you're ten feet tall when you know as a matter of fact that you aren't.

2) Do not imitate me. While this is a reasonably popular fic, please do not ever think along the lines of, "Well, Dragonfree got away with it, so it must be okay" - not in response to a vague hunch that something seems off about an idea you had, not in response to a reviewer telling you it's a bad idea, not in response to another author who is laboring to avoid it. No, giving your characters pseudo-legendaries with a half-baked justification about how a conservation project just happened to be releasing a bunch of them in the exact time and place the characters are is not good writing. Neither is starting your main plot a full third into the story. Neither is making your character's Pokémon wax lyrical about how amazing he is because he cares about Pokémon. Neither is making Nurse Joy entrust rare Pokémon who are young and injured to your protagonist, even if he was the one to bring the Pokémon in. Neither is lengthily describing the appearance of every Pokémon species that appears in the story. And so on. As a general principle, a story getting readers doesn't actually mean it's good, much less that every choice the author made writing it was a good one: "It's in this popular book/fic/movie" is not an argument that something constitutes good storytelling, only that people may be willing to look past it. Do not let this story inspire you to make the same stupid choices I did.

3) I already know. So if those early warts do bother you, there is, generally, no need to point them out - you can if you want to, of course, but odds are I've been aware of all the ridiculousness you're noticing in the first thirty or so chapters for several years by now, so writing up lengthy criticism of it is probably not a very productive use of your time unless you just really enjoy ranting for its own sake. By all means glue those criticism-goggles back on when/if you get past those earlier chapters, however - insightful criticism on stuff that isn't already making me facepalm is incredibly valuable and I welcome it.




-------
RATING

Violence: None, but the whole thing is aftermath of violence.

Gore: A bit. Well... quite a bit, actually.

Sexuality: None at all.

Profanity: None.

Other: Nothing special.
------



Prologue

The flaming remains of a town burned sadly in the sharp wind. On the singed ground lay bodies.

Humans, mostly. The plant-less soil was littered with them. Dry blood colored it dark red. Most of them were pretty much in one piece; a few were still weakly breathing although they would certainly never wake up again without medical aid.

There were also several virtually torn apart corpses. They were not of humans. It was like a supernatural being had swept past with the sole intention of killing those but its mere presence had made everything else drop dead too.

The mutilated ones were powerful creatures known as Legendary Pokémon. There were twelve or so dead Legendary Pokémon in these former streets in total – although admittedly, only two of them were not in bloody bits with their guts spread around.

Both had somewhat catlike shapes. One had blood-stained whitish-pink fur; it was rather simple-looking, with stubs for ears, small front paws but large, rabbit-like back legs, and a long, thin tail ending in an oval shape.

The other one looked a bit similar to the pink one, but a lot larger; it was whitish gray with a deep violet, muscular tail; it narrowed towards the similar oval on the tail end. The ears were smaller in comparison to the head and more pointed than the pink one’s. The overall shape of the body was more human; it had long, bony arms with three ball-like fingers although the legs were more like a kangaroo’s. It had a large, bleeding wound in the middle of its chest.

The pink one stirred. It was still breathing. The life slowly returned to the little body. A leg twitched. Soon enough, its eyes opened.

“Mew?”

The small creature rose up and stared wide-eyed at the destruction.

The Legendary Pokémon levitated a meter or so into the air as its big, innocent-looking sapphire blue eyes fearfully scanned the area.

Then it stopped, kicked the air with both legs and darted towards the place it was staring at.

Terrified, the Legendary looked upon a black, feline-like head. It had likely belonged to a Legendary Pokémon the size of a leopard or so. Two neon green stripes pointed downwards from the top of its head. The same green shade was also on six long spikes which sprouted from the back of its head, three on each side, and on two slash-like markings on either side of the muzzle. The left eye socket was empty; what had been the right eyeball was now merely a torn, bloody mess.

The pink Legend’s disbelieving eyes stared at the severed head in horror.

“Chalenor!” sounded a desperate telepathic scream. But nobody was around to hear it.

 

[Daatingu]

Very nice. Description was good and length was Ok for a progule. Sounds like a good start to a story. The only thing I would point out is that you used the number 45 instead of forty-five. It may not bother others but after some time, reading numbers becomes an eye sore, it also shows a bit of laziness on the author's part. Besides that, I really enjoyed it. You're doing a good job. Keep it up.

 

[Indigo]

Wow. This is very good!

Your desciption here is excellent. I can picture everything you are describing. Even the desciption of the Pokémon is dead-on. Excellent work.

The originality of this fic is also excellent from what I've heard. Very suspenseful and dark. I like it a lot.

I really have nothing constructive to say about this. It really is excellent. You should be proud. Keep up the great work!

 

[mattgcn]

whoa!!! description, description...and gore..i'm gonna go read the real one now to see what the heck is going on ^^

 

[Dragonfree]

beauinmexico: I always write out numbers if they aren't that high or in a character's speech. Probably because in Icelandic, written numbers higher than twenty are to be avoided at all costs due to being something like "níuhundruðníutíuogníu", so I've gotten used to doing it like that. I'll try to keep the lower ones in mind, but don't count on it, I write the numbers pretty automatically.

Indigo and mattgcn: I must warn you... I usually don't describe like that. That is, I have a really strong feeling for whether what I'm writing sounds natural. When the story itself starts, it's written in "Focused third person" as I call it - like in the Harry Potter books, things are described as the main character sees them. Therefore, I feel this alarm every time I'm starting to describe something the main character isn't paying attention to, and ultimately, this results in less description (not very little or anything, just less). Um... most of the things I want to say will be said in an author's note before chapter one, so I guess I won't bother now, I'd just be repeating myself... by the way, mattgcn, don't read the old one. Trust me... if you like description, you aren't going to last long in it, because if there's little description in the new version of chapter one, the old version is bordering on script. Besides, you don't need to read them at all - I'm starting over here, from the beginning.

 

[Insulters]

We are 3 people!!!!
1st person:i was walking when i came to a cave and went inside.
2nd person:A pertrifing story and terrible ending.\
3rd person:?????????

 

[Dragonfree]

We are 3 people!!!!
1st person:i was walking when i came to a cave and went inside.
2nd person:A pertrifing story and terrible ending.\
3rd person:?????????

Umm... what exactly is that supposed to be?

 

[mattgcn]

I know what is is, a trip to Banerica!!! XD [/Dragonfree]

Well, I read the old chapter one, it was ok. Trust me, if it has a good plot, but its boring, ill last, trust me!

 

[Dragonfree]

Anyway, this fic has little thingies called "Extras" which are anything that's not a part of the story but rather background information, in-depth explanations of things, flashbacks, etc., basically whatever that is not a part of the main storyline, something that a reader can technically skip because the information in them is just fun stuff people might like knowing. Some of it *could* have been implemented into the fic itself, but you know, I used to write this fic with the characters reading posters and stuff with this kind of information, and it just disrupted the storyline while readers didn't even have to know it, so they're better off in Extras. You might have noticed that I mentioned Extra II in the notes; it's Extra I now. It's background information, so no rating.




----EXTRA I----

Chalenor

Chalenor, despite being dead, plays a rather important part in the story in a special way I won’t spoil. Therefore, he deserves his own little piece of background info. Besides, of course, that he’s veeeery interesting.

Chalenor’s head has been described, but you can find his full-body picture here (the neck is too long).

Chalenor was the most powerful Legendary Pokémon before the events leading to the rather depressing beginning of this fic. His power lies in his eyes. They have the power to blow up or kill (depending on whether it is an inanimate object or a living creature) whatever they are pointed at. His own eyelids are the only solid matter that can withstand the power (a strong Pokémon’s defense shield can do it too, though), and therefore he must keep his eyes closed in order not to destroy everything he looks at. The eyelids work as a filter, rather than a block: when they’re down, they stop the destructive power, but let special harmless radiation (which the eyes also emit) through, which is what allows Chalenor to see his surroundings plus through walls, metals or even the Earth’s core itself depending on what he wishes to see (meaning, basically, that from any point of the planet, he can see anything on it). On the other hand, when they’re open, Chalenor is blind because not even the echo of his own sight rays withstands the power of his open eyes.

Chalenor, however, always keeps his eyes closed, not using them as weapons, due to being the Guardian of Life. Why the Guardian of Life can perform “Death stare”? You’ll see…

Chalenor is a Dark/Psychic type (yes, despite being the Guardian of Life, he’s a Dark type; another thing you’ll see later), and in order from highest to lowest, his stats go: Special attack, Speed, Attack, Special defense, HP, Defense (oh, there I go with the gameboy stats again). The most interesting thing about him, however, is probably those neon green parts mentioned especially in the prologue.

They actually aren’t always neon green. Those who know HTML will know how the hex color codes work, right? Well, their color works exactly like that.

For people who don’t know how the hex color codes work, a quick explanation: There are three base colors, red, green and blue. The value for each color can be up to 255. 0 of all the colors makes black, 255 for all of them makes white (basically, the higher the total value is, the lighter the color is). Red and green mixed make yellow, otherwise everything about the blending works the same as you should have been taught in Art class sometime.

For Chalenor, red stands for anger, blue stands for sadness, and green stands for being nervous, desperate, uneasy, hyper, etc., basically not being calm. Just like they mix into Chalenor’s mood at a given moment, the color on Chalenor’s green parts (well, green on the picture, even though he does look very content on it) change accordingly. I’ll leave it up to you to try to figure out why they were green when he was dead.

Chalenor is pronounced CHA-leh-nor.

Yeah, that’s it for what I can say without spoiling…



(By the way, I know what you're thinking, a super-powerful Pokémon to be caught by the trainer, since it's a part-trainer fic, but NO, Chalenor is dead and is staying dead. And the last thing he would do would be starting to obey a human, he has much better things to do than battling for some kid. Actually, he never battles at all because he's the Guardian of Life, so... well, that's out of the picture. Don't worry.)

 

[Daatingu]

Very Cool Dragonfree. Giving backround information like that really gives the reader something to look forward to in a story. Did you draw Chalenor yourself? It looks great. Dang, I'm starting to look forward to this Fic even more. Keep it up.

 

[Dragonfree]

I guess I'll just post chapter one...

[Edit: Yeah, I drew that Chalenor... I had artistic inspiration while I wrote the prologue and stopped in the middle to draw whatever came out of my pencil.]



-------
RATING

Violence: None.

Gore: None.

Sexuality: None.

Profanity: Nothing real. Just one occurrance of “butt”, if you're going to be really picky.

Other: Nothing special.
-------





Chapter 1: The Pokémon on the Road

Exactly 999 years later, it was a beautiful morning in the town of Sailance, North-West Ouen.

The trees’ branches swayed gently in the soft breeze, providing a constant, quiet rustle. The sun was rising, coloring the sky in a glorious, vibrant red. The air was comfortably warm and fresh. The only thing the scenery lacked was birdsong. That was also the only part of it that Mark Greenlet even remotely cared about.

He was short, thin, dark-haired, and currently on the way to school. A year ago, he would’ve been with his best friend Alex, chatting and feeling good. Now, Alex was probably somewhere with his Totodile having fun, while Mark was home in Sailance, walking alone, quiet and feeling miserable.

Mark’s parents were over-protective. There was no question about that. Almost all the other kids had been taken to Green town last year to receive a Pokémon from Ash Ketchum. Out of the ones left, Mark was the only one who had been looking forward to it for his whole life, only to have his parents tell him that it was too dangerous. What did they know, anyway – they had never been trainers and had lived in North-West Ouen for their whole lives.

The problem was that North-West Ouen had no Pokémon in it, for some reason that Pokémon experts had always debated about. The people who lived there were all lawyers or other rich people who wanted a life in peace without Pokémon and little kids asking them for a battle all day. And if there was anything that people who had lived there for more than thirty years did not understand, it was the concept of Pokémon training. Mark’s parents kept pointing out to him the possibility of getting a ‘real’ job. A programmer? How about a professional artist, since you draw so well? They would ask questions like that every time he mentioned that he wanted a Pokémon of his own, and were absolutely incapable of understanding how he felt when all his classmates and friends left.

Mark walked into the school building. He hated it, especially the prison-like outwards appearance and that dull, lifeless, rock-gray color of it. Mark loved living things; he had since he was little, and likewise hated cold rock because it was so lifeless. The corridors were even duller, even grayer and even more lifeless, which only added to the depressing feeling of the whole building. To top it all, all the students were snappy and irritated, usually because they wanted to train Pokémon, and the teachers were all snappy and irritated too, simply because of what the whole environment was like.

Mark’s first lesson on Thursdays was Battling Strategies, a branch of Pokémonology. He sighed as he sat down in front of the classroom. What a waste of time for somebody like him who was never going to get to train Pokémon anyway. Besides, whether it was because of his rather negative opinion on the classes or because he would rather spend them drawing on the back of his school papers, he was completely lousy at Pokémonology. For tests, he desperately sank himself into the textbook and sure enough, he managed to learn the bits of the text he found the most interesting pretty well. The problem was that they always asked about the most boring and uninteresting things, such as the level at which one Pokémon approximately evolved into another. This just made him despise Pokémonology even more.

He preferred Pokémon Communication classes by far – ‘Pokémonish’, as they were usually referred to in everyday speech. He was much better at languages than learning things by heart, besides finding Pokémon’s language very interesting in general. Those few things in Pokémonology that had sunk in over the years mostly had something to do with this remarkable language of syllables, bodily expressions and voice tones anyway.

One of the very best things in Pokémonish, also, was that in exams, live Pokémon were brought to classes and the kids got one Pokémon each to stage a normal casual chat with. At the end of the class, the Pokémon each gave the teacher a report on how well the students handled the conversation. Mark always got top grades for that; most of the students couldn’t talk nearly as well to Pokémon as he could, and he was rather proud of that. He remembered the test last year where he had discussed Pokémon rights with a Vulpix. He smiled faintly at the thought; it was probably one of the best memories of his life. The two of them had had so much in common, and they had ended up in an exciting discussion about Pokémon rights that went way past the time the exam was supposed to take. The teacher had been forced to recall the Vulpix into his Pokéball in order to get Mark to leave the classroom. Since then, Mark had been daydreaming about one day sneaking out to Green town on his own account and getting a Vulpix for a starter Pokémon; it was now his very favorite basic unevolved Pokémon.

But the class he probably enjoyed the most was Art. His Pokémon pictures received really positive comments by Miss Taintor, who was a professional Pokémon artist after all. She was the type of person that was always honest and all but afraid of telling somebody basically that their pictures sucked, but she mysteriously managed not to sound mean, however bad she thought the picture was. Mark was weird when it came to criticism; he subconsciously hated being criticized at all by other people, even if he completely agreed. That wasn’t too bad, though; it had caused him to suddenly decide to draw all day during the summer when he turned nine. When Miss Taintor saw his art in fourth grade, she had said, as he still remembered word for word: “Very big improvement, young man – if there were more students with determination like you in this stupid school, I’d be out of a job.” Probably another one of his very best memories – being congratulated by a harsh critic felt a lot better than the constant compliments from his parents and relatives who always pretended that everything he did was the greatest thing since sliced bread, and hearing a teacher call the school stupid just made him feel all nice. After that incident, he had started to appreciate constructive criticism – he still didn’t technically like it, but it definitely helped.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of the bell ringing – the class was starting. Mark hated that sound; it hurt his ears. To his opinion, it should just be about as loud as the beep of his digital watch – at least everybody in the classroom heard quite clearly when it rang, and not even his own ears considered the noise too loud.

At least, he heavily stood up, groaned, and got in line with the only kids in sixth grade who weren’t out training Pokémon. Mrs. Grodski, who taught Pokémonology, was a very grumpy old lady who wore the biggest glasses Mark had ever seen, spoke through her overly large nose and had developed a strong hatred for Mark for some reason he had never understood.

“Good morning, class,” she said sternly as everybody had taken their places standing behind their chairs.

“Good morning, Mrs. Grodski,” the class mumbled, apart from Mark, who said his usual “Good morning, Mrs. Grumpy.” He knew it was safe; it drowned completely in the rest of the class’s murmurs.

“Today,” Mrs. Grodski announced with a frown at how tired all the kids sounded, “we will be studying up on recoil attacks. Sit down and turn to page forty-two, please.”

Mark sighed and opened his book as Mrs. Grodski watched him carefully, but as soon as she began reading aloud from the textbook, he silently took out his binder and started to draw a Lugia on the back of an English assignment. It was his favorite Pokémon; he drew it all the time. Articuno, his other favorite, was a bit trickier for him to draw, but that didn’t make him like it any less. He loved all Legendary Pokémon. In fact, he was utterly obsessed with them. He had been fascinated by those ultimate beings of the world since he was little.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Mr. Greenlet?” Mrs. Grodski’s voice snapped. He looked slowly up from his Lugia, partially covering it with his hand. Mark had a hard time hiding his laughter behind an innocent expression.

“I believe I’m drawing, Mrs. Grodski, unless I’m very much mistaken,” he said in a sarcastically polite voice. There were some snickers from behind.

“Quiet!” the teacher screeched. “And stop scribbling on your papers, least of all in my class!”

Mark grimaced at her as she returned to her desk, and made the textbook stand open on the table, shielding the binder and making him look like he was actually reading.

-------

Finally, the day was over. The sky was now slowly getting covered with depressing clouds. Mark went to play soccer with the fifth graders as usual, not really concentrating.

It was early May. May was something that Mark subconsciously connected to the bad knot in his stomach that formed every year as he watched all the lucky ten-year-olds drive away for Green town at the end of the month to get a Pokémon. The kids he was with now would probably all leave on an adventurous Pokémon journey soon while he would be left at home, standing at some street corner and drawing the city with imaginary Rattata poking out of the dustbins, Taillow singing in the trees and maybe a lone Meowth staring hungrily at them from below.

The ball came flying towards him and he kicked it away very hard, not bothering to aim anywhere. Stupid Pokémon! Why couldn’t they just get their butts over to North-West Ouen!

Mark felt all the unfairness of the situation turn to liquid form behind his eyes.

Oh, no, you don’t, you’re staying in there, he ordered, screwing his eyes shut for a second and opening them again. He felt a strong urge to be alone.

He ended up leaving the game and going home to sulk.

It was now gray and gloomy, fitting Mark’s mood perfectly; the clouds were thickening up and it would likely start raining soon. He quickened his pace as he turned down his home street. When he was just about to cross it, he heard something. Something that came from the bushes his back was currently turned to.

He jumped, twisting around immediately. Dead quiet, he waited for a few seconds. Then it happened again – a branch moved and a twig cracked.

Very slowly and carefully, his heart beating like a drum in his chest, he stepped up to the bush and pulled the branches apart. To his great disappointment, there was nothing there at all. Such a shame, he had been hoping he had found the first Pokémon of North-West Ouen… maybe a Vulpix. He grinned at the thought, but then shook his head.

“Come on,” he said to himself, “stop dreaming…”

He ran across the street. It was starting to rain.

-------

After a very normal, quiet dinner with his parents while watching Bravo Trainer, he sat down in the sofa in the living room, and stared outside through the blurry, wet glass in the window facing the street.

He stopped dead.

There was definitely something moving out there. Something… reddish?

The word “Vulpix” instantly crossed his mind, although he knew it was ridiculous to assume that the Pokémon of his dreams had suddenly appeared in front of his house. Mark leapt to the front door, into his boots and pulled the door open. There was indeed a Pokémon there, but it wasn’t a Vulpix.

It was an orange, cute-looking bipedal lizard; one of those he had used to point at in picture books when he was little, announcing that it was a Fire-type in order to make his parents nod appreciatively and tell him he was really smart remembering it all.

But this was a real, living Charmander, not a picture in a book, and this fact made the Pokémon seem scary and foreign. It was lying limply on the middle of the road, and the flame that was supposed to be on the tip of its tail was merely a small, bright glow. That was still enough to indicate that it was still alive.

At first, Mark just stood there like a cow, staring, but then he was knocked to his senses by the sound of a car. He ran out onto the road, picked up the Pokémon and hurried inside with it, already soaked wet by the downpour.

Mark slammed the door shut and started fanning the Charmander’s tail flame stupidly with his hand in order to revive it, with little success.

“Mom! I – I found a Charmander on the road!” he panted.

“Really?” sounded his mother’s voice absent-mindedly from upstairs. “Very nice, but why don’t you just go into your room, dear?”

“Parents,” Mark hissed at nobody but himself and the unconscious Pokémon in his arms. Then he yelled: “Aren’t you listening? I FOUND A FREAKING CHARMANDER!”

He heard his mother, clearly thinking this was some kind of a game, sigh and stand up before coming down the stairs with red, tired eyes and a cup of coffee in her hands.

Crash! She dropped the cup and it fell to the floor, shattering to a thousand pieces and spilling coffee all over.

“Wha - what is that thing?” she then squeaked, sounding like this was the first time she saw a Pokémon close-up, which is probably was.

“It’s a Charmander!” Mark snapped. “A Pokémon! And it’s dying!”

“Oh God!” she uttered out, speechless. “John!”

“Not now,” Mark’s father mumbled from upstairs, sounding half-asleep. She dug her fingers deep into her curly mess of blond hair, repeating “Oh, what can we do? What can we do?” in a panicky voice.

Mark rolled his eyes, sighed and started waving his hand again in attempts to get the Charmander’s flame burning properly again. Slowly as the tail tip dried, the flame was restored. Mark breathed in relief; half because the Charmander was saved, half because his hand was getting stiff from all the fanning.

“Is… is it okay?” his mother asked carefully as Mark shook his entire arm to loosen the hand muscles.

“Yeah,” he said and smiled. “But I think it needs rest. Er… I guess you should go and get some old cloth so I can put it in my bed, otherwise it’ll burn the house down.”

His mother went back upstairs and got some old clothes of Mark he didn’t fit into anymore. He took them to his bedroom and placed them in the corner of his bed, laying the Charmander gently on top of them. The tail flame burned peacefully. Mark wondered who originally had the idea of making clothes flame-proof; it had always seemed very pointless to him, but now it sure came in handy.

He picked up the book about the Johto Legendary Pokémon on his desk and started to read, keeping an eye on the lizard. He was starting to calm down and think reasonably. Of course, this Charmander wasn’t wild. It obviously was trained. Charmander were very rare Pokémon from Kanto, how would one suddenly be in Ouen, let alone the North-West part? Its trainer was probably looking for it. Maybe he’d get a reward for finding it? Or maybe, just maybe… it had been released on purpose?

Mark grinned, looking forward to next morning.

 

[Daatingu]

Impressive.

It's good that you delivered the idea of a person who doesn't really want to train pokemon. Description was good, as well as length. The new area was a plus as well. I'm really looking forward to this story. Keep it up...

 

[Dragonfree]

He, in fact, wants to train Pokémon, but he isn't really interested in the league and that stuff, he mainly thinks Pokémon are interesting and, of course, wants to get an opportunity to see the Legendary Pokémon, especially Lugia and Articuno. He just isn't getting his hopes up. And, as I said, he doesn't care about the league and finds studying up in strategy and stuff to be very boring.

Glad you like it, though, I was very afraid people would be disappointed.

Chapter two is going to be long, just to warn you, and very important.

 

[nestlywez]

great story good description i like it alot but the charmander in the rain isn't that a bit familar besides that it was great keep it up.

 

[Dragonfree]

*blushes* Familiar, yeah. I wrote that years ago, now after having revised it four times in total, there are very few of those clichés left, but this is one of them due to being essential to the plot.

The Charmander was in the rain for a very different reason, though, so I suppose it's not *that* bad.

 

[mattgcn]

also from the early episode. And im plannig to follow this fic as well as Scep's! It seems real cool.


Wait a minute! *looks at Dragonfree's title* *tilts head* *views Italic mod name* *gasps* Have you been a mod for long? Or...am I even stupider than i think!

Hm..that chapter did seem very much different than the one on your site. I like the addition of "Aren't you listening?! I FOUND A FREAKING CHARMANDER!"
XD

 

[Dragonfree]

mattgcn: Yeah, an early episode... that's what I meant...

And I've been a moderator for quite some time, I mod Fanfics and Fake Card Discussion.

gyararat: I'm a mod, if you haven't noticed... -_- 1: That was spam. 2: THE ONE ON MY SITE IS NOT THE ONE I'M POSTING HERE.

 

[Obsidian Blade]

::reads::

::blinks::

Wow! That was waaaay better than the previous version. You've given Mark a personality straight away, given a little foreshadowing of what is to come with the prologue and... and the result is great! Yarg, if the first chapter (and new prologue ) is this good... then the introduction of my favourite Pokémon character... I'm a very happy Obsidian now. Great job with the additional description and I'll try to give a more useful review once I've gotten over how different this has gotten!
O.O
~Obsidian :336:

 

[Dragonfree]

Whee, Obsidian noticed it!

(I hate pointing this revision out to people, so I was hoping you'd just notice)

Anyway, I'm truly happy that you like the changes. Remember, you inspired it all.


Chapter two is coming along pretty well, it's on the eighth page. It has changed a LOT, so be warned...

Expect around twelve or so pages in total for chapter two, then there's Extra II.

 

[Dragonfree]

(in the ilcoeth revision, this contains both Extra II and chapter two)



---EXTRA II---

Wait a minute… levels?

“The problem was that they always asked about the most boring and uninteresting things, such as the level at which one Pokémon approximately evolved into another.” – Chapter 1

Level?

Hey, levels don’t exist! Oh darn, this is going to be another one of those fics with battles that are exactly like in the game… *stops reading*

If you’re thinking something like that, hey, hey, hey, not so fast. I’ve been criticized so much for having levels in it that I was forced to make a whole extra explaining why I have them in.

OK, just if you were wondering, this fic does not portray Pokémon as digital creatures of some sort, lines of code, whose powers consist of calculated numbers. Not at all. The Pokémon in it are very much living creatures and can definitely not be explained in a few numbers.

You all know what an IQ is, right? Human intelligence doesn’t really consist of a number, but it is measured in a number.

In my fics, Pokémon stats and levels are ‘IQs’; that is, they don’t actually consist of a number, but are scientifically measured in numbers for convenience. Base stats are averages, created to compare the different species of Pokémon in their power. Not absolutely accurately, of course – but they can at least tell you that a Dragonite is much more powerful than a Caterpie. That does not mean, however, that a clever, determined Caterpie can’t defeat a Dragonite with some strategy; basically, I don’t just make the ‘stronger’ Pokémon win.

The stats all measure different things. Speed measures reflexes and speed, however the Pokémon is fastest; Swellow’s Speed is measured in how fast it can fly, but Doduo’s in how fast it can run. Attack measures a Pokémon’s muscles; basically physical strength. Special attack measures the power of the Pokémon’s elemental attacks (such as how hot the flames the Pokémon can breathe are, how many volts the electric charge it can give off is, etc.). Defense measures how well the Pokémon’s body is built to absorb physical attacks; a Pokémon with high Defense will feel less pain when punched than a Pokémon with low Defense, assuming, of course, that neither has a weakness to the punch. Same with Special defense, except for special attacks. Finally, HP measures how much pain a Pokémon can take before fainting.

IVs represent the differences between individuals. Effort values stand for how adept the Pokémon is at using a specific aspect of its power.

Finally, attacks and evolution. You may have noticed the “approximately” in there. Well, I believe the exact timing of learning attacks or evolving is individual-based, but again it’s an average; at least most Mareep will need less training in order to evolve than the average Dratini.

If the implementation of these things still bothers you, I’m afraid I’m keeping them in whether you like it or not, so just try to accept them, OK?






-------
RATING

Violence: It talks about fighting, but it isn't even described.

Gore: None.

Sexuality: None...

Profanity: None.

Other: Nothing special.
-------




Chapter 2: The Legends

When Mark woke up, the Charmander was still asleep, but this time curled up with the tail flame burning peacefully beside its head. Mark carefully placed his hand onto the Pokémon’s back. It was warm and breathed normally. He gave a faint smile, quickly dressed and then tiptoed into the kitchen, where he was greeted by his parents’ serious faces and folded arms.

“Mark,” his father sighed, “we need to talk.”

-------

“Why not??” Mark shouted across the table, crushing his cornflakes violently. He couldn’t help noticing that despite his parents being very much unlike each other in outwards appearance – his father having black hair and being short just like him, but his mother a tall, thin blonde with big, toadlike eyes – they managed to look remarkably similar when they were both of the same mind.

“It’s very simple, Mark; it’s dangerous out there,” his father sighed.

“So what? I’d have a Pokémon for my protection!” Mark said eagerly.

His mother said quietly: “But what if your Pokémon turns against you?”

“That… that… just… doesn’t happen!” Mark said lamely. In fact, he had no idea, but he would soon learn it, if only they would stop getting in his way.

“Are you sure?” his mother asked kindly.

“Well, no, not really, but…”

“See, we just want to keep you safe,” she said in a voice Mark recognized as the one she used when she was trying to be convincing. Needless to say, Mark had grown completely oblivious to it over these eleven years.

“But, oh, mom…”

“Besides,” his father interrupted, “we’ve yet to check all the reported lost Pokémon.”

Mark didn’t say anything; he was aware of that, but he was still hoping somebody had released the Charmander on purpose. Meanwhile, his father stood slowly up, not taking his eyes off Mark, went to the computer in the corner (which was mainly used to find recipes online) and typed ‘www.lostandfound.com’ into the address bar. Mark quickly jumped to read over his shoulder as he searched for ‘Charmander’.

A broad grin spread through Mark’s face as the results appeared: Two lost Charmander, both of them in Kanto.

His father sighed. “That does not mean you’re about to go on a journey.”

Mark was going to protest, but was interrupted by a sound:

“Char?”

The little lizard carefully stepped into the kitchen and looked curiously around.

“Oh, it’s awake,” Mark’s father groaned.

“I’m not an ‘it’!” said the Charmander in an offended voice, at least if Mark’s knowledge of Pokémonish was as accurate as ever. The Pokémon’s voice, though rather high-pitched on human scale, was clearly masculine.

Mark turned to his father with and said in a scolding tone: “He’s a he, dad. Should I have said ‘Oh, it’s awake’ when I came in here and saw you?”

Charmander looked confused and asked: “What’s going on?”

“We’re arguing over whether you will go psycho and kill me,” said Mark and shot a ‘what-weirdoes-those-adults-can-be’ look back at his parents. Charmander raised an eyebrow.

“Look, hon, that’s not quite the way we put it,” Mark’s mother began in an apologetic tone, but Charmander interrupted loudly:

“What am I doing here, anyway?”

“Er,” was all Mark’s father said.

“I brought you in here when you fell unconscious on the road in the rain yesterday,” said Mark, leaning down to Charmander’s level. “And the reason we’re arguing is that I was… uh… wondering…” Suddenly he felt like abandoning the idea; it was ridiculous to tell a Pokémon that you were going to be its trainer, just because that was what you wanted.

“If you can be my trainer?” Charmander finished for him, sensing that Mark wasn’t about to continue. Mark nodded; the Pokémon smiled. “Sure, why not, since you saved me and all… I need a new trainer anyway…”

“What’s your name?” Mark immediately asked, feeling comfortably warm and light.

“I don’t really have one, just call me Charmander,” he answered cheerfully. Both of them looked hopefully up at Mark’s parents, wearing the broadest grins they could manage.

“No way,” said his father, folding his arms. Charmander’s expression dropped.

“Maybe I should just leave, then,” he said, turning around.

“No, wait… you can stay here! Just as a pet! Or whatever!” Mark’s father called after him, not wanting to send the poor thing out to die in the next downpour. Charmander turned slowly back to them.

“Do you trust me more here than out there?”

“It’s just that...” Mark’s father started, but his wife interrupted:

“You can’t deny that there are dangerous Pokémon out there – and you’re too small to handle them if they do attack.”

“But they’re usually nowhere near Sailance!” Mark argued.

“Usually,” his father emphasized.

Charmander couldn’t think of anything to say – it looked like his and Mark’s silent plan wasn’t working.

Yet.

-------

For a few days, Charmander was Mark’s pet. They had a really fun time – always went to bed very early, but set Mark’s digital watch to beep at two AM or so, and then in the dark bedroom with Charmander’s tail flame as the only light source, they discussed ways to get out on a journey. Just for fun, they started imagining this was the dungeon in the castle of two evil lords who kept them imprisoned, inventing loads of ideas of how to escape, each more absurd than the other.

“I think we must use our cunningness for this,” Mark whispered, leaning closer to Charmander. “You will set the castle on fire and while they burn, we will run and tell the world of their dictatorship so that peace can reign in Ouen again.”

They both snickered.

“Hey, Mark…” said Charmander thoughtfully, “I think I have an idea. No, not that kind of an idea, a real idea…”

-------

Mark walked into the kitchen in the morning, his face expressionless.

“I don’t want breakfast, mom,” he said gloomily. “I just came to say goodbye.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna kill myself.”

Crash. Another cup went to waste. His mother’s expression was so priceless he almost burst out laughing, but he had to keep the depressed-and-tired-of-life face.

“No, you’re not!” she screeched.

“It’s just… my friends are all gone,” he went on.

“But how do we fix that, dear?” she asked in a worried tone.

“I just wish I could go and meet up with them, on my own journey.” Mark immediately realized that the smile that followed was far too hopeful. And too un-depressed. His mother sighed.

“You’re not funny, Mark. I mean… do you even have any idea how much that cup cost?”

“A lot, if I know you correctly,” Mark muttered, well aware that the cup was just a random thing she turned her attention to because she had been very upset. Neither of them said anything for a while, until his mother sighed again.

“Are you that desperate to go on that journey of yours?”

“Of course I am!” Mark replied, his expression brightening up. “Mom, Charmander and I have been secretly thinking up plans at night! We’ve been imagining you’re evil dictators keeping us inside a dungeon and planning our escape in the middle of the night!”

“And,” said Charmander’s threatening voice as the lizard Pokémon entered the room, “we will do that every night from now on and there’s no way for you to stop us.”

Mark’s mother got a weird expression halfway between a smile and a hopeless look, and then said: “You’re incredible, boys – I think there’s no way to keep you in here for very long before you think of a way to force us to.”

“YES!” Charmander shouted.

“WHOOOOO!!!!” Mark yelled, giving his Pokémon a high five. He hugged his mother tightly.

“Thanks, mom.”

She just hugged him back, tears in her eyes.

-------

Things were being packed into an old red and blue backpack that looked like it could burst at any time. Mark’s father was not happy, but he had ended up giving in to his wife, who was suddenly all for it. Mark and Charmander bounced around the house in a wild celebration-dance. He got a nice sum of money to buy things for. Finally, he set off with Charmander by his side.

“Bye dad! Bye mom! I promise I won’t get myself killed!” Mark’s mother smiled through the tears as he waved. Then he turned and started running.

The Gyms in Ouen had been arranged so that the recommended first Gym was in Cleanwater city, a big one which was conveniently not that far from Sailance, then went in a spiral inwards until the last gym was in Acaria city in the heart of the continent. Cleanwater was near the edge of the Pokémon-inhabited part of Ouen, built near a mysterious lake which was famous for being so clear that the bottom was always visible in details, despite being the second-deepest lake in the whole of Ouen. It was therefore called “The Lake of Purity”.

But Mark was not headed to Cleanwater city yet. He was going to the Sailance Library to get Pokémon Training for Dummies.

Mark, despite all his interest in Pokémon, was a rookie when it came to Pokémon training. He knew how it worked, of course, and the rules of the Pokémon League, but he didn’t really know much about how to get started, what he’d have to do. His parents didn’t either seeing as they had never been trainers, so they had advised him to go to the library. Technically Mark didn’t know if a book by that name existed, but it had to exist, right?

The library was a huge, bright white building in the middle of the town. The walls were decorated with carvings of various Pokémon; Mark’s favorite was located over the door and was of a big Articuno flying to the left, its tail swishing behind it and looking amazingly alive. As always when Mark entered the library, he gave a small bow in respect for the magnificent bird. The automatic door slowly slid open before him, and he prepared to walk inside when he remembered that Pokémon weren’t allowed in the library.

“Sorry, Charmander, you’ll have to wait outside,” he said guiltily. “I won’t be long.”

“It’s okay, I’ll just wait,” said Charmander, smiling. “It’s not like anybody could steal me without getting roasted or anything.”

Mark eyed a few people staring at the Pokémon like a miracle, and pride started spreading around his chest. To think of it… he was a trainer.

He smiled back at his Pokémon friend, and then entered the building.

The search computers along with a few shelves of paperbacks with huge titles greeted him, along with the familiar smell of books that Mark had always loved. But he walked right to the elevators, as this book would be on the second floor.

A chubby middle-aged woman wearing what looked disturbingly much like a Sentret fur coat came through the metallic door, eyed Mark like some kind of a big disgusting insect and then walked away with her nose in the air. Mark decided she was a grumpy old snob as he stepped into the lift.

An endless row of Marks stared back at him from the mirrors on the sides. All of them turned to the buttons at the same time and all of them managed to slip their fingers between buttons two and three, accidentally highlighting both as the elevator started ascending.

It stopped on the second floor and a tall, thin man with a suitcase stepped in, but Mark suddenly felt a weird longing to go up to the third floor. First floor was novels, second was Pokémon training and third was Pokémon. He usually did go to the third floor, after all; he was always looking for books he hadn’t read before.

He didn’t want to keep Charmander waiting for too long, but of course he would just go and have a look around and see if there were any new books. It wouldn’t take long.

He went out on the third floor and looked curiously around. He could go left or right; a voice in his head told him to go right.

For whatever reason, Mark saw one particular shelf and walked firmly towards it, seeing nothing else. On it there was a book that looked older than most of the others, one that he had certainly never seen before:

The Ouen Legends

Mark’s attention was instantly caught. His heart started pounding in his chest. Despite knowing everything there was to know about the Legendary Pokémon of Kanto, Johto and Hoenn, for whatever reason he had never found any decent books about the Legendary Pokémon of his own region. His burning interest for Legendaries, of course, had never fully accepted this. He did have a vague knowledge of their names and what they looked like, but he didn’t know much else

But now was his chance. He reached forward with his hand and took the book out. On second thought, it was dusty, but not all that old. Like it had just not been moved out of the shelf since… before it was printed? Odd.

Mark shook his head and slowly, with the book in his hands, walked over to a big, fluffy and comfortable-looking green couch. He flung himself into it, examining the cover image. At the top, it had six differently-colored dragons soaring in the sky. He figured that those must be the so-called Color dragons, named so because their basic structure was all the same except for the colors, elemental powers, and some markings and additional things representing their element.

Below the dragons, there were eigth winged unicorns. Like the Color dragons, they all looked basically the same apart from their colors, wings, mane, horn and tail.

But at the very bottom, there was… Mewtwo?

Yup, he was sure of it. The whitish-purple anthro cat-like shape was unmistakably that of the first super-clone that had ever been created and had gotten such experiments banned. A Kanto Legendary.

What’s Mewtwo doing on the cover of a book about the Ouen legendaries? Mark thought. He looked better at Mewtwo’s shape. The eyes were closed, but looked creepily open all the same. It’s that highlight, said Mark’s artist eye. The shading gives that effect, the highlight on the eyelid looks distantly like a pupil. But it was still scary, with those closed eyes that seemed to be watching. Had the cover artist drawn it like that on purpose?

Either way, Mewtwo wasn’t supposed to be there at all. Mark scanned his head for a reason why Mewtwo would be on the cover of a book about the Ouen Legendaries, but found none.

Mark shrugged and opened the book. He flicked past the title pages, apart from checking the publishing date. It was just a little less than five years old.

The book started with the Color dragons. The left page had a watercolor illustration of them, with their names written near them.

There was a small, silver one in the middle of the page with a big, innocent-looking head and tiny wings, apparently called Lidreki. What caught Mark’s attention about it, however, was that where the light reflected off the dragon’s scales, it broke up into the colors of the rainbow.

The other ones were the real Color dragons themselves. They were all larger than Lidreki, European-style dragons with big, clawed legs, small arms and broad wings spreading out from their shoulders.

The bottom left one was a deep metallic green color with no special outstanding features. The name beside it read ‘Dragoreen, the Dragon of the Poor’.

Opposite Dragoreen so that both stared hatefully at each other, there was a golden one, apparently ‘Preciure, the Dragon of Wealth’. An occasional ruby poked out between the shiny scales; silver spikes were lined down its whole back and to the tail end.

Above them, there was another pair of dragons that seemed to loathe each other. The right one Mark recognized even before he read the description as Raudra, the Fire dragon. Two bony white, sheep-like horns grew from the top of its forehead; fiery red scales covered its whole body except the yellow belly and a thick, golden mane flowed down its whole back.

The left one however, was apparently ‘Dracobalt, the Water Dragon’; it was dark blue, with a large fish-like fin on its back and two long, swirly, narrow, white horns.

The third and last pair of rivals was at the very top. Puragon, the left one, was pearly white all over, with four narrow crystalline horns. Venoir, in the top right, was pitch-black. It had dark purple horns similar to Raudra’s and glowing red eyes with slits for pupils, making it look very creepy and terrifying.

Mark excitedly started reading the information on the right page.


THE COLOR DRAGONS

The legend says that an ancient, powerful dragon Pokémon named Vaxil, the Dragon of the Rainbow, laid six eggs and hid them where no living creature could harm them. One she dropped into the crater of a volcano, one she hid at the bottom of a deep lake, one she secured in a dark cave, one she buried in snow, and two she took with her to her own cave, filled with gold and treasures.

The first egg to hatch was one of the eggs that Vaxil had taken with her. As the other eggs would later, it hatched into a Lidreki. He was greedy and loved nothing more than burying himself in his mother’s gold.

The second egg to hatch was the one in the volcano. That Lidreki was female, and she loved the lava, fed on it and never felt the need to leave the volcano’s crater.

The third egg was the one in the dark cave. It was a male, and he fed on poisonous Pokémon that lurked there in the dark, without ever finding out that there was anything outside the cave.

The fourth egg that hatched was the one in the snow. The young Lidreki was a female, and slowly became oblivious to the cold.

The fifth egg was the one at the bottom of the lake. A male, he adapted to underwater life, hunted fish and rarely went out of the lake.

Finally, the sixth egg hatched – the other egg that Vaxil had taken with her. It was a female, and she instantly disagreed with her brother in everything – she wanted to give the gold to those who were in need instead of keeping it all for themselves who had nothing to do with it except collect it. They disliked each other, and as they grew, the male thought the female took too much space. One day, he fought her out of the cave, and she sought her brothers and sisters to help fighting him.

She went to her sister in the volcano, she went to her brother in the lake. She went to her brother in the cave, she went to her sister in the snow. She lived with all of them for a while, and told them all – because Vaxil had told her – where the other ones were hidden, and asked them to come and help against her oldest brother. They came, more because they wanted to see their mother, but as they traveled, they developed hate for each other in pairs, and upon their arrival in Vaxil’s cave, a big fight broke out. The oldest brother fought the youngest sister, the sister from the volcano fought her brother from the lake, the brother in the cave fought his sister in the snow. Vaxil tried to stop them, but they only started attacking her too and in the end Vaxil threw herself off the cliff to her death. The siblings were horrified, and all blamed each other, but slowly they became enveloped in a white glow and evolved, each to one of the Color dragons. The female from the volcano became Raudra, the male from the lake became Dracobalt, the female from the snow became Puragon, the male from the cave became Venoir, the youngest female became Dragoreen and the oldest male became Preciure.

Due to their mother’s death, they decided not to keep fighting and all went off to different places, and supposedly they still lurk there, desiring only superiority over the opposite sibling…

All of them have very special abilities. Raudra, Dracobalt, Puragon and Venoir have immense powers of fire, water, ice and poison respectively, but Dragoreen and Preciure have different powers; Dragoreen’s attacks are independent on the defender’s weaknesses or resistances, and Preciure’s golden scales can repel any attack well and effectively.


Mark turned past some pages consisting of the few things he already knew, interviews with people who claimed to have seen them and some old paintings of the Color Dragons (as interested as he was in art, he didn’t want to keep Charmander waiting for too long), and finally reached the next chapter.

He studied the picture. It was a watercolor illustration which showed the unicorns all together, dashing towards the viewer.

The first one was all white with normal, feathered wings and a swirly horn. It was Waraider.

The next one was also white, but had a flaming mane and tail similar to Ponyta and Rapidash; the horn and hooves were bright orange and the wings were made of fire. That one was Emphire.

The third unicorn, Seasar, was beautifully dark blue. Its tail and mane didn’t seem to exist at all; it rather seemed like a river burst out from the top of its head and ran smoothly along its whole back, finally gracefully dropping down like a waterfall and then disappearing into thin air just before reaching the ground. The wings seemed made of vapor that took form into a wing.

Electhrone was the fourth one. It was whitish-yellow, but its mane and tail were very dark blue. Small sparks flew between the hairs. The horn was a bit crooked; its wings were composed of oddly pointed, sharp feathers.

The fifth one was called Natruler. It was white like Waraider, but in place of feathers, its wings had long, beautifully green leaves. The horn resembled a branch growing out of its forehead, and the tail and mane looked like bundles of grass and leaves.

Unicorn number six was Freezaroy. Icily white with a tint of blue, its tail, mane and wings appeared to produce snow that spiraled in a trail after it. The horn resembled an icicle.

The second-last one was called Mysticrown and was white with lavender tail and mane. The horn and hooves looked like they were made out of some kind of a magenta-colored gemstone. Its eyes were creepily purple, and unless Mark was very much mistaken, it seemed to glow with a very faint violet aura. The wing feathers were tipped with purple too.

The last one, however, was pitch-black; evil-looking red eyes glinted in the head. The wings seemed made of smoke, wispy and formless. It was Darkhan.

Mark turned to the information page.


WARAIDER

It is said that there were originally eight Waraider, but somehow all but one of them evolved into different elements. Waraider lacks the elemental powers, but is equally powerful overall as the other ones. The last Waraider is the leader of the herd; unlike the Color dragons, all the Waraider and evolutions supposedly keep close together wherever they go. According to the legend, their being together keeps the world balanced, and should they ever be separated, chaos would reign until they reunited.

There have been interestingly many reported sightings of them, but no photos nor Pokédex data exists to prove any of them.


After that, there came a bunch of stuff Mark wasn’t as interested in, so he turned past it. After that, there came what he was probably most curious about: what Mewtwo was doing in that book.

He looked at the illustration first as he had done before. Again, its eyes were closed in that creepily “watching” manner that had been on the cover picture. Mark couldn’t help wondering why it was drawn like that, though. He would’ve believed Mewtwo’s eyes would usually be open.

The answer was on the right page, where the title – partially – explained it:


CHALETWO


“Oh, yeah,” Mark muttered to himself. “Stupid me, I should’ve remembered that one. I’ve heard the name before, I’m sure. But… why does it look like Mewtwo?”

He started reading the text.


Chaletwo is the only one of the Ouen Legendaries that is definitely confirmed to exist. He appears every year at the exact same time and place; 4:26:45 PM on the 25th of May, the grass patch outside Green town. His coming always attracts a lot of tourists, and is what made Green town so big in the first place.

The first time that a human witnessed him, he supposedly said telepathically: “Do not fear. I am Chaletwo and do not intend to harm you nor any other living thing. I only wish to come here once a year and have a quick look around the world before leaving.”

Nobody knows why he bears such a striking resemblance to Mewtwo, who is in fact a Kanto Legendary (although that is arguable due to the fact that he is man-created), look-wise.


Too bad, thought Mark disappointedly.


Due to Chaletwo’s limited availability, Mewtwo has been asked about this by a reporter.

“Do you think I wouldn’t like to know?” he answered before teleporting grumpily away. “He said he didn’t wish to tell, least of all me. He wouldn’t reveal anything else.”

People wonder whether Chaletwo might be another Super-clone, backing that up with the name he after all introduced himself with, which ends in the trademark “-two” of a genetically modified Pokémon clone, but experts doubt it.

“He’s not just a simple second Mew clone,” Pokémon researcher Ash Ketchum explained in an interview once. “I’ve studied both of them carefully through making detailed 3D models from close-up photos. I’m telling you, every last hair on their bodies is the exact same! Technically, Mewtwo’s creators could have made an additional one with almost the exact same genetic code, resulting in a clone that looks the same, but face it, according to all sources we have, Mewtwo destroyed the lab and everything in it, which would have had to include another embryo if one had been there.”

It appears that there are only two differences between them: Chaletwo’s eyes and his Dark/Psychic type.

Chaletwo’s eyes are probably the greatest power of this world. If they look upon a living thing, it dies. If they look upon an inanimate object, it blows up. Only his own eyelids can withstand the power, and even through closed eyes, he can see through things. Nobody is quite sure how his eyes work, but there are many theories.

Chaletwo is said to match the Kanto Legendary Molzapart in power, tying them as the most powerful Pokémon in the world.


Molzapart. Mark, obviously, could have recited many books’ worth of information about it if he wanted. It was not confirmed to exist, but said to have been created when Mew found the legendary Mist stone, which was rumoured to have the power to evolve any Pokémon at all, whether it can naturally evolve or not. Mew made a decision to attack the stone in order to prevent Pokémon from stumbling across it and evolving into scarily powerful creatures, and called the Legendary Birds of Kanto for assistance. But even their attacks combined could not destroy such a magical object, and instead they found themselves facing the “evolved form” of their attacks: a large, magnificent, golden bird with a burning flame on its head, brightly blue wing feathers, a long, dark blue tail feather, huge bright orange talons, and the psychic powers to severely injure its accidental creators with one blast. Then Molzapart flew away and trained until his power had no match.

Apart from Chaletwo, apparently.

Mark looked at his watch, discovering how long he had been reading, closed the book, put it back where he had found it and hurried down to meet up with Charmander again.