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The Tower of Scyclical Times: Eight Legends, One Destiny (Rated PG 15+)


Bone-ified dinosaur
Ooh ooh, cookie me! Hydrogen peroxide is bleach... but I have no idea what the other is. That's the problem with the Chemistry syllabus nowadays, only a few really simple molecules are ever used as examples or in questions, who do you have to kill to get some Polytetraflouroethene around here?

But yeah, the description is better, not saying it was bad in the first place, it's just the bit where you described it as "hard to describe" that annoyed me :D. It wasn't that I didn't think people would know what a cancer would look like, just that if you describe something as "hard to describe," then people really have no idea what you're talking about :p.

Yonowaru in Chaos

gaspard de la nuit
Not what I had in mind, but you can have a cookie crumb =D

The next part's definitely coming tomorrow, unless I plan to add an entire section forward from Chapter 1 Part 2. If that happens, then expect a day or two extra. And w00t, last day of school tomorrow!
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Hydrogen peroxide... Very strong oxidant I believe, don't remember if it's explosive or not... Probably not though, since it's in bleach... Hydroquinone... *Wiki-ises myself* Bombardier beetles, huh. Reaction of hydroquinone and hydrogen peroxide is the stuff it sprays out. Yay for a chemistry lesson from Yonowaru!

COOKIE!! I liek cookie.

I think JammyU's Kingler may like cookies =p you know what I'm talking about, Jammy...

Yonowaru in Chaos

gaspard de la nuit
Cookie for you!

I promised it'd be yesterday, but I was being superficial about my sig, so yeah, here it is now...late Sunday. Anyway, there are no changes here from the old version, besides beefed up description.

As always, be harsh, unless it's mindless.

The Boundless Ocean 果てしなき大海原

The mural sun was beginning to sink below the ocean’s horizon. Beyond the sunset, there was evidence of a storm approaching, but it never will. The water ebbed and flowed along the beach of an island whose coastline stretched for miles, untouched by the distant storm. The coast was lined with palm trees and old broken canoes built by the failed attempts of people seeking voyage beyond the ocean’s horizon.

Before the coastline reached the horizon, it fashioned into an elevated peninsula that continued offshore like a bridge under construction. It was arched and the land above the arch seemed to be very fragile, yet considerably large trees and other large leafy plants seemed to find the place much to their liking, draping it with lush ribbons of foliage, almost reaching the water beneath.

The calls of numerous seabirds echoed all around the coast, even though their presence was restricted to the raised peninsula. Beneath the arch, and beyond, Staryus and Starmies were beginning to congregate, their crystal interiors towards the sky, floating like scattered stones on a sea of treasure. Their geometric patterns of gold and purple crystal and stone reflected the first stars that began to shine. The songs of returning sea birds orchestrated their alien calls, with the sound of the tides fleetingly providing accompaniment. It was only too sad to think of such scenery as contemptible of reminiscence.

A youthful man, perhaps no more than twenty, sat on one of the stormed rocks that lined the coastline that stretched for miles; his arms jutting back on to the rock to support himself. His short, slightly spiked, hair was coloured so that it complemented the sunset very well. His muscular torso was naked, though it cannot be said for his legs, for he had none, and instead, where his legs should be, he had a tail: the sleek tail of a leafy sea dragon without the vibrant colouring. Half of his tail was submerged within a large rock pool connected to the bay, and the level of the water was slowly decreasing. The semi-appendages of the tail swayed freely in the pool, seaweed caught between them and tiny fish pecking at it.

His body was dry, as if he had been sitting at the spot the entire day, and his handsome face looked broodingly concerned. It was apparent in his troubled stare at the horizon. A memory began to flash behind his eyes, behind the mural of a stormy sunset.

He was in a large semi-circular room, surrounded by eight pillars and a flat wall of rock, which was adorned by various runes and symbols connected by complexly intertwining lines. The engravings were all canalled with a sapphire blue energy reflecting the sunlight filtered from above, which flowed along the grooves of intertwining lines. Even in the water, the young merman’s hair did not sway about in the water.

In the middle of the room, was a much more elderly merman, with streaks of storm-grey beard and mane which swayed in the water, and brandishing a three-pronged Brionac trident. His tail fanned out in the shape of a velvet red lobster tail decorated with precious stones and metals, mostly ruby. His expression was ragged, very unlike the curves of usual wrinkled faces. It was accentuated by his rage, which had turned the water hazy.

“You are no son of mine!” he thundered, with a deepness that shot through the water.

“Good!” the younger said in refutation neither without hesitation nor reluctance. It was a simple opener, but he left it at that, before he acted by his rebellious words.

He grasped a crystal dagger from a litter of treasure among the floor of the room and proceeded to slash away at one of the runes. From common sense, it would’ve seemed foolish to hack away at a slab of stone with a dagger whose purpose seemed to be so clearly for decorative purposes, but it was surprisingly effective; it cut as easily as slicing flesh as the merman hacked at it. The blue energy released from the hacking dissolved into the misty water like a thin fluid smoke which made the water somewhat clearer. Within a few slashes, his work was complete; the rune he had slashed at was completely defaced and clear of any of the blue energy left. The blade of the crystal dagger shattered at last impact and its pieces slowly sank to the bottom to rejoin its shimmering kin.

The older merman’s ragged face grew shaper as he shot a bolt of thunder at the sky with his Brionac, roaring as he did so, this time, causing the water itself tremble. The younger merman, his work complete, swam towards the surface, which no longer filtered sunlight, but instead began to reflect a great black spiral of clouds, which at the older merman’s command, began pelting hailstones and icicle shards, while hurling thunderbolts towards the merman. This did not deter the merman, who began to swim away, under the relative safety of the water’s surface, dodging the inaccurate thunderbolts that tried their way.

The memory dissolved, and as quick as it had, another began to flash, the storm grey brushstrokes dissipating into a quiet layer of periwinkle white.

This time, the merman was drifting away leisurely among ice floes. The sky was crystal clear, and completely cloudless. Following him, at trotting pace, on the ice, was a young girl, barely passed adolescence, with sparkling blonde hair and a loose silk dress that did not dissuade her liveliness from the cold.

“Wait up!” she cried in a cheerful, light-toned voice.

“Catch me, then!” the merman promptly replied, before diving into the unfathomable depths.

“Come on, you know I can’t swim in this dress!”

He dived back up again and replied with a joking voice.

“Then take it off!”

The girl threw a slab of ice at the merman in irritation, the merman smiling as he raised his arms to block it.

“Fine,” the girl responded. She took out a Pokeball from a pocket of her dress, and threw it at him, as if not to release the entity within, but to maim him. But it came out anyway, right before it hit the merman.


“Dewgong! Catch him!”

“Oh, no you don’t!”

The merman swiftly dived under the surface as the Dewgong, a majestic finned animal with fur whiter than the snow around it, and a stubby little horn on its forehead, plunged into the water after him. The two began to engage in a game of cat-and-mouse, a game that the Dewgong was considerably losing; the young merman was just too agile for the seal to catch up. The merman then made a turn up to the surface and leapt out finely, with a few spins, on to the cold ice. The Dewgong followed and before long, the girl was catching up to the place the two swimmers had dived out from.

“Okay, time out!” panted the merman.

“Oh come on, you can do better than that,” the girl teased.

“I’m too tired...” he complained irritably.

The girl giggled, her crystal blue eyes glowing against the blanket of clouds in the background. Lying on the ice, with his arms jutting back for support, the girl knelt down beside the merman. He was still panting, with a generous smile, and replied to her glance with a glance of his own amber eyes.

Her face was moving towards his, her eyes began to squint, their lips nearly touched, but before they met, she broke the connection. Her eyes dashed off into the distance, eyes widened and alert.

“No, my father’s Regice! Quick! Hide!”

In the background, a robotic ice cube was patrolling the ice floes; its back was turned against the three, but slowly rotating towards their general direction. The merman’s reactions were quick and without a glance of reassurance, dived underneath the ice floe that the girl now assumed a relaxing position on. The Dewgong dived underneath with him, concealing the merman’s splashes and timed just right for the sentry to see. The girl waved at it merrily and the Regice’s crucifix eyes blinked mechanically, one by one. The memory ended.

The water was considerably lower than before; only the very tip of the merman’s tail was scraping its surface. The sun was already gone now, and the full moon was clearly visible against a palette of sunset indigo, with the storm clouds harmonising with the night sky with eerie dissonance. The shore was beginning to glow with the crystals of numerous Staryus and Starmies swimming serenely beneath it and the call of the Wingulls was noticeably softer. At last, the last of the water ebbed away and the merman lifted himself up, a pair of legs replacing his sea dragon tail.


A Kingdra appeared out of the water, his small eyes alert and its long, jawless snout raised. Like a horse trotting underwater, with only its head above the water’s surface, Kingdra slowly made its way towards the beach, antlers trailing, creating finely broken ripples in its wake. The young man held up a Pokeball, as the animal neared, and Kingdra was returned into the ball in a dash of red unbranched lightning. The man walked into the undergrowth of the rainforest, passing a few sleeping palm trees as he went by.
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Ooh... Interesting... At tad short and I have no idea what it has to do with the tower and other people though =p I guess I'll have to find out won't I? Good job Yonowaru, and thank you for the cookie!

Yonowaru in Chaos

gaspard de la nuit
Of course you have to have no idea =D

Next part shall be up by the end of the week, but I'm also working on a chronicles fic that concentrates on one aspect of the fic.

If you didn't know, each chapter is divided in to a maximum of eight parts, each focusing on one of the eight legends that make up the entire fic. Don't worry, it will all come together as each chapter progresses so never fear!

And the tower doesn't come in until mid-fic, which is....not very close...

So yeah...technically this is still a "prologue" so they're not supposed to be long-long (unless you count Prologue 3, which was supposed to be split up at any rate xD).
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Bone-ified dinosaur
That was the last bit I remember I think so everything else is going to be a total surprise, hooray!
Yeah, anyway, it was great, the description was the best part I think and the way that the pokemon just kind of slot into the background is ingenius. Sometimes in crossover fics, it's like pokemon are just forced onto random characters; but you've managed to make it look so natural.
BTW, is one of the eight legends from DP, I think I can remember something to do with the regular pokemon world but... nope, my memory fails me again ^_^"
See ya,


Bone-ified dinosaur

Yonowaru in Chaos

gaspard de la nuit
No pictures, use your damn imagination!

Or I'll...I'll...hit you with a stick...yeah, that's what I'll do!

*gets a stick*

(seriously, this ain't a crossover)

Yonowaru in Chaos

gaspard de la nuit
Next part...took quite a bit of time to tone down, but I'm still not satisfied, especially with the flow. Oh well, flame away~

Hymn of the Fayth 祈りの歌

A dark figure stood at one end of the cavern, the shadows hiding his image. He was brandishing a small scythe, its blade reflecting the only light coming from the torches placed around the cavern. At the other end, stood another dark figure, wrapped in a torn cloak gashed with blood. He was easily seen, from his relative positions to the torches, but his face remained dim.

“Who are you?” the figure in the shadows asked.

The cloaked figure did not answer, unless nodding and mumbling counted, and to the other man, it did not. So he reiterated his demand, but the other stuttered again.

“Very well, then. Brace yourself!” the shadowed man yelled.

From the shadows, came a flash of blood red that found its way to an illuminated patch of ground. The amount of blood on the ground surely was surprising to the other man, as if an invisible small animal had just been meat processed before his very eyes. What was unusual, though, was that the puddle of blood had started to curdle a few seconds after it hit the ground. Ripples had emanated from its middle, unnaturally tall, and began to bubble the liquid. Then it began to singe. Eventually, the ripples and the bubbles had congregated back to the middle of the puddle, drawing itself up in to what seemed like a blood soaked statuette. Like a fountain, the blood continued to flow from the top, until it reached the height of a man. The fountain of blood stopped, but the materialisation continued. Tawny feathers had sprouted from all over the statuette’s body, beige ones started growing from the top, and talons appeared at the base to prevent the growing statue from falling.

“Blood summoning...?” asked the cloaked figure feebly.

The man in the shadows merely tittered as wings appeared wide open from the statue’s flanks, revealing a gigantic bird with triangular feathers over its abdomen and an extremely wide wingspan exposing ochre feathers neatly arranged in a downwards fashion. The bird’s face was round, yet its round, wide eyes were stern, its hooked beak dabbed with dark red. Beige feathers on its forehead formed a crest that was shaped like a bird in flight, except both its wings were broken upwards, giving the impression that the bird was horned. The bird tucked its wings in.

“This Noctowl looks...exceptional...” commented the cloaked figure, feebly yet again, but this time audible enough for the other to answer.

“Quite. I hope his opponent is likewise,” the man replied, with a subtly threatening tone.

“I’m not so sure, my friend...but I’ll allow you to adjudicate, no doubt.”

As fragilely as he spoke, the cloaked figure withdrew inside his cloak and produced a white metallic sphere with a red line to split it in to two exact halves. A white button sealed the two halves and upon the application of pressure, both halves split, the top half cleaved to the seal, and a white energy beam burst out, akin to lightning. It arched and hit the ground some distance in front of Noctowl. Where it hit, a seam in the ground had burst, and a large slab of rock had burst out, standing like an eerie obelisk, eclipsing the torchlight to its opposite side. The cracks on the stone glowed, and it burst open, revealing an upright figure whose height barely went up to the Noctowl’s breast, its arms bound together over its chest and eyes closed. Triangular horns dominated the outline of its head that kept it asymmetrical and its jaw opened to reveal elongated fangs. Both its feet were stubby and its short arms were clutching a staff, hooked at the top end.

“A native?” inquired the man in the shadows, but before he received a reply, he issued a command.

“Noctowl, use Foresight!”

The owl’s stern gaze narrowed at his master’s command, but otherwise, Noctowl did nothing, not even a nod of recognition. A high-pitched sound that came from nowhere filled everyone’s ears for a moment, but it was brief, and no one seemed to cringe.

“Aftoom...use Rock Tomb...”

The wee little creature with the stick jumped in the air towards the ceiling, its staff penetrating the stone right above Noctowl. The staff glowed, but-

“Noctowl, dodge.”

The owl took flight, but it was not airborne for long, simply landing a few feet in front of its initial position with a thud. By the time it had landed, stalactites and stalagmites had sprouted in a cradle-like fashion where the staff had struck and where Noctowl was just standing seconds before. Positions swapped, the torchlight had revealed to Noctowl what seemed to be a completely bandaged creature holding a hooked staff. Its eyes and snout were presumably covered, and only its mouth remained open. Closer inspection would reveal scutes growing over the creatures arms, back and legs, but it was impossible to tell if they were growing beneath the ‘bandages’, or above them. Huge slabs of stone forming crests, some crystalline and some earthy, were present all over the creature’s back, the crystalline ones producing a dim red glow.

“Use Hypnosis,” commanded the figure in the shadows.

As if it were commanded to use Foresight again, Noctowl did not move, merely contracting its eyelids. This time, however, Noctowl’s eyes began to dilate and with a snap of fingers from its master, Noctowl’s enormous wings immediately sprung out. A circle taking the colour and radiance of the torchlight materialised in front of the owl’s chest, glyphs began to appear in a circular fashion within it, and Noctowl’s wings began to rotate, slowly, towards the centre of the circle. The rushing air forced by the owl’s wings could clearly be heard, sounding almost like an operatic voice, slowly mesmerising the undead creature, until SNAP. The armed creature fell, and the circle disappeared. But the air pressure didn’t change.

“Air Cutter, Noctowl.”

With a flexible twist of its wings, the owl flicked its wings towards the sleeping creature, sending a kinetic rush of invisible blades that was the wind towards it, striking it and pummelling it in to the air.

“Aftoom...return...” the cloaked figure said with a hint of frustration.

Another obelisk appeared where Aftoom had fallen and a white energy ray had returned it entirely, the creature encased in its casket.

“It was far from unable to battle.”

“I don’t want to linger...”

“Very well. Return, Noctowl.”



Like a crucifix, a four-winged creature had soared out, materialising out of a spray of blood, as she flapped her four wings, wearing a menacing look on her tiny face. She was fully drabbed in the same purple, though the dim torchlight produced a rainbow of purple shades as she flapped her wings. As Crobat descended in to a battle altitude, the landing of a giant boulder on hard ground had resonated around the cavern, disrupting Crobat’s patterned flapping of wings briefly.

“How will you escape...this one?” teased the cloaked figure, though the effect was largely lost due to the voice’s weakness.


“Rock Blast...Golem...” the cloaked figure commanded, forcing anger through his weak cords.

Cracks appeared all over the boulder’s surface, but they did not seem to be new. Like an Earth in drought, canyons began to etch themselves all over the boulder’s surface, creating wide furrows surrounding the shell’s many plateaus. Suddenly, four tiny, clawed limbs had burst out of the sides in respecting positions to a wrestler, but to erase the impression that the boulder-creature was big-bellied, a turtle-like head had burst out of the front facet of the boulder, instead, giving it the impression of a hunchback.

“Double Team, Crobat.”

While the slow Golem had begun to throw parts of its shell at the bat, Crobat had responded by flying erratically to avoid the bombardment of rocks, leaving a shadow of herself as she flew off at different angles. Soon, multiple Crobat, indistinguishable from the other, dominated the air within the cavern, mimicking the movements of each other.

“Now, Supersonic.”

“Earthquake...” the cloaked figure responded, with a sense of urgency and desperation in his voice.

“Now now, that wouldn’t be wise.”

The Golem turned to face its trainer, one of its legs elevated, and its face in doubt, almost innocently. It was a wonder for the Crobat and her master to see a Golem not as a mindless puppet bent on its natural instincts of unhesitant destruction, but as a creature that was free to exercise his own free will. Not even Crobat, literally a blood relative, he admitted, would dare defy his command, not that he had given her the chance to force herself in to a life-threatening situation, but nevertheless, it was seldom seen a trainer would utilise as flexible a method of training than as clearly exercised by his current opponent.

“I...said...Earthquake,” the cloaked figure continued to say, adamantly.

The Golem continued to hesitate, and the shadowed man relieved his dilemma.

“I forfeit,” he said. The other man was not astonished, nor was he disappointed. On the other hand, he smiled, and chortled.

“Return, Golem.”

And so he did, while Crobat flew back in to the shadows.

“You’re one of Tectempest’s people, I assume. Ninja class, may I hazard a guess at?”

The stuttering and the injured-sounding voice had completely disappeared, replaced by a youthful and energetic voice, somewhat accented, but poorly hidden despite the man’s choice of vocabulary.

“Y-yes,” the ninja replied, with a slight tone of consequential shock.

“You can come out. I mean no harm.”

The ninja came out from the shadows and stopped when he reached the very patch of ground his own blood had spilled upon. His entire face except for his eyes was wrapped in a black cloth, stained with a few negligible sprays of blood and slightly dusty. In fact, he was almost entirely covered in dust, and his black garb gave no effort to camouflage it. He stowed away his scythe in a sheath he wore on an equally dusty black cloth belt.

“Who are you?” the ninja asked, with more curiosity and less intimidation.

The figure took off his cloak, and erected his back, effectively decreasing his age impression by about fifty years. However, his face was still enshrouded, but by his bright emerald hair, which looked severely overgrown, especially in the dim lighting. That said, however, there was a sense of deliberateness with the hair, much given away due to a spiked wheel with eight regularly spaced spokes that seemed to somehow attach itself to the backward slant of the man’s grassy head. His wear was not the most practical, a worn, once shiny uniform with a ‘T’ at the front, though it could not exactly be told whether it was a T-shape or a T; the design was just too simple. Closer look told the ninja that the uniform was deliberately made to look worn, and the ever so dim light revealed a faded pattern over the uniform that was hard to describe with words, except it only vaguely resembled a helix.

Familiar...the ninja thought, and then it came down as fast as a spark of realisation. Even faster was his reaction; his entire body fell towards the ground and quickly assumed an honorary obeisance.

“Kurorai Kozunu, Serial Number NJF089 ready to serve,” he recited.

“That...wouldn’t be necessary,” the other man said, “you can stand up, Kurorai.”

“Yes, sir.” He stood up, but there was still something stiff in his posture not present before that bothered the other man.

“Loosen up, why so serious?”

“Sir, this place is hardly the place to be casual about,” Kurorai said.

“Don’t call me Sir, I’d prefer you to use my real name.”

“But Commander Typhlops-”

“Titles will be unnecessary,” he interrupted.

“Very well.” Kurorai gave up trying to address Typhlops.

“So, what are you doing down here?” Typhlops asked. “Seems a pretty sad place for a mission.” His stare pointed around the dim cavern, uninteresting to say the least.

“Solarstorm’s hosting activities down here in the catacombs. As to what activities, I do not know,” Kurorai replied, with a disciplined rapidity that Typhlops thought fruitless to correct.

“Activities? That would be odd. As far as I know, most of what Solarstorm would encounter in their projects would be above ground.”

“Indeed, but Xiphacto might be looking for a relatively infinite supply of freshwater, of which the Basin would supply her with the most. Their activities occurred in the deeper part of the caverns, further down than the catacombs, and they seem to be using the ridges to pump up the water on a massive scale.”

“You seem to be more knowledgeable than the average grunt, Kurorai. Where’s your partner?”


But Kurorai did not continue any further. A silence fell between Typhlops and Kurorai and Typhlops decided to continue no further. Before a conversation could rekindle though, Kurorai began to walk away, in the direction from where Typhlops had approached, before breaking in to a sprint.

“Hey wait!” Typhlops called, but Kurorai ignored it.

Typhlops ran after him, but Kurorai had left a cloud of darkness powder behind, leaving Typhlops blinded and choking on the gas.

“Bloody ninjas...” he coughed. “Mothim!”

Somehow, Typhlops was able to produce the correct pokeball, and although the powder snuffed out the light produced from the summoning of its innards, its sound could clearly be heard, and so could the Mothim’s cry, which consisted of tiny high-pitched squeaks.

“Air Cutter, Mothim! And chase that ninja!” Typhlops wheezed amidst the black haze.

Mothim made a few squeaks, which somehow amplified the strength of his wings, and severed the cloud of invisible mist. After a couple more slashes, the mist cleared off and Mothim’s squeaks began to resonate as it chased off after the ninja, the sound of beating wings echoing through the passages. Typhlops ran after his moth, a dash of dimmed orange and yellow just slightly seen as Mothim rushed ahead.


Diego's Dream

Forever drifting,
Thou shan’t find salvation,
Forever drifting,
Always in separation...

Forever drifting,
Thou shan’t find salvation,
Forever drifting,
Always in separation...



Hate me,
Date me,
You’ll never escape me,
Why should you try anyway?
For you will FAIL,
Always FAIL,
To find yourself’s own way.

Your efforts are WASTED,
Your hope is LOST,
You have no reason to be tenacious....
Give up you *******,
There is no cost,
Don’t thank me cause I’m gracious. =D

But find a light...
Your one true light...
Your pain...
Your strain...

Ignore the laughter,
Ignore the madness,

Are you a dream?
We may be deemed.

Then- what is this
A message...

Not quite humble?
Senders’ Halt In Tell.


Opposition in message, arrive as one?
Opposition in message...arranged by nature.

Arranged by nature?
The laws of nature.

The Chaos and the Calm?
The calm.

Arrive as one?
The blessing and the curse, arrive as one.

Order from chaos, must be achieved.

Yet Chaos from Order, always reality?
A fact of life.

A balance has been lost?
Give it some time.

Seek my help?
Consider yourself.

No need to flail.



by Yonowaru in Chaos​


Please note that any grammatical errors in the poem were intentional.
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Very very interesting...... The description was excellent as per usual, and the battle was well done. I really don't get the poem at the end though, but I assume I'm not meant to =p Except the obvious FFX reference:
The Chaos and the Calm?
The calm.

Good stuff, Yonowaru, I'm eagerly anticipating chapter 3 =D

Yonowaru in Chaos

gaspard de la nuit
Very very interesting...... The description was excellent as per usual, and the battle was well done. I really don't get the poem at the end though, but I assume I'm not meant to =p Except the obvious FFX reference:

Good stuff, Yonowaru, I'm eagerly anticipating chapter 3 =D

That was Part 3 of Chapter 1 =D

And yes, well done for getting the reference, you get a Sin-sized cookie =D

Yonowaru in Chaos

gaspard de la nuit

Mature themes ahead, if you haven't noticed, the rating's changed from PG 13+ to PG 15+. OMG, those 2 years make so much difference lolololol. It's actually quite ironic really, seeing as I'm younger than 15 o_o

Anyways, I've abbreviated some swear words (so those are intentional, or they could just be Internet-speakers, whatever catches your drift.

So here it is, there probably isn't much relevance to Pokemon here, but whatever...

The Barbarians 蛮族

Hueteon I: Original
Alas the dawn breaks!
Alas the midnight ends!
Alas the false idol emerges!
Alas the land rends!

Alas the dawn crashes!
Alas the midnight lights!
Alas the false idol reclaims!
Alas the land writhes!

Alas the dawn spreads!
Alas the midnight fires!
Alas the false idol razes!
Alas the land spires!

Alas, the dawn molten,
Alas, the midnight agitated,
Alas, the false idol crowned,
Alas, the land regimented.

Alas, the dawn true rises;
Alas, the midnight rests.
Alas, the false idol reveals,
Alas, the land of Evil’s Nest.

Alas, the dawn sees,
Alas, the midnight distorted,
Alas, the false idol smirks,
Alas, the land, dead and thwarted.


by Yonowaru in Chaos​

Hueteon II: Report
Let thy trumpets of Amduscias fill the sky with false praise,
Let thy wings of Abaddon beat with destruction and pestilence,
Let thy sword of Andras declare a war to end all wars,
Let thy ceremony of Adramalech greet thou recklessness.

For the beginning ever since,
Never through to end,
Never time when blessed,
Never those been wiser.
For a play of fools ever since,
All the unpractised staging,
All the stringed ensemble,
All the humorous enraging.

To sever the ties that bond,
From power to nil.
To ever the strings that restrict,
From life to their will.
To sever the strands that remain,
From grudges to grief.
To sever them all at once,
And bless them all at once.

Burden of the heart,
Burden of the soul;
Those without either,
Those like a doll,
Kill your envies,
Kill your dreams;
Their futile escapes,
Repair their seams.

The forgiver of all,
The pinnacle of power,
Reduce them to a crawl,
And repent.

For the trumpets,
The wings,
The sword,
The ceremony.


by Yonowaru in Chaos​

Hueteon III: Manual
At one ancient cost,
Revenge is taking,
If the cradle is lost,
We face no remaking.

Pressure the angel,
Pressure the demon,
Insanity wages,
Angers the wyvern.

Confronts the wyvern,
Destroys the abode,
Where he severs,
Where he corrodes.

Sand in to ash,
Ash in to marrow,
The Badlands are washed,
With anger and sorrow.

The wyvern protects,
And yet he destroys,
One cannot detect
The Exile’s employ.

Mock the deities,
With modest arrogance,
Kick dirt in to their eyes,
And watch your assurance.

Know your intentions,
And feel no regret,
Wage national contention
And lest we forget.

When a scroll in this hand,
Repeats in reality,
Then turn to the sands
And wage brand new vanity.

Given a reason,
The Valkyries return,
At whichever season,
Ready to burn.

When raising the sword,
Know your plot well,
For at the same words,
Differently tell.

Watch no omen, outside
Before your demise,
Approach overdrive,
Let the future surmise.

by Yonowaru in Chaos​

‘This poem...’ Keyakku reiterated contemplatively, ‘is this a Prophetic Poem?’

His voice was youthful, almost too much so, yet it was obvious that he had made too much of an effort to make it sound professional, or at least, sensible. His accent had been tamed, too much, by the hardships of lower than lower-class society, of plundering and dog-eat-dog food chains. His skin had also been tamed by the usual exiles from the various towns and villages that he and his gang had received so much ever since they had stolen a loaf of bread when they were mere children. Now, after thirteen years, you could say they were professional. From loaves of bread to possessed refrigerators, from angry, spoilt electric sheep to complete Pokemon skeletons with flat ugly faces claiming to be docile, Keyakku’s gang was almost unstoppable. They were employed by various companies whom didn’t want to get involved first-hand with the situation, and evaded capture for most of the decade up to now, aided mostly by the uncouthly lavish environment that was the Underground.

A Don among the subterranean, Keyakku was one you could not trust too well, even though his gullible childhood had landed him in several not-very-thought-out situations up to recent times. Those unaccustomed to it sometimes wondered where he had obtained his accent from; all the unconventional words were accented, most of the time superfluously. Raised by thieves, Keyakku’s talents as a thief could not have been better nurtured, by the time he was seven, he had gathered around a gang of four (including himself), and were totally independent. It was easy being a thief ten years ago; the war only made survival easier, with most of the police forces taken off the streets for conscription and daily food handouts. Even when the war ended five years ago, peacekeeping practices failed to keep Keyakku (and the majority of other thieves) from their loot; the nation was in ruin and few politicians bothered to do anything about it. Half had resigned their post, and the other half had been assassinated, so while there were no politicians left to rule, Team Destrague, an organization pretty much unheard of beforehand, took up the post. Very little change occurred under Destrague’s rule, except that the general population seemed less paranoid about what would happen to their superannuation.

But Keyakku cared not for assassinations that he had absolutely nothing to do with (seriously) nor aging workers and their superannuation. Keyakku was a very youth-driven person, he cared not for the pleasures that he was going to experience at old age anyway, and this was a strongpoint he held as a Don of Thieves.

‘So young...and yet so knowledgeable...’ the professor answered. He coughed rather loudly, meaning to shake up some loose vocal cords, and that drowned out the words beside his pauses. It took quite the ear to listen to a coughing speaker, especially when Sariyus had his other ear not attached to the door amongst the putrid breaths of his two other brothers. Presumably, the reply was positive-intentioned, because Keyakku continued on.

‘Taking advantage of your youth is my motto,’ Keyakku replied.

‘I wish...thoughtful...were,’ the Professor wheezed. ‘Anyway...yes this...Poem, and...’

‘Well obviously, a Prophetic Poem implies that the treasure is also Prophetic in nature,’ Keyakku said, ‘given the structure and content of the Poem, I’d say that the loot would be Revelational.’


‘If you are asking for us to steal this treasure, then I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.’ Keyakku’s tone became more serious, despite his accent.

‘Excuse me, gentlemen, but you three are blocking the door.’

A smooth female voice inquired from Sariyus’ back. Her request was superfluously accented where a keyword stood, giving the impression that the female voice was rancorous than it should’ve been. Nevertheless, the sole fact that it was a female voice was enough to make Sariyus and his brothers stumble incautiously away from the door. Before they could recover though, the female had ignored their predicament and knocked on the door to inquire within.

‘Excuse me, Professor Kinougras, this is Libby,’ she said.

She met a reply, and she opened the door. Before Sariyus can stickybeak further, though, Libby had slammed the door behind her, the brass doorknob meeting with Sariyus’ right temple.

‘Ow...that Liby sure is rough...’ Sariyus commented, ‘...I like her.’

The other two, expecting little else from whatever Sariyus ever commented on, quickly pushed him back to assume their stickybeaking position.

‘Hey, WTF, Bakura! I was there!’

‘Well too bad,’ Bakura dismissed.

Sariyus looked at him with an annoyed glance, but Bakura didn’t catch it. When it did not prove effective, he stood up and briefly brushed off the dust from his shirt, a simple grey Singlet, and his sandy jeans, belted with snakeskin. He massaged both his temples and scratched through his short, splinter-like red hair, with a few shocks of white. After this ritual, he began pacing around the corridor. The walls were plain, painted off-white, and although spacious, the openings of either side were rather small in perspective view, giving the impression of the walls closing in. There were few other doors dotted around the corridors, besides two, one that led to all three varieties of toilets, and the other that led to a second office.

‘I’ll go wait in the lobby then,’ Sariyus said after a minute or two of pacing.

The other two, one whose vivid blue hair formed a crater shape on the edges of the top of his head, and a shorter one, fresh in to adolescence with his brunette hair uniformly cropped like a helmet over his head, absent-mindedly waved Sariyus off, while keeping their ears both on the door.

Before long, Sariyus’ footsteps on soft carpet had diminished with a thud of a closing door and a silence fuzzily rambled with the going-ons inside the room, refreshed with Libby’s additional part of the conversation refilling the scene.

‘...to meet you, Mr. Atakama,’ she filled in. ‘I’m Professor Libby Tanami, an expert on the southern deserts. I have heard about your interests on archaeological treasures on quite a few...umm...documentaries. We sincerely hope that you and your friends can help us retrieve an artefact stolen from our museum.’

‘Why...surely, but Professor Kinougras has yet to connect his collection of poems with the stolen artefact in question,’ Sariyus replied, again trying to diminish his accent as much as possible, ‘if it even was stolen from the first place.’

There was a brief silence.

‘You haven’t told him, Professor?’ asked Libby.

Frustrated, the other two squinted as much as possible to allow their ears to hear what Professor Kinougras had to say, but even though they did hear it, they could not distinguish between the coughing and the speech.

‘Did you get that, Bakura?’ the smaller one asked.

‘No, Furante, the door’s too thick, I reckon,’ Bakura replied. ‘We’ll just wait what Keyakku has to say when he comes out; there’s no point hearing only two-thirds of the conversation.’

‘Good point, to the lobby then?’

‘Yeah, why not...I’m so thirsty...I’ll go buy a can.’

‘I want one too!’ Furante said, his relative infancy more obvious in his voice.

While it was not obvious from outside Professor Kinougras’ office door, the electronically protected door gradually focused in to view when Bakura and Furante reached it. The heavy metal door opened and led them both to a less dull ambience, with the huge skeleton of a sea-going reptile perched in front of them. From their level, there was some five to six levels before it reached the bottom floor, and all floors, including the two floors above them were designed to be centred around the skeleton, as well as another, a winged pterosaur that took up much less space than the reptile, at the other end. There was a busy midday buzz of daily museum activity that echoed all around the entrance hall, typical of a museum that was neither extremely famous, but was quite exclusive in the region. Bakura and Furante both retrieved black-tinted lenses from their pockets and put them on, cautiously looking around for possible onlookers.

‘The lift’s over there,’ Bakura pointed out, ‘and look, Sariyus is still waiting.’

Furante signalled to Sariyus, who had his arms crossed, staring quite impatiently at the electronic dial above the nearer of the two lifts. He noticed Furante’s call, and relieved his eyes of something else to wait for while Bakura and Furante approached his waiting post. Sariyus, too, was wearing tinted lenses.

‘You still waiting?’ Furante asked.

‘In all obviousness, ignorant child, what gave that away?’ Sariyus asked.

After a few more minutes of tense waiting, a lift had arrived on their floor. A few visitors poked their heads out to see what exhibits they could photograph and fewer disembarked. The three of them entered when the flow of visitors ceased and the lift doors were just about to close.

‘Going up,’ the electronic voice sounded.

‘Dammit!’ Sariyus exclaimed, loud enough to intimidate a mother behind them, who was hushing a baby, near the brink to burst in to a tantrum, in her arms.

Furante approached the back of the lift, which was transparent and gave a shifting view of the centre of the museum, as well as different perspectives of the two centrepiece skeletons.

‘Seventh floor, History of Technology and Science, Museum Café,’ the electronic voice sounded. The mother and her child hurried out, the mother making an effort to hush her baby back to sleep.

The lift continued to ascend, and Sariyus assumed that the last visitor, a bald man in a business suit and darkened lenses holding a leather briefcase, was heading for the eighth floor.

‘Eighth floor, Atmospheric Sciences and the Astronomy Tower,’ sounded the voice, and the man walked out. Above the other floors, the Eighth Floor seemed to pose little interest to visitors, for it was much quieter.

Sariyus impatiently pressed the ‘Close’ button and then the button that led to the Ground floor Lobby. He put his hands in to his pockets and hummed at the dial. Furante continued to scan the museum, staring through his tinted lenses, in to the reptile’s hollow eyes. Bakura stood coolly by the back corner of the lift, his glances shifting (although not apparent behind the tinted lenses) around the interior of the lift.

‘Sixth floor, Ancient History, Skeleton Room and Exhibition Room C.’

A few typical-looking tourists sporting digital cameras clambered in noisily, conversing excitedly and quite oblivious to the presence of the three of them. A blonde woman laughed hysterically at the mention of a “Teraclope nu”, but apart from that, their intangible languages failed to make any sense.

‘Fifth floor, Insectarium and Botany Room.’

A few of the tourists left, but more of them came in; the lift was beginning to get a bit crowded. They too, were quite oblivious of the load limit of the lift. One was complaining about an Ariados that kept on staring at her and another complained about the lack of being able to touch the exhibits. Soon, the lift was full of complaints. Furante moved forward when three boys younger than him with started fighting over the view.

‘Fourth floor, Fossil Hall, History of Music and Exhibition Room B.’

No one exited the lift, but a few more ignorant visitors clambered in, until the limit overload alarm sounded. No one wanted to leave, but Furante caught two tourists in front of him unawares and poked them out of the lift. No one reacted and everyone resumed their own conversations when the alarm button stopped.

‘Third floor, Auditorium, History of Religion and Cults and Mummy Hall.’

Everyone but three gentlemanly-looking men from the Fourth Floor left, carrying their conversations with them. When all of them left, they began their own.

‘Now I say, Burgundy, how did you like that 13th Century maple harpsichord? From what I know about your obsession with harpsichords, I’d say that it’d be in your Quetherin Mansion by this afternoon!’

‘Now, now, Navvy, I’m not that tenacious as you think I am. I’ve seen better and far more valuable harpsichords around, and at any rate, I imagine that Bergeaud’s French horn would already be arriving at your Atlain Collection as we speak!’

‘A fine eye, Burgundy! I have fallen in love with that horn, I admit, as I have always done with Bergeaud’s compositions, but certainly not without reason! Now Limesworth, you’ve been oddly quiet! I’m sure you would have been interested in that 17th Pipe Organ once played by Raiz de Monte herself?’

‘Why surely, Navvy! Considering that she only played...’

‘Second Floor, Freshwater Aquarium, Rocks and Minerals Hall and Exhibition Room A.’

The group of gentlemen carried their conversation beyond the lift door, leaving Sariyus, Bakura and Furante in peace-filled quietness.

‘Rich *******s,’ Bakura commented.

‘You know we’re going to end up like them sooner or later if we continue on like this,’ added Sariyus, ‘Keyakku’s going to break someday.’

‘I hope not, I’m going to spend it all on travel and adventure, not just on collectibles and all that sh*t.’

‘Yeah!’ inserted Furante, ‘Who needs a mansion when you can go dig for treasure?’

‘You’re still young, Furante, too young in fact, you won’t satisfy yourself with just digging holes around the place. You’ll get tired, you’ll have children and your children will have children, then you’ll want lots and lots of women, and you’ll need fortunes and good looks to draw the ladies in. I mean, you’ll be relying on your grandchildren’s’ money by the time your thirty?’

‘Are you serious, Sariyus? Is that what you’re planning to blow your money on?’ asked Bakura. ‘You seriously looking forward to having grandchildren by the time you’re thirty? You’re only twenty right now and still don’t have a girlfriend. Don’t tell me you want to have your nine-year-old daughter diagnosed with advanced puberty and get raped.’

‘Of course not. I’ll somehow diagnose my son with advanced puberty and have him-’

‘First floor, Art Gallery and History of Art.’

A group of about ten schoolchildren all younger and much shorter than Furante accompanied by a female teacher all entered the lift, carrying sketchpads of badly mimicked art captioned with wrongly spelt words that were clearly meant to imply some degree of intelligence. Apparently, it seemed that they had been introduced to the concept of abstract art at a far too early age. The children all looked whiny and bored, with their teacher trying to hush them up and calm them down. Sariyus did not continue further.

‘Ground floor, Ocean Aquarium, Lobby, Gift Shop and Museum Café.’

The lift emptied itself and Sariyus, Bakura and Furante all headed towards the Café vending machine while the teacher did a roll call of her groaning students. When the vending machine proved to be out of order, especially after a few rampant kicks from Sariyus, they got themselves a bottle of water each instead from the café counter (‘We don’t sell alcohol here, Sir.’).

While Furante enjoyed himself poking fun at curious Pokemon in the Aquarium, Sariyus continued his conversation with Bakura about how he planned to have great-grandchildren by the time he was forty-five, expecting himself to have around twenty-five to fifty million dollars by the time he was sixty and still be impervious to hair loss, wrinkling and sexual degeneration in general.

‘You know, we can’t be thieves all our lives,’ admitted Sariyus. ‘I think I’ll retire when I’m twenty-one.’

‘You think you’ve got all the time you have in your hands, don’t you, Sariyus?’ questioned Bakura. ‘Just because you have everything planned out, doesn’t mean that things will just magically follow your timetable ‘til the day you die. For one, you still have us.’

‘What does that have to do with anything?’ asked Sariyus.

‘For one, we’re not letting you get a girlfriend that easily.’

After a few more discussions, that ranged from sex, to politics, to sex in politics, to politics in sex, Keyakku arrived after what seemed three hours. As the lift doors opened, Keyakku’s prominent features consisting of thick eyebrows, lightly cropped black hair and a camel brown unbuttoned shirt, exposing a white T-shirt beneath, quickly set in stone how boyishly charming he could be, until he opened his mouth. He carried a rather bulky-looking leather bag around his left shoulder, but Keyakku did not seem to mind the weight. Following him, was, Sariyus assumed, Professor Tanami, a young tanned woman, probably in her mid-twenties, in a white lab coat long black hair tied elaborately with hairpins and clamps, and rather thin, almost to the point of malnutrition. Her face wore a charmed smile and the eyes behind her black-rimmed rectangle-framed glasses did not reach further than Keyakku.

‘We’ll meet again when we hear of your discoveries then, Mr. Atakama.’ She shook her hand with Keyakku, who left his unused hand in his pockets. Her voice sounded less harsh than the tone she had used to scoff at Sariyus, or it sounded more worn out- Sariyus could not tell, because her accent seemed to run completely parallel to normal English speech. After a farewell, Professor Tanami headed back towards the lift, while Keyakku found Sariyus and Bakura standing by the railing that protected a giant Mamoswine skeleton from ambitious tourists from getting too close.

Both Sariyus and Bakura didn’t complain, for they have had longer briefing times, and as usual, Bakura was the one who asked the question.

‘So, what’s set in store for Mission #1546?’


Meh, I don't like this particularly well, even though it's the longest I've ever written yet.

For the record, it's longer than the last prologue *looks at otaku-dono*
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And yes, well done for getting the reference, you get a Sin-sized cookie =D
O__o It'd probably eat me.

Anyways, the chapter. It was good, lots of juicy new characters introduced and more confusion plotline to scratch my head over =D I eagerly await the next chapter.
Let thy trumpets of Amduscias fill the sky with false praise,
Let thy wings of Abaddon beat with destruction and pestilence,
Let thy sword of Andras declare a war to end all wars,
Let thy ceremony of Adramalech greet thou recklessness.
Adramalech? Abaddon? FFXII?


Bone-ified dinosaur
*Runs in, skids to a stop, falls over, gets up* WaddImiss?

Sorry I haven't commented in a while but I've caught up now. The poems confuse me slightly (probably as I haven't played any of the game you're talking about ^_^; ) but I like all the new characters. The mummy-like pokemon sounds cool, I can't wait to see more of it; and the museum was very well described. Although I think the lift scene dragged on for a bit, it could have done with being slightly shorter.

His accent had been tamed, too much, by the hardships of lower than lower-class society, of plundering and dog-eat-dog food chains. His skin had also been tamed by the usual exiles from the various towns and villages that he and his gang had received so much ever since they had stolen a loaf of bread ever since they were mere children.
It should be "ever since they had stolen a loaf of bread when they were mere children" or just "ever since they had stolen a loaf of bread."

Also, you're younger than me?!?!? 0_o I always assumed you were older (I'm 16 by the way) it's funny how you just make assumptions sometimes.