flameswy
Lord of Light
A short series I may put some work into, this is a collection of one shots, each from the point of view of a pokemon. The only thing that connects them is that they are, will be, or were owned by the same trainer. My hope is that through looking into their every day lives, you will grasp what kind of person the trainer is....
Rated PG-13 for disturbing imagery, I suppose. I don't know, its not that bad...
Anyway, feel free to rate and show me what I'm doing wrong, as I'm sure there will be plenty of mistakes, this being my first venture in writing a fanfic....
With out further ado, I present the first three.
Kabutops-
Armageddon
I sit, covered in darkness. Only a few feet away, there’s a loud babble of voices talking, shouting arguing. I sigh a rasping drawn out sound, and try to ignore them. I think back to better times, times when I delighted in the company of others.
Back when my limbs were strong and steady, back when even the mightiest of oak's fell before my scythes. The thought makes me smile. I can still remember those days, I don’t think I'll ever forget them. Back when I was a champion among pokemon, the star of a team that ruled all of kanto. Back then, the master to me every where with him.
Every battle, every town, every new friend we met together. I can still see them in my head, every last one of them. Every friend we made, every enemy we vanquished together. Those days in my memories are golden, frozen forever in a crystal syrup of glory and joy.
The babble rises in volume again, and I grimace, pushing my weary carapace further into the shade.
A pokemon walks up, ignoring my obvious body language.
"HI," it exclaims happily standing before me. For the first time in a very long while, my heavy lidded eyes crack open, blindly blinking at what stands before me. "What are you?" I growl wearily, my voice like the grinding of stone slabs.
It blinks, worriedly. Perhaps it does have some sense then. "My name is rumble!" The blue humanoid sticks out a long arm towards me.
I look at the hand distrustfully. Briefly, I consider raising my own knife sharp scythes, cutting into its warm bloody flesh.
"I asked what you are."
Its smile starts to slip. "I’m a sawk."
"What?" I grunt, crawling further into the shade.
"A sawk! From Unova." I groan. The master had slowed down lately, but there was still a few of these newbies drifting about.
"Listen kid, you just back off and leave me alone. I’ve got no interest whatsoever in meeting a pompous little upstart like you. Get lost."
I snarl the last few words, nearly rising to my knees. His face bleaches as I raise my razor like scythes, each glinting silver despite their great age.
He hurries off to join the mob of laughing talking others. I sigh, and curl up again.
But then, something broke the humdrum of every day activity. The sky split open, in the characteristic light
show that alerted us the master was looking through the boxes.
I peer up blindly at the sky. And who is it today, old friend? Iron legs? Serpantine? But no, the light tracks
across the many pokemon, each holding their arms up eagerly to it, faces crumpling as it passes them by.
I feel like laughing at them.
Why would he want you, weaklings? Our master has no use for those who can't hold their own in battle, what's the point of a soldier who cant hold a sword? I lost hope long ago. I turn, closing my eyes to the light.
But then, something that has not happened in years does. The light envelopes me, and I feel it lifting me to the sky, and confining my old bones to my dented and ancient pokeball. I blink my blind eyes in surprise. Surely not, not me?*
But it's happening, I can feel it. the master attaches my ball to his belt, and walks with a slow staggering motion, as though he's leaning on a cane, or possibly another trainer.
Where is he going? I don't know. How long will it take to get there? I haven’t any idea.
But every second I'm with him, my life is filled with meaning, and I feel old life pour into these bones of mine once more.
"Maybe... maybe he hasn't forgotten me yet."
I close my eyes, dreaming of adventures that have gone by, and adventures yet to come.
Zoroak-
Blink
I laze back, hands behind my head, basking in the cool shade. So many pokemon complain about living in the boxes, but what are they really complaining about? Having all the food, rest and water they could ever want. My face creases in a sardonic grin.
some people could just never be happy. Wasn’t this the life? Grinning, I roll to my feet, hair dragging on the artificial soft green grass. Stretching leisurely, in the warm late day sun. Its a good life, that of a retired battler. Unlike some of the others, I can still remember when I was used by the trainer. It was fun, pushing weak fools into the dirt. But then, there was the times when they hit back. My smile turns to a grimace, as I head over to the dispenser in the centre of the island, grabbing some food.
You couldn’t do that in the wild. I remember the wild, it sits in my memories,waking me from my sleep, troubling my thoughts. The wild was dangerous, and wearing. There was never enough food then, never enough time for sleeping. Never enough time for anything, come to that. Not enough time to meet others, why bother when they could be gone by next morning? Never enough time to make a real home. Never enough time to lay provisions for winter. My whole life in the wild could be summed up in a few sentences, which I must have uttered hundreds of times. What will I do tomorrow?
munching slowly on a juicy pinap berry, wandering back over to the beach, I muse a bit to myself. Its quiet in this box, mostly because of the scarcity of retired battlers. Live hard and die young, that’s the idea, isn’t it? One that the trainer seems to take to heart. For his pokemon anyway..
I roll my eyes, sitting on the beach, watching the sun set. The only other pokemon here is a tired looking metagross, covered in deep gouges and dents. Its breathing heavily, watching the water.
I decide to walk over, just to see whats up. “hey, big guy, whats up? What are you doing in the surf?”
a huge red eye turns to observe me, but the metagross says nothing. I shrug, and climb on top, sitting on its tank like head. Still no response. We sit their together, watching the sun set. It takes hours, and finally the metagross speaks. Its voice is deep and gravely, sounding as though the rocks as its feet roll away from its every step. Which they probably do, I add mentally.
“I fought my whole life.” its eyes are locked onto the dimming horizon.
“from the moment of my birth, I battled. Himself and me... we took down so many challengers. Even when the going got hard, I was one of the few. The faithful. We promised,”
he looks up at me.
“We promised not to ever disband or abandon the master. Never. And now...”
It looks around at the dark beach.
“He has left me for another. All it took was a sparkle of chrome and gold, and I am nothing... all of our battles...”
The metagross voice stops, and i say nothing.
“I cant hold on much longer. I cant live like this. Not caged, not behind bars.”
I look down warily, as the iron beast slowly climbs to its feet.
“good bye zoroak. I'm glad my last statement was heard by some one...”
Slowly, it wades into the deep water. I jump from its back landing on the soft sand, watching the bubbles come up to the surface. After a while, the bubbles stop.
I finished my berry mash, and look about the dark island. Now what do I do? And what about tomorrow? And the day after that? I start laughing, and find I cant stop.
“there’s nothing left to do.”
Deino
Of the nameless rabble
I pant, dragging my numb back leg as fast as I can through the dark tunnel. I can hear breathing behind me. My breath changes to desperate sobs.
I cant let them catch me like they did the others. I wont end up a carcase drained of all blood, lying on the floor some where... no, I was a survivor. I would be the one to make it out, I knew. I see a small boulder looming ahead in the darkness, and dive for it, holding as still as I could in my terrified state, leg hanging uselessly.
Overhead, a dry flapping sound draws near, along with a dripping slurping sound. It brings to mind the shadow half images I’ve seen before, always behind. The grotesquely over sized mouth, the dripping tongue...
My body gives an involuntary shiver, and I freeze, certain it must have seen me. But no, the slurping and flapping continue on, leaving me in my misery.
“Where am I? Who am I?” I miserably go through my list of questions to the world again, not really expecting answers. I think back, remembering my whole short life...
I can still remember being born. It was warm and dark I recall, as I poked my head out of my egg. Some one was holding me tightly, and watching me. I cant remember what the face looked like, my new eyes still watery and weak even in this dark. What happened after is burned into my mind though, and I can still see it clearly.
Thrown into a machine, I fell through it, landing in a dimly lit room. A booming voice came from over head; “Failure number eighty seven.” The room is already filled with the stink of fear and sweat, the uncomfortable heat of to many bodies pushing on each other. As soon as I landed, voices picked up all around me.
“where are we?!” I’m so scared!” “Are you here to let us out?!”
I tyred to answer the voices with my tiny voice, but the mob was to loud and I'm certain no one heard me. I was ravenous then, and I remember pushing through the mass of tightly packed body’s to the centre of the room, trying to get at the food as it materialized their. I was not proud of how I acted in those times.
The mob was everywhere, pushing and shoving, even wounding in a few cases when the victim was to small to push back. And now that i think back on it, I was part of the mob, wasn’t I? I pushed to get at food, fresh air, and to get away from others. To them, I was the mob...
I sob a little, hiding behind my rock. That was before though. I thought it was bad then, but it was nothing compared to what happened next. One day, or night it was impossible to tell in that dim room, every thing changed. Afterwards for the next little bit, every one called it the rapture. I don’t know where the name came from, or what it meant, but I too used it. We were released one by one into a dark cave, much larger then the room before.
There was so much happiness then. I feel my soul fall remembering it. We were so sure things would get better then, so sure. The blind optimism of the many... But it was not to be. One by one, we started to disappear again... And there was no food. Even if the amount provided in the room was never enough, at least it was some. Here there was nothing but rock and shadows.
We found out where everyone was going, eventually. The beasts, as I will call them were hanging from the ceiling. They would sweep down, and grab a poor deino, then drag it back to the ceiling. From there, they would drain the little creature dry, ignoring its agonized squeaks and shrieks until it was dead, when they would drop it on the living below.
Once we figured out what was happening, We did not stay there. We ran.. down the tunnel, towards that tiny speck of light in the distance. Every day, more of us were plucked from our weary march, ever day more died from hunger. And now...
I look up again, peering into the darkness of the dark hole.
“Now it was just me. Just me.”
I sob again, all alone. Even the beasts had gone now, not caring if they over looked a single morsel. As I sob, I begin to hear something. A heavy thumping sound, the likes of which I have never heard before.
I look up, sure nothing could be worse then what lays behind.
A massive figure looks down at me, eyes shadowed by its hair. A orb appears in its hand, and it throws it at me. I attempt to move, but with my ruined leg and lack of food it proves impossible. The sphere impacts me right in the side, and absorbs me.
I can feel the stranger picking it up, and looking at the ball.
“What has happened to you little one? What has happened here?”
I look up at the kindly face of a old man, the darkness and hat obscuring his features. This is all I see, because then I pass out.
The man scans the ball in his pokedex, and reads the results. As he does, his face hardens with anger. “Some nitwit has been breeding for shinys again... Why do they always release them here?”
He looks about angrily. “Victory Road... Its no place for a newly hatched pokemon. The golbat make sure of that...” He turns, and slowly lopes for the exit, pokeball held tenderly in his old hands.
Milotic-
Scarred
The dark is absolute, and my whole body is serene and prepared. The only sound I can hear in this place is the voice of my trainer, and he is not one for chatting. I listen to the dull slow thud of his heart beat, anxious for any change. Just then, I feel his heart beat pick up; its new taboo a frenzy of cold fear. I curl upon my self, tail over my eyes awaiting the next move.
As I expected, I am thrown into the arena from my ball, the instant the rival trainer bellows, “Ice beam!” the blow strikes dead on, and I barely shake it of in my disoriented condition. The sudden blast of sensations on every side is always such a change from the nether of a pokeball.
All around the arena, the crowd screams, cheers, and shouts. Cameras and spotlights flash and swing across the arena, blinding any one foolish enough to look up at them. I shake my head, clearing it of these thoughts. I have already done my part for now, that ice beam would have been fatal to one of my team mates, I'm happy to have been able to save them.
The enemy nidoking blinks dimly at me from the other side of the arena, and I pull my long serpentine body into a powerful spear, ready for any command.
“Altruist, surf.”
The voice of my master is soft and tired, he to is weary of the lights and noise, I can tell. whipping up the water from the atmosphere, I close my almond eyes, exerting all my focus to the task at hand.
“Nido, thunderbolt!”
A wicked bolt of pure energy strikes me dead on, and my whole body shakes with its impact. My eyes fly open, and I nearly lose my concentration. Nearly, but not quite. The massive wall of water finally appears before me, and it takes but a moment to release all of its crashing force on the enemy. The nidoking gargles, attempting to weather the flash flood, but its already to late. Sorrowfully, I watch as he falls in the last of the surf, eyes rolling up, foam coming from his thick jaw.
The enemy trainer cry’s out, whether in fear or anger I cannot tell.
I feel the cold and sudden cessation of all my sense's, as I am returned to my ball.
“Well done Altruist.”
I can feel my masters smile even in here, and curl again, content with my lot. It may not be the most glorious job in the team, but no one could do it as well as me. I sigh, thinking of how much good I have done; with out me the others would have perished long ago. With out me to take their blows, to weather what they could not, they would be crippled shadows of what they are. I smile faintly, feeling content in my own expertise.
A hint of cynical reason manages to creep into my thoughts though. Yes, no one can take a hit like me. That's my whole purpose, isn’t it? To be beaten so the others will not be. I double myself up, rubbing my body for warmth. All across my delicately scaled hide are scars and wounds, some healed, some still fresh. I wince a little, running over a particularly large bite wound. Thunder fang, wasn’t it? I can never keep old wounds apart.
Just then, I sense the battle ending. The masters heart beat slows, returning to a more easy thumping. I smile wryly. So who saved the day today? Diogenes? Zealot? Perhaps even Pyroeclipses? I sigh. There is no knowing. Perhaps I'll remember to ask when next we rest out side of our balls, perhaps not. The knowledge of our victory lulls my frayed nerves, and I drop of to a peaceful rest.
Alakazam
A look inside
Sick in the soul. A term that either means much, or little. Most would have difficulty attaching it to any meaning; excepting a heavy rock song writers. I have heard the term only a few times in my life, and even then usually in books only. It means some one who’s sick on the inside, where it really matters. Some who can tell, but cant fix it on their own.
I once imagined how this would feel. At the time I likened it to a headache, focused in the centre of your being. Observing my master now, I can tell its nothing like that. If anything, I suppose It resembles the flu. A wearing, wasting illness, the clots the mind, drowning good cheer and clear thinking. I can see him struggle on regardless, trying to beat it down with false smiles and cheer. I can see him failing, and see him realizing this.
I see, opening my eyes wearily. The room I sit in is real and made of dark wood. I know I should feel grateful for this. How many others owned by my master can boast of owning a room; a physical token of their worth? I should use it more.
Heavy black curtains cover the only window, keeping the light out. A thick red rugs lays on the floor, one of the only ornamental objects in the room. The other two are a small dresser and a tall mirror set onto the wall, its ornate frame heavily pulling in its fastenings.
Rubbing my face, I extend my look over a larger area then I normally do, scanning for anything out of the norm. The house is quiet and still as usual, every thing in its place or going there. The masters violin lays in his sitting room, by the fire. The library is being re-categorized by my old friend, Tenebris. The kitchen is spotless and empty, as usual. I can even remember the last time it was used, actually. The mud room is warm and-
I pause, double checking.
And the master is their, wearily pulling off his shoes. I mentally alert a few others who would be interested, and stand up creakily. The door opens soundlessly as I approach it, and I slowly make my way down stairs, leaning heavily on the bannister on my way down the stairs.
I make it down them just as he walks into the room, and eyes ours meet for a second. Despite the infrequency of me feeling anything, my heart leaps. The characteristic joy of finally seeing my old friend again, after so long. He smiles tiredly, his old face wrinkled and greyish. He opens his mouth to say something, but I hold up a long gnarled bony finger. He closes his mouth, eyes raising in a look of surprise. I point at the ceiling, where many sleep.
He nods in understanding, and crosses the room, slumping into a tall red velvet chair. The few I contacted before enter the room, looking about. Two haunter, a chandelure, and a lampent. The master smiles over at them, from his seat. I can tell each celebrates inwardly in their own way.
When was the last time he was home? I cant even remember. Years ago, certainly. Back when our family was so much smaller.... I sigh tiredly, running a hand along my moustache. He speaks quietly with the others for a while, and eventually they leave. I walk over and sit in the chair by him, watching the fire. I can sense even with out looking the dismay and sorrow with in his heart. By why? I sigh and look over at him. If I asked, would he answer? If he answered, would I understand? I turn back to the fire, and we sit in companionable silence, one listening to the chaos in his heart, one to the clarity of my mind.
The clock strikes thee in the morning.
I smile at the irony. Midnight of the human soul, when hope turns to despair. Bradbury was always an insightful man. I look up at my master, the smile still on my lips.
“By the pricking of my thumbs...”
Rated PG-13 for disturbing imagery, I suppose. I don't know, its not that bad...
Anyway, feel free to rate and show me what I'm doing wrong, as I'm sure there will be plenty of mistakes, this being my first venture in writing a fanfic....
With out further ado, I present the first three.
Kabutops-
Armageddon
I sit, covered in darkness. Only a few feet away, there’s a loud babble of voices talking, shouting arguing. I sigh a rasping drawn out sound, and try to ignore them. I think back to better times, times when I delighted in the company of others.
Back when my limbs were strong and steady, back when even the mightiest of oak's fell before my scythes. The thought makes me smile. I can still remember those days, I don’t think I'll ever forget them. Back when I was a champion among pokemon, the star of a team that ruled all of kanto. Back then, the master to me every where with him.
Every battle, every town, every new friend we met together. I can still see them in my head, every last one of them. Every friend we made, every enemy we vanquished together. Those days in my memories are golden, frozen forever in a crystal syrup of glory and joy.
The babble rises in volume again, and I grimace, pushing my weary carapace further into the shade.
A pokemon walks up, ignoring my obvious body language.
"HI," it exclaims happily standing before me. For the first time in a very long while, my heavy lidded eyes crack open, blindly blinking at what stands before me. "What are you?" I growl wearily, my voice like the grinding of stone slabs.
It blinks, worriedly. Perhaps it does have some sense then. "My name is rumble!" The blue humanoid sticks out a long arm towards me.
I look at the hand distrustfully. Briefly, I consider raising my own knife sharp scythes, cutting into its warm bloody flesh.
"I asked what you are."
Its smile starts to slip. "I’m a sawk."
"What?" I grunt, crawling further into the shade.
"A sawk! From Unova." I groan. The master had slowed down lately, but there was still a few of these newbies drifting about.
"Listen kid, you just back off and leave me alone. I’ve got no interest whatsoever in meeting a pompous little upstart like you. Get lost."
I snarl the last few words, nearly rising to my knees. His face bleaches as I raise my razor like scythes, each glinting silver despite their great age.
He hurries off to join the mob of laughing talking others. I sigh, and curl up again.
But then, something broke the humdrum of every day activity. The sky split open, in the characteristic light
show that alerted us the master was looking through the boxes.
I peer up blindly at the sky. And who is it today, old friend? Iron legs? Serpantine? But no, the light tracks
across the many pokemon, each holding their arms up eagerly to it, faces crumpling as it passes them by.
I feel like laughing at them.
Why would he want you, weaklings? Our master has no use for those who can't hold their own in battle, what's the point of a soldier who cant hold a sword? I lost hope long ago. I turn, closing my eyes to the light.
But then, something that has not happened in years does. The light envelopes me, and I feel it lifting me to the sky, and confining my old bones to my dented and ancient pokeball. I blink my blind eyes in surprise. Surely not, not me?*
But it's happening, I can feel it. the master attaches my ball to his belt, and walks with a slow staggering motion, as though he's leaning on a cane, or possibly another trainer.
Where is he going? I don't know. How long will it take to get there? I haven’t any idea.
But every second I'm with him, my life is filled with meaning, and I feel old life pour into these bones of mine once more.
"Maybe... maybe he hasn't forgotten me yet."
I close my eyes, dreaming of adventures that have gone by, and adventures yet to come.
Zoroak-
Blink
I laze back, hands behind my head, basking in the cool shade. So many pokemon complain about living in the boxes, but what are they really complaining about? Having all the food, rest and water they could ever want. My face creases in a sardonic grin.
some people could just never be happy. Wasn’t this the life? Grinning, I roll to my feet, hair dragging on the artificial soft green grass. Stretching leisurely, in the warm late day sun. Its a good life, that of a retired battler. Unlike some of the others, I can still remember when I was used by the trainer. It was fun, pushing weak fools into the dirt. But then, there was the times when they hit back. My smile turns to a grimace, as I head over to the dispenser in the centre of the island, grabbing some food.
You couldn’t do that in the wild. I remember the wild, it sits in my memories,waking me from my sleep, troubling my thoughts. The wild was dangerous, and wearing. There was never enough food then, never enough time for sleeping. Never enough time for anything, come to that. Not enough time to meet others, why bother when they could be gone by next morning? Never enough time to make a real home. Never enough time to lay provisions for winter. My whole life in the wild could be summed up in a few sentences, which I must have uttered hundreds of times. What will I do tomorrow?
munching slowly on a juicy pinap berry, wandering back over to the beach, I muse a bit to myself. Its quiet in this box, mostly because of the scarcity of retired battlers. Live hard and die young, that’s the idea, isn’t it? One that the trainer seems to take to heart. For his pokemon anyway..
I roll my eyes, sitting on the beach, watching the sun set. The only other pokemon here is a tired looking metagross, covered in deep gouges and dents. Its breathing heavily, watching the water.
I decide to walk over, just to see whats up. “hey, big guy, whats up? What are you doing in the surf?”
a huge red eye turns to observe me, but the metagross says nothing. I shrug, and climb on top, sitting on its tank like head. Still no response. We sit their together, watching the sun set. It takes hours, and finally the metagross speaks. Its voice is deep and gravely, sounding as though the rocks as its feet roll away from its every step. Which they probably do, I add mentally.
“I fought my whole life.” its eyes are locked onto the dimming horizon.
“from the moment of my birth, I battled. Himself and me... we took down so many challengers. Even when the going got hard, I was one of the few. The faithful. We promised,”
he looks up at me.
“We promised not to ever disband or abandon the master. Never. And now...”
It looks around at the dark beach.
“He has left me for another. All it took was a sparkle of chrome and gold, and I am nothing... all of our battles...”
The metagross voice stops, and i say nothing.
“I cant hold on much longer. I cant live like this. Not caged, not behind bars.”
I look down warily, as the iron beast slowly climbs to its feet.
“good bye zoroak. I'm glad my last statement was heard by some one...”
Slowly, it wades into the deep water. I jump from its back landing on the soft sand, watching the bubbles come up to the surface. After a while, the bubbles stop.
I finished my berry mash, and look about the dark island. Now what do I do? And what about tomorrow? And the day after that? I start laughing, and find I cant stop.
“there’s nothing left to do.”
Deino
Of the nameless rabble
I pant, dragging my numb back leg as fast as I can through the dark tunnel. I can hear breathing behind me. My breath changes to desperate sobs.
I cant let them catch me like they did the others. I wont end up a carcase drained of all blood, lying on the floor some where... no, I was a survivor. I would be the one to make it out, I knew. I see a small boulder looming ahead in the darkness, and dive for it, holding as still as I could in my terrified state, leg hanging uselessly.
Overhead, a dry flapping sound draws near, along with a dripping slurping sound. It brings to mind the shadow half images I’ve seen before, always behind. The grotesquely over sized mouth, the dripping tongue...
My body gives an involuntary shiver, and I freeze, certain it must have seen me. But no, the slurping and flapping continue on, leaving me in my misery.
“Where am I? Who am I?” I miserably go through my list of questions to the world again, not really expecting answers. I think back, remembering my whole short life...
I can still remember being born. It was warm and dark I recall, as I poked my head out of my egg. Some one was holding me tightly, and watching me. I cant remember what the face looked like, my new eyes still watery and weak even in this dark. What happened after is burned into my mind though, and I can still see it clearly.
Thrown into a machine, I fell through it, landing in a dimly lit room. A booming voice came from over head; “Failure number eighty seven.” The room is already filled with the stink of fear and sweat, the uncomfortable heat of to many bodies pushing on each other. As soon as I landed, voices picked up all around me.
“where are we?!” I’m so scared!” “Are you here to let us out?!”
I tyred to answer the voices with my tiny voice, but the mob was to loud and I'm certain no one heard me. I was ravenous then, and I remember pushing through the mass of tightly packed body’s to the centre of the room, trying to get at the food as it materialized their. I was not proud of how I acted in those times.
The mob was everywhere, pushing and shoving, even wounding in a few cases when the victim was to small to push back. And now that i think back on it, I was part of the mob, wasn’t I? I pushed to get at food, fresh air, and to get away from others. To them, I was the mob...
I sob a little, hiding behind my rock. That was before though. I thought it was bad then, but it was nothing compared to what happened next. One day, or night it was impossible to tell in that dim room, every thing changed. Afterwards for the next little bit, every one called it the rapture. I don’t know where the name came from, or what it meant, but I too used it. We were released one by one into a dark cave, much larger then the room before.
There was so much happiness then. I feel my soul fall remembering it. We were so sure things would get better then, so sure. The blind optimism of the many... But it was not to be. One by one, we started to disappear again... And there was no food. Even if the amount provided in the room was never enough, at least it was some. Here there was nothing but rock and shadows.
We found out where everyone was going, eventually. The beasts, as I will call them were hanging from the ceiling. They would sweep down, and grab a poor deino, then drag it back to the ceiling. From there, they would drain the little creature dry, ignoring its agonized squeaks and shrieks until it was dead, when they would drop it on the living below.
Once we figured out what was happening, We did not stay there. We ran.. down the tunnel, towards that tiny speck of light in the distance. Every day, more of us were plucked from our weary march, ever day more died from hunger. And now...
I look up again, peering into the darkness of the dark hole.
“Now it was just me. Just me.”
I sob again, all alone. Even the beasts had gone now, not caring if they over looked a single morsel. As I sob, I begin to hear something. A heavy thumping sound, the likes of which I have never heard before.
I look up, sure nothing could be worse then what lays behind.
A massive figure looks down at me, eyes shadowed by its hair. A orb appears in its hand, and it throws it at me. I attempt to move, but with my ruined leg and lack of food it proves impossible. The sphere impacts me right in the side, and absorbs me.
I can feel the stranger picking it up, and looking at the ball.
“What has happened to you little one? What has happened here?”
I look up at the kindly face of a old man, the darkness and hat obscuring his features. This is all I see, because then I pass out.
The man scans the ball in his pokedex, and reads the results. As he does, his face hardens with anger. “Some nitwit has been breeding for shinys again... Why do they always release them here?”
He looks about angrily. “Victory Road... Its no place for a newly hatched pokemon. The golbat make sure of that...” He turns, and slowly lopes for the exit, pokeball held tenderly in his old hands.
Milotic-
Scarred
The dark is absolute, and my whole body is serene and prepared. The only sound I can hear in this place is the voice of my trainer, and he is not one for chatting. I listen to the dull slow thud of his heart beat, anxious for any change. Just then, I feel his heart beat pick up; its new taboo a frenzy of cold fear. I curl upon my self, tail over my eyes awaiting the next move.
As I expected, I am thrown into the arena from my ball, the instant the rival trainer bellows, “Ice beam!” the blow strikes dead on, and I barely shake it of in my disoriented condition. The sudden blast of sensations on every side is always such a change from the nether of a pokeball.
All around the arena, the crowd screams, cheers, and shouts. Cameras and spotlights flash and swing across the arena, blinding any one foolish enough to look up at them. I shake my head, clearing it of these thoughts. I have already done my part for now, that ice beam would have been fatal to one of my team mates, I'm happy to have been able to save them.
The enemy nidoking blinks dimly at me from the other side of the arena, and I pull my long serpentine body into a powerful spear, ready for any command.
“Altruist, surf.”
The voice of my master is soft and tired, he to is weary of the lights and noise, I can tell. whipping up the water from the atmosphere, I close my almond eyes, exerting all my focus to the task at hand.
“Nido, thunderbolt!”
A wicked bolt of pure energy strikes me dead on, and my whole body shakes with its impact. My eyes fly open, and I nearly lose my concentration. Nearly, but not quite. The massive wall of water finally appears before me, and it takes but a moment to release all of its crashing force on the enemy. The nidoking gargles, attempting to weather the flash flood, but its already to late. Sorrowfully, I watch as he falls in the last of the surf, eyes rolling up, foam coming from his thick jaw.
The enemy trainer cry’s out, whether in fear or anger I cannot tell.
I feel the cold and sudden cessation of all my sense's, as I am returned to my ball.
“Well done Altruist.”
I can feel my masters smile even in here, and curl again, content with my lot. It may not be the most glorious job in the team, but no one could do it as well as me. I sigh, thinking of how much good I have done; with out me the others would have perished long ago. With out me to take their blows, to weather what they could not, they would be crippled shadows of what they are. I smile faintly, feeling content in my own expertise.
A hint of cynical reason manages to creep into my thoughts though. Yes, no one can take a hit like me. That's my whole purpose, isn’t it? To be beaten so the others will not be. I double myself up, rubbing my body for warmth. All across my delicately scaled hide are scars and wounds, some healed, some still fresh. I wince a little, running over a particularly large bite wound. Thunder fang, wasn’t it? I can never keep old wounds apart.
Just then, I sense the battle ending. The masters heart beat slows, returning to a more easy thumping. I smile wryly. So who saved the day today? Diogenes? Zealot? Perhaps even Pyroeclipses? I sigh. There is no knowing. Perhaps I'll remember to ask when next we rest out side of our balls, perhaps not. The knowledge of our victory lulls my frayed nerves, and I drop of to a peaceful rest.
Alakazam
A look inside
Sick in the soul. A term that either means much, or little. Most would have difficulty attaching it to any meaning; excepting a heavy rock song writers. I have heard the term only a few times in my life, and even then usually in books only. It means some one who’s sick on the inside, where it really matters. Some who can tell, but cant fix it on their own.
I once imagined how this would feel. At the time I likened it to a headache, focused in the centre of your being. Observing my master now, I can tell its nothing like that. If anything, I suppose It resembles the flu. A wearing, wasting illness, the clots the mind, drowning good cheer and clear thinking. I can see him struggle on regardless, trying to beat it down with false smiles and cheer. I can see him failing, and see him realizing this.
I see, opening my eyes wearily. The room I sit in is real and made of dark wood. I know I should feel grateful for this. How many others owned by my master can boast of owning a room; a physical token of their worth? I should use it more.
Heavy black curtains cover the only window, keeping the light out. A thick red rugs lays on the floor, one of the only ornamental objects in the room. The other two are a small dresser and a tall mirror set onto the wall, its ornate frame heavily pulling in its fastenings.
Rubbing my face, I extend my look over a larger area then I normally do, scanning for anything out of the norm. The house is quiet and still as usual, every thing in its place or going there. The masters violin lays in his sitting room, by the fire. The library is being re-categorized by my old friend, Tenebris. The kitchen is spotless and empty, as usual. I can even remember the last time it was used, actually. The mud room is warm and-
I pause, double checking.
And the master is their, wearily pulling off his shoes. I mentally alert a few others who would be interested, and stand up creakily. The door opens soundlessly as I approach it, and I slowly make my way down stairs, leaning heavily on the bannister on my way down the stairs.
I make it down them just as he walks into the room, and eyes ours meet for a second. Despite the infrequency of me feeling anything, my heart leaps. The characteristic joy of finally seeing my old friend again, after so long. He smiles tiredly, his old face wrinkled and greyish. He opens his mouth to say something, but I hold up a long gnarled bony finger. He closes his mouth, eyes raising in a look of surprise. I point at the ceiling, where many sleep.
He nods in understanding, and crosses the room, slumping into a tall red velvet chair. The few I contacted before enter the room, looking about. Two haunter, a chandelure, and a lampent. The master smiles over at them, from his seat. I can tell each celebrates inwardly in their own way.
When was the last time he was home? I cant even remember. Years ago, certainly. Back when our family was so much smaller.... I sigh tiredly, running a hand along my moustache. He speaks quietly with the others for a while, and eventually they leave. I walk over and sit in the chair by him, watching the fire. I can sense even with out looking the dismay and sorrow with in his heart. By why? I sigh and look over at him. If I asked, would he answer? If he answered, would I understand? I turn back to the fire, and we sit in companionable silence, one listening to the chaos in his heart, one to the clarity of my mind.
The clock strikes thee in the morning.
I smile at the irony. Midnight of the human soul, when hope turns to despair. Bradbury was always an insightful man. I look up at my master, the smile still on my lips.
“By the pricking of my thumbs...”
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