Mewtwo’s Palace, New Island, December 21st, 1997
With one final wave of the hand, the final tower was set in place. The windmill attached to it spun with the wind, blowing away the excess ash that Mewtwo removed from the ruins.
The tower itself overlooked a sprawling palace, constructed with abstract shapes of every colour and texture. Spiralling battlements and twisted tunnels raced along the edges of the island, surrounding a massive stadium, modelled after the one he had destroyed. Mewtwo had a feeling that the creature would desire a fight, and he would not deny its wish.
This was not to say that Mewtwo wouldn’t have fun doing so, as he held a warped sense of whimsy at the theatrical architecture, almost looking as if he had brought a fairy tale to life.
Something deep within him resonated at the childishness of it.
Mewtwo ignored that sensation.
Besides, for all that his palace looked like a child’s fantasy, the method by which it was built was sure to scare off any prospective children from investigating. After all, Team Rocket hadn’t ever bothered to clean the site of his birth, meaning that the ashes of the lab still remained, along with the bodies.
The carbon within their skeletons made a worthwhile base for building material, when combined with other elements. It had been easy - trivial - to pull apart the atoms and rearrange them into what he needed.
And if he used the excess radiation to power the core of the palace, then all the better.
Mewtwo did leave one piece of the island intact, which now stood at the crown of his throne.
Dr. Fuji’s skull wasn’t any different than the other human skulls that Mewtwo pulled apart, but it had housed the brain that devised his creation. Regardless of Mewtwo’s inherent disdain for the man and everything he stood for, he could at least use the skull as a keepsake, and a reminder of what he was.
An abomination borne from the hubris of man.
‘a god born in tubes.’
Mewtwo ignored the alien sensation of remorse - horror - at the sight, seating himself upon his throne, overlooking the stadium below, and the sea beyond.
Mewtwo had beckoned the creature to New Island, wishing to understand what made it so. Somehow - though, Mewtwo was hardly surprised by it - the creature didn’t need to be shown where it was. After all, Mewtwo could sense that the creature’s unique psychic signature was heading in his direction.
But not fast enough.
Mewtwo hummed, and with a flick of his wrist, he called upon the clouds above and the sea below, and drew them into the wind.
Another flick of the wrist, and the wind became a gale, dragging the clouds and see into it with flashes of lightning and hail.
Another flick of the wrist, and the gale became a typhoon, circling the island as it began to expand upwards and outwards.
Another flick of the wrist, and the typhoon became a great and terrible hurricane, blanketing the horizon in pouring rain and hellish lightning, threatening to flood the edges of the island.
And with a push, the storm began to spread, casting its wrath - Mewtwo’s wrath - into the sea and towards the coast, growing larger and thicker until it covered the entire globe.
And somehow, despite the power of the winds and the rain and the lightning and the hail, it paled in comparison to the Storm of the creature’s memories.
Mewtwo felt vaguely discomfited by this, but disregarded the thought, like he did many others.
Besides, the storm was only in its infancy, as it would grow harsher the greater its reach, smothering the world in an unending rain within the tenday.
Once more, Mewtwo ignored the voice in the back of his mind, urging him with a vaguely familiar voice - the voice of a child - to stop.
But Mewtwo could not. It was not his purpose to stop, but to destroy. He was a new God of War, and his rage at creation would smother the earth until there was nothing left but himself.
And the creature…
For the creature would see the storm and understand what it represented. From the rage the creature felt when Mewtwo witnessed its inspiration, he was sure that it would spur it into swifter action.
And should the creature not make it in time…
Well, then Mewtwo shall reign over the ruins of the old world as its god.
…
Base of Mount Silver, Outskirts of Silver Town, December 22nd, 1997
“Those storm clouds aren’t natural.”
Karen, along with Agatha and Pryce, turned back to look at Lorelei, who was watching the distant clouds with a curious gaze.
They waited for her to elaborate, but she never did, seemingly content to stare at the distant horizon.
Agatha shook her head with a tired huff, “Unless it’s comin’ from that unknown pokémon, I don’ really care for it.”
Karen crossed her arms, a troubled shadow crossing her face, “...Lorelei’s right, though, it isn’t natural.” Karen frowned as she recalled a footnote on the news - something considerably less outstanding than the attack on the Silver League, which they were still cleaning up after - “Isn’t there a hurricane spreading along the east coast? What if it’s related to this pokémon?”
Agatha pursed her lips, but didn’t answer - couldn’t answer, not with certainty. While Karen had only seen the mystery pokémon at the beginning of the attack, the other three had front row seats to its power, all of them fighting against it - 2 Champions, one current and the other former, the Elite Four, and several Gym Leaders - to no avail.
There were very few pokémon that could claim to stand against the might of all those trainers.
All of them were legendaries.
It was a troubling thought for there to suddenly be a new pokémon of legendary power, especially with its apparent alignment with Team Rocket.
Though, even that was in question given how many of their own number perished under the pokémon’s wrath.
Karen broke away from her musing when Pryce huffed behind her, “I get that you all want t’ponder and all. Really, I do,” Karen turned alongside Agatha to watch Pryce as he sighed, casting a vaguely vulnerable glance at Lorelei - whose sharp eyes betrayed the oblivious stance she took - “But I was under the ‘mpression that you wanted to tell us somethin’, Karen?”
Karen startled, “Right…” She mulled over her words, thinking through various ways to say what she needed to say, before deciding to just get it out, “Giovanni is the leader of Team Rocket.”
Karen couldn’t help her wince at the others’ reactions, which ranged from surprised anger (Agatha) to weary acceptance (Pryce) to cold composure (Lorelei). Had she learned alongside them, she too would be surprised - like she had been when Red told her - but she’d learned this before the attack, and could have told them…
She didn’t, out of respect for Red’s wishes.
But he never explicitly told her not to tell them she just assumed that with all the other secrecy that Red wanted to keep it close to his chest and it was one of the few things she’d learned of him even though it wasn’t even related to him-
“ Karen ,” Agatha’s voice was sharp, and it instantly snapped Karen out of her spiralling descent of self-flagellation. However, Karen almost would’ve preferred to remain falling within her guilty conscious, as Agatha’s eyes were different to the acceptance on Pryce’s or the chill of Lorelei’s.
They were suspicious.
“...When did you learn this?” Agatha asked, as if she knew the answer.
With Agatha’s mastery of the emotional aspect of aura, Karen wouldn’t be surprised if she could sense the guilt in her heart.
Karen would’ve considered lying were she speaking to anyone else, but Agatha… She raised her, found her off the streets and clothed her. She gave Karen her name after hunting down her parents only to find unnamed graves, marking her as Agatha’s child in everything but blood.
Karen couldn’t lie to Agatha.
So Karen gulped down the guilt - vaguely wondering if this was what Red felt like everyday - and answered, “I learned the night before the attack.”
Agatha reeled, as if struck by her words - by her dishonesty - and Pryce made a noise that Karen couldn’t interpret. Agatha didn’t stay down, though, but it was clear in her eyes that she was pained by the revelation - and it was almost funny, how quickly surprise turned to hurt - “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Karen opened her mouth and closed it, trying and failing to come up with a reason that wouldn’t deepen the pit she had dug for herself, “It was the night before - I had a match the next day - I didn’t have time to tell you-”
“Don’t quibble with me, girl ,” Agatha snarled, stepping forward to point a finger to Karen’s chest, “You could’ve made time to tell us, if you truly wanted to, that is.” Karen leaned back as Agatha pressed her face closer, eyes bugging out of her skull, “ Now tell me the truth. ”
Karen’s hand twitched - for her belt, her pokémon, she wasn’t sure - and she grit out, “Personal reasons.”
The lines on Agatha’s face deepened, making her seem much more ancient and much more wrathful than Karen had ever seen her - and it was almost funny, how quickly hurt turned to anger - “It’s because of Satoshi , isn’t it?”
Karen blinked in surprise, pushing herself off of Agatha with a pained scowl, “And what the hell do you mean by that? ”
Agatha smiled , and it was a terrible thing - with any beauty in its grace having faded decades ago - “You’ve been spendin’ a lot of time with the lad, haven’t yah?” She sneered, which was an expression that Karen had never seen directed to her, “He’s a whole bag o’ mystery, isn’ he? And you’ve always loved a mystery.
“Why didn’ you tell us, hmm? ” Agatha bit, pushing herself into Karen’s personal space, “Did you want a special favour from him? Oh… Karen, Karen, Karen… ” Agatha’s false smile quickly dropped as she visibly restrained her ghastly aura from striking out, “There are ways of gettin’ a boy’s attention without betrayin’ us-”
“Oh, Fuck you!” Karen yelled, shoving Agatha away from her. Karen’s careful restraint on her own aura faltered for a moment, immobilising Agatha with her dark anger, “It’s not like that you goddamned hag! ”
“Then why keep his secrets?!” Agatha cried, shaking off Karen’s aura - which was quickly shoved under a mental shield - “This was barely even related to him!”
“Red’s my friend ,” Karen snarled - she only had two friends she could name - “And I trust him-”
“ I trusted Oak too! ” Agatha roared, her voice going hoarse at her yelling, “And what did he do with it?! He stabbed me in the back!” Agatha began to cough, stumbling backwards until Pryce caught her shoulder - Karen made no move to help her, and Lorelei simply watched - “Don’ make the same mistakes as me , girl!”
Karen’s restraint snapped , “I’M. NOT. YOU! ”
Agatha didn’t move from Pryce’s grip, glaring at Karen for several moments before turning away.
Karen - who was also glaring - nearly broke at the gesture, but… she didn’t acquiesce her point.
She wasn’t Agatha.
Finally, Agatha’s voice rasped out, hoarse from her previous shouting, “Fine, then. It seems your allegiance is clear.”
She turned to Karen, and her face was guarded, her eyes cold. Her aura… was masked. Locked away.
It was almost funny, how quickly anger turned to distrust.
Pryce sniffed, “Not now , Agatha.” He received a dark look from the woman, which he ignored as he faced Karen, “Do you have any proof?”
Karen’s face went a shade paler, “No.”
Agatha snorted, “Well that’s no help. ” She cast a waspish glance towards Karen, injecting venom into her next words, “How do we know you’re not lying to us now, girl?”
Karen clenched her fist, preparing to yell at the presumptive bitch , only for Pryce to push her shoulder away, allowing Lorelei to step forward, “She has a guilty conscience. Surely , you can see that?” Agatha turned her glare to Lorelei, who was entirely unfazed by it, “She at least believes what she’s saying is true, and given the source of her knowledge, we can’t rule it out.”
Agatha growled, “Satoshi has given us no reason to trust him.”
“Perhaps not us ,” Lorelei stated, casting a quick glance at Karen before looking back to Agatha, “But, as you’ve said, he’s a mysterious entity, with a background that we’ve only been able to guess about.” Lorelei adjusted her glasses, hiding her eyes behind the reflection of the sun, “We can use this as a lead, on both fronts. We learn more about Giovanni, and, perhaps, we’ll learn more about Red.”
Agatha remained silent at her reasoning, allowing Pryce to butt in, “How are goin’ to get tha’ evidence, though? It’s no’ like we can get a search warran’. The man’s reputation is absolutely spotless. ”
“Why not simply break in, then?” Agatha questioned, a cruel gleam entering her eye at the prospect of thievery and property damage.
Lorelei shook her head, stepping forward to lead them as they walked, “Won’t work. Giovanni could simply claim that the evidence was planted, or fake, and the public would side with him.” She paused, narrowing her eyes at something in the distance, “...If we got unlucky, we’d be caught, and he could easily paint us as villains given his reputation.”
Karen nodded along at the reasoning - she couldn’t help but think back to Red saying the same kind of thing, if in much fewer words - though Agatha pouted, crossing her arms with a huff, “Koga would agree with my plan.”
“Koga’s not here ,” Pryce mumbled irritably, beginning to lose his patience with Agatha’s attitude.
Before Agatha could retort - probably starting a chain reaction of arguments that they would all get roped into without Koga as the mediator - Lorelei took a decisive step forward, silently drawing their attention as she marched over to a clearing of trees.
Karen glanced at Pryce in silent question - outright ignoring Agatha - only for him to shrug and follow his apprentice. She trotted alongside him, not looking back as Agatha followed.
They reached Lorelei as she paused within the clearing of trees, the subject of her attention now visible in the form of five stones set within the packed earth, each inscribed with a harsh, but legible script, spelling out a set of names.
Steven.
Jessie.
Bonnie.
Clemont.
Serena.
The names meant nothing to Karen, but the remnant trace of aura she could feel upon the makeshift gravestones was vaguely familiar…
Before she could focus on the feeling, Lorelei breathed out, “These are recent. No more than a month old.” She stepped between the graves, resting her hand an inch away from the stone, “These stones are freshly cut, and the moss has yet to take hold.”
Pryce grunted, his eyes betraying his uneasiness. Karen felt a pulse of aura from him, as he Detected the ground below them, “...There’s no bodies here.”
“But there’s something ,” Agatha stepped between them, causing Karen to flick her eyes away. Agatha breathed in deeply, murmuring almost to herself, “A trace feeling of melancholy … guilt . Whoever set these graves left their mark.”
Karen pursed her lips at Agatha’s words, suddenly realising where she recognised the aura of the clearing.
It felt the same as Red’s aura.
Karen didn’t speak, though, even as Lorelei asked, “Do any of you recognise it?”
At their silence, Agatha closed her eyes, and breathed out, “It almost feels as though their spirits linger…” She opened her eyes, an otherworldly glimmer radiating out of them, “But it’s nothing more than an illusion. A phantom memory of a singular soul… I wonder…” Agatha stepped back and opened her mouth, drawing in the ghostly memories with Dream Eater , absorbing them to divine them of their meaning.
Karen watched as Agatha began to shiver, feeling a sliver of concern despite herself. Agatha’s shivers ceased, however, and she swayed before opening her eyes, looking haunted in a way that Karen had only seen when hearing about the War.
Karen had a feeling that she knew what Agatha felt, assuming that it was Red that left the ‘phantom memories’. If Karen’s experience of being forced into Red’s psyche back in Azalea Town was any consideration, then Agatha was probably feeling some mix of guilt and self-loathing.
A deep, cruel part of her whispered, ‘good’.
Agatha didn’t say anything to confirm this, though, as she turned away from the clearing, and began to hobble back towards the town, “We’re done here.”
Pryce huffed in mild annoyance, but say anything to stop her, instead following close behind, whispering into her ear.
Karen was once more struck by Agatha’s newfound distrust of her upon seeing the woman whisper back to Pryce. Before, Agatha would always make sure to include Karen in everything she said and did. She could understand why Agatha did it, but it did nothing to lessen the hurt.
And it was almost funny, how quickly hurt turned to anger.
Karen jolted where she stood as Lorelei crept up on her, “For what it’s worth, I agree with you.” Lorelei’s face was impassive as usual as she stared at Karen, though she could almost see a shadow of sympathy on the woman’s face as she passed, “You’re not her.”
…
Team Rocket Base R-1, Underneath Viridian City Gym, December 23rd, 1997
Giovanni idly twirled a glass of whiskey as he watched the news reel of the day, which spent the bulk of their runtime urging the masses to find shelter in the face of the storm that had engulfed all of the eastern mainland. For most, the storm would be nothing more than an inconvenience, what with the rain coming down in steady waves. However, with the storm engulfing coastal cities such as Lavender Town and Fuchsia in floods and power outages, only to spread further inland, the League made the call to place the Indigo region into lockdown.
Viridian was one of the first cities to listen to the League’s directive, following after Giovanni’s example. He was sure that, had he decided not to go to ground, the people of Viridian would also follow his example, regardless of the League’s directives.
However, this was a case where Giovanni agreed with the League’s caution, at least on a basic level. While Giovanni and other strong trainers could brave the storm, most couldn’t say the same. Giovanni had begun receiving reports of Ranger activity along the eastern seaboard, with rescue parties being formed to extract those few individuals that lived away from civilisation, making them particularly vulnerable to the storm’s wrath.
Though, perhaps it was more appropriate to call it Mewtwo’s wrath.
Giovanni ignored the throb on his temple as he sipped on his drink. He had received stitches a few days ago, now, having been injured by the falling debris of the collapsed stadium. It was only due to Dugtrio’s decisive rescue that Giovanni escaped with his life.
The fact that it got to that point was unacceptable.
Really, Operation Rhydon was growing to be both one of Team Rocket’s greatest successes, and one of its greatest failures. While they had made out with dozens of exceptionally strong pokémon to fold into their ranks, their losses were far too many.
Giovanni tapped a finger on the arm of his chair, which balanced a folder bearing the finalised casualty report of the whole endeavour, stolen from the League database. Of the 241 confirmed fatalities, 48 of those were his own.
Of course, Giovanni didn’t much care for the individual grunts that he lost - replaceable as they were - but Ariana’s death was an unwelcome necessity, given that she had allowed herself to be captured.
But she knew the risks when she pledged herself to him, and she accepted death with an ease that Giovanni admired, given the secrets she knew. A lesser woman would’ve folded under such pressure, but not Ariana…
Giovanni shook his head, chastising himself for any feelings of fondness he may have had for the woman - clearly brought on by the alcohol . She was nothing more than a tool, like all of the others, her greatest use having been years ago, with the birth of his heir.
She was ultimately a loose thread in his web of connections, and he was better off with her gone.
Thinking back to the numbers, Giovanni reflected that, in addition to the casualties he sustained, there were also two additional grunts unaccounted for, along with 29 that were captured by the League. Of course, being grunts, they didn’t know anything truly damning of the organisation - least of all the identity of their boss - but it was still an annoyance.
There had been roughly 150 grunts pulled into the operation, being led by Archer and Ariana. Of that number, he lost 79 operatives, either to death, capture, or the wild green yonder.
In addition to that staggering number, neither of Giovanni’s chief objectives had been met. He’d obtained Satoshi’s Pichu only to be stopped by his own son, who seemed to have resisted the dozen or so grunts he’d assigned to specifically sedate and acquire him.
Giovanni would have had words with those imbeciles, had they not been near the top of the stadium when it fell.
Giovanni shook his head once more, clearing his head with another sip of the whiskey. For all that the operation had been disastrous, they would recover, as they always did. Team Rocket would just have to lay low for a little while until it all blowed over.
In this way, Mewtwo’s tantrum was something of a boon. Any action the League could take against Team Rocket would have to wait until the storm was dealt with, giving Giovanni ample time to prepare for their inevitable incursion.
In a sense, Giovanni was gearing for war - a covert war, of course. He rather disliked the idea of having Operation Rhydon become his modus operandi; he wasn’t a barbarian like the savages leading Cipher. He was more refined with his criminal empire.
No, the League would be looking for information on Team Rocket - leads to their hideouts, to their plans, to their leaders, to him. They had underestimated Team Rocket as a threat for years, and in their panic, they would devote all of their resources to stomping out their growth before it could happen.
And in their panic, Giovanni would strike at their blindspots.
Giovanni didn’t wish to destroy the League, but to profit from it. On one end, he would profit from his dealing as the head of the Indigo underworld. On the other, he would profit as the head of legal industry, along with having considerable influence in political affairs.
Team Rocket was Giovanni, and Giovanni was Team Rocket. They could not exist without the other, and they both served to strengthen the other. As long as Giovanni walked as a free man, Team Rocket would persist as the blight in the League’s shadow, expanding it’s reaches at the World League expanded its own.
After all, Proton was leading the expansion into Sinnoh, and once Archer finished with Operation Swellow, he would be assigned to take over Unova.
Giovanni reclined in his seat with a pleased smirk, placing the empty glass on the small table to his side to be refilled. While Operation Rhydon had been a bust, Operation Swellow was nearing completion, given their recent take over of the leadership of Silph Co.
With Silph Co. in his pocket, the rest of Saffron City was soon to follow. In fact, according to Archer’s latest report, Sabrina had shown interesting in - ahem - aligning with them to “protect” her city.
Should Archer succeed in acquiring Sabrina as an ally, Operation Swellow would end in a resounding success. After all, while Giovanni’s relationship with Blaine could be called positively neutral at best, he had yet to acquire another Gym Leader as an ally.
And for someone as well regarded as Sabrina…
Indeed, things were actually looking up for Team Rocket’s future. Giovanni couldn’t help but truly smile at his fortune, which seemed to unnerve the grunt who had just entered his room, holding another bottle of whiskey for him to drink.
Giovanni waved at the empty glass, prompting the grunt to fill it. He brought the newly filled glass to his lips, only to pause as a slip of paper slid under his arm.
He turned to the grunt with a mild glare, only to see the man all but running out of the room. With a sigh, Giovanni lowered the glass and read the paper - the contents of which were brief - brow furrowing as he did so.
‘League incursion heading due east. Using Diglett Cave as route. Incursion consists of Champion, Elite Four, and others.’
Giovanni rose an eyebrow at the information. He wasn’t terribly surprised that the League had sent an incursion to rout the storm - Lance had always been a proactive Champion - but he was somewhat surprised by their mode of transportation.
Travelling through Diglett Cave in these conditions was just asking to be caught in the middle of a Diglett War.
Giovanni thought for a moment before releasing Dugtrio, which immediately burrowed through the steel floor and into the ground - Ground beat Steel, after all - “Dugtrio, I have an assignment for you.”
Dugtrio’s three heads perked up - one looked excited, the other annoyed, and the last calculating - and Giovanni allowed himself a smirk, “Go to Diglett Cave, and incite a war amongst your brethren. Make sure the damage prevents anyone from going through the cave, and do it quickly .” Giovanni stared down at the Dugtrio, a sharp tone entering his voice, “ You have one day. ”
Dugtrio didn’t bother to nod before burrowing into the ground, knowing that Giovanni wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. Giovanni sighed as he sat back on his seat, steepling his fingers as he pondered on this development.
Should Dugtrio move with due speed, he may be able to close off the entrance to Diglett Cave before the incursion arrives, preventing them from entering.
It was a mercy - Giovanni assured himself - to keep them from entering, lest a cave-in occurred, which would plunge the League into chaos, which was bad for business.
He didn’t want them dead, after all, only frightened.
Besides… It would be interesting to watch the coming days, as the incursion marched along the expanse of Kanto in the face of a worsening storm.
To see how they adapted to this threat would be…
Illuminating.
…
Pokémon Center, Fuchsia City, December 24th, 1997
Rain battered against the windows of the Pokémon Center, and Brock found that he couldn’t be any more thankful than he already was that there was a barrier between himself and the cursed rain.
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Brock shuddered, even though he had switched his clothes for a dry pair - though it was his last one, and dirty at that! They had been on the road to Fuchsia for almost a week when the rain hit from the coast. They had been dealing with a bunch of rowdy Diglett that uprooted the road - though, Ash seemed more concerned with fighting Professor Oak’s grandson - only for them to squeak in terror and flee as the first drops of rain hit the ground.
Ash had been surprised, and the Oak kid - Brock didn’t care to remember his name - claimed that they fled from his ‘awesome’ presence, but Brock knew why they fled. By her thoughtful silence, Brock imagined that Misty knew why as well.
As pure Ground-types, Digletts were particularly weak to water, in all forms. However, due to their low defence, especially among other Ground-types, they could be overwhelmed by something as common as rain.
On the one hand, Brock had been glad for the rain’s appearance, as it had ended a potential conflict before it escalated - and, with Ash, it always escalated to something crazy - and it secured them room and board at the Gaiva Resort, which Brock would never say no to.
On the other hand, Brock could sympathise with the Diglett . While he wasn’t hurt by the rain, it sapped at his energy in a way that didn’t seem to affect Ash at all, and in Misty’s case, she actually seemed invigorated by the downpour.
Brock had hoped that the storm would pass during their stay at the resort, but the storm disrupted any attempts to look online for the weather, and from what Brock saw, the rain only continued to grow as they stayed the night.
If Brock was travelling by himself, he would have stayed an extra night or two at the resort to avoid the storm. However, for good and for ill, Brock had a tween and a teenager to look after, and neither of them seemed to have the good sense to wait out the storm, instead wanting to rush all the way to Fuchsia to fight the Gym Leader and fish in the sea respectively.
Brock rubbed his eyes as he leaned back against the couch in the common room of the Pokémon Center. The three of them had arrived about fifteen minutes ago, only for Ash and Misty to ditch Brock to go to the Gym.
Though, it was more accurate to say that Ash was going to the Gym, and Misty tagged along to accost him for something or other.
To top off Brock’s grouchy mood, he forgot to get bodyguards’ numbers. There were, like, six girls trailing after Oak’s grandson, all looking so awesome while they covertly watched over him, and the kid didn’t even know!
Brock didn’t know why that secretiveness - that subtle competence - affected him so, but he was an open-minded guy, and he accepted that as another of his various desires in a woman.
And unlike every other girl Brock had tried his charm with, they actually seemed to reciprocate!
And he blew it!
Brock huffed a tired breath, reaching over to pluck a newspaper from the stand to keep his mind off of it. He felt like an old man doing it - why read the news when you can watch it on TV? - but the storm kept any signal from reaching the Pokémon Center, limiting the use of the television to prerecorded movies and VHS tapes.
Brock scanned the top stories of the newspaper, ignoring the front page about the growing storm to focus on a smaller, but no less eye-catching headline.
‘Death Tolls Finalised for the Disaster at the Silver Conference!’
Brock felt his eyebrows rise into his hairline. Death tolls? He sped through the article, gut dropping lower within his stomach as he digested what happened on the other side of the region.
An attack staged by Team Rocket at the end of the Silver Conference.
Over two hundred dead, one of whom was a member of the Elite Four.
An unknown pokémon that levelled the entire stadium.
Brock barely noticed that someone began to shake his arm, their voice filtering into his ears over a cloud of disbelief, “Brock? Brock! Can you hear me?!”
Brock shook his head, quickly folding the newspaper so neither Ash or Misty would read it, “Yeah? You’re back early.”
Unlike himself, the two of them were absolutely drenched , not that they seemed to care about it - though, Pikachu clearly begged to differ in that regard . Ash crossed his arms with a frown at Brock’s words, his wet hair and dejected demeanour making him look like a sad Meowth, “The Gym Leader wasn’t at the Gym.”
At Brock’s raised eyebrow, Misty elaborated, “There was a substitute, Janine - you’ve met her,” Misty waved the thought away, leaning on Ash’s shoulder with an eye roll, “Mister Pokémon Master over here wasn’t real happy that he could fight the actual Gym Leader, so he’s decided to wait until Koga gets back.”
So… according to Misty, they could’ve waited out the storm, sparing Brock from the rain?
Brock’s eye twitched, which - unfortunately - given how much time they had been travelling together, both Ash and Misty caught.
Brock bit back a sigh. He didn’t want to burden them with his own irritable mood.
Brock crossed his arms, allowing his face to relax, which helped ease the consternation out of Ash’s face, “Okay then…” Brock bit back a sigh, “Then we’re probably going to have to wait a little while for Koga to get back. The storm’s made long-distance travel pretty difficult - even dangerous - for the best of trainers.”
Thankfully, Ash was distracted by Brock’s words, though not in the way that Brock would’ve liked, “That means nothing to us! Some stupid rain isn’t going to be the thing that stops us, right guys?”
Oh, Mew, No. Brock did not want to go back out there . He had to run damage control, and quickly , “Maybe not, Ash, but look at Pikachu. He needs some time to rest before going back out.” As directed, Ash looked down at the plump mouse, who was scowling at his trainer beneath drenched fur.
“Oh,” Ash seemed suitably apologetic, picking Pikachu up into his arms, “Sorry, Pikachu. It’s just…” Ash sighed, turning to look out the window, and at the rain pounding against it, “After the lighthouse… some rain didn’t seem so bad, in comparison.”
Brock his a wince at Ash’s words - he never liked thinking about the lighthouse - only for Misty to gasp behind him.
Brock turned around alongside Ash, only to see that Misty had unfolded the newspaper that Brock had tried - and seemingly failed - to hide, and had read the same headline as he.
Ash stepped forward, leaning his head over to read the newspaper as well, “What’s-”
“There was… an incident,” Brock interrupted, snatching the newspaper out of Misty’s hands with a heavy look. He recognised the sudden glimmer of understanding in her eyes, and turned around, shoving the newspaper into his pocket as he faced Ash, “Team Rocket interrupted the final match of the Silver League, and…” - a lot of lives were lost - “-a lot of pokémon were stolen.”
It wasn’t even a lie.
Just a heavily sanitised truth.
Of course, despite normally acting decidedly foolish, Ash could be surprisingly canny at times, as he narrowed his eyes at Brock, “Brock-”
“I wonder what Team Rocket thinks about it!” Misty exclaimed in false interest. At Ash and Brock’s twin stares, she fidgeted, “I mean those three that always go after us! That Team Rocket.”
Ash crossed his arms with a frown, looking back and forth between Misty and Brock before muttering out, “I think they would’ve probably wanted to be a part of it, if they heard about it.” Ash shrugged, any suspicion washing away under a mask of indifference, “They like that sort of thing, stealing pokémon. It’s all they do.”
Brock could agree with Ash’s point to some extent, though… he rather doubted that the trio would’ve been all too keen on something that led to over two hundred deaths.
For all that Jessie, James, and the talking Meowth were an annoyance, Brock hesitated to call them truly evil. Of course, he wouldn’t call them good , but they hadn’t severely hurt any of them, and they certainly hadn’t killed anyone, at least to Brock’s knowledge.
Of course, Ash didn’t know the full extent of what happened at the Silver Conference, and if Brock had his way, Ash wouldn’t , at least not for a while.
Ash had changed after the explosion at Bill’s Lighthouse. For the first week after the event, Ash had been eerily silent around them, thoroughly worrying his two friends.
Soon enough, though, Ash was back to his old self, or… at least, that’s what it had seemed like at first.
There were subtle differences in Ash’s behaviour. For one, he was a lot more reserved in battle, watching it in a calculated way that Brock hadn’t seen in his first few weeks of knowing Ash.
It became most apparent after Ash’s first battle against Lieutenant Surge, where the man had dogged on Ash for not evolving his Pikachu, claiming that he was holding his starter back out of misplaced sentiment. While the Ash Brock had known before would’ve allowed himself to be affected by Surge’s taunts, Ash had remained calm in a way that almost seemed cold , which caused Surge to seemingly give up on his taunts, deciding to simply thrash Pikachu in order to send his message.
However, when presented with the option to evolve Pikachu, Ash readily declined, instead training with Pikachu day and night to perfect a strategy that they used to defeat Surge just a few days later.
And when Ash shook hands with Surge - earning his first badge without extenuating circumstances - instead of looking excited or vindicated at his victory, Ash only looked determined.
That steely determination in battle only seemed to evaporate when the Oak kid was around. Small blessings, Brock supposed.
Ash’s demeanour in battle wasn’t the only change that they noticed. Ash had also - somehow - become that much more reckless in what he did, both during training and on the road.
Brock and Misty had to call Ash off from doing risky manoeuvres while hiking along the mountains more times than he cared to count. More often than not, Ash would retort by saying that ‘it wasn’t that bad, compared to the lighthouse.’
It almost seemed to Brock like Ash was chasing that danger, as if he wanted to reexperience it for some unknowable reason. He knew that some of it probably amounted to the youthful folly of invincibility that every teenager seemed to go through, but Brock had never seen it quite so prevalent as with Ash.
Brock mentally shook off his brooding. If there was one positive change that Brock found in Ash, it was that the kid had become much more proactive in his research. Ash had even asked Brock some questions about the Tyranitar line, which was a novel experience, given that it was rare for him to share his knowledge on Rock-types with people who were genuinely interested.
He had been Gym Leader for almost two years. He knew his stuff.
Misty sent Ash off on some errand or other, and took the opportunity to sidle next to Brock, “Why weren’t we notified of this?”
By ‘this’, Brock imagined that Misty was talking about the attack, which would have normally led to a region-wide alert to every Gym Leader, past and present.
However, with them being stuck in the mountains, followed by the storm, their lack of cell signal kept them from receiving any such alerts, causing them to be blindsided upon reading the papers. After explaining as such to Misty, she frowned, crossing her arms, “Well that sucks. ”
Brock couldn’t help but cast a grimly amused eye at her - that was the understatement of the century - before he could respond, though, Ash came bounding back from healing his pokémon, “So what are we doing now?”
Brock would’ve have very much liked to have said ‘Nothing. We’re going to rest for once.’ Yet, in accordance with Murphy’s Law, the worst thing that could happen… happened.
Misty’s phone received a ping from her Water-Master group chat.
Brock usually trusted Misty to be the sane one compared to Ash, but whenever something came up regarding Water pokémon, she gave him a run for his money on how crazy she was.
Case in point: right now.
“Ash! Brock!” Misty gasped, eyes sparkling as she read whatever cursed words appeared on her phone, “We need to leave Fuchsia right now! ”
Brock blinked incredulously - and with no small amount of dread - and Ash frowned, “Why?”
“Because there’ve been sightings of Gyarados and Seadra on the east coast!” Misty squealed , like a school girl, which was just wrong on so many levels, “I need to get one!”
Had it just been Misty that wanted to go, Brock would have fought against it, would have reasoned with her about all the various reasons why it was wildly unsafe to go out in this weather. But, of course, Ash latched onto the idea with all the thought of a singular brain cell, and before Brock could do or say anything, the two of them were rushing out of the Pokémon Center, not even bothering to check in with Brock.
Brock stood there in shock for several moments, only snapping out of it when Nurse Joy left her station, trying to stop them as they went out into the rain, “WAIT! It’s dangerous out there! Reconsider what you’re doing! ”
Naturally, given that Brock apparently accounted for 99% of the group’s collective intelligence, they didn’t listen. Brock slumped onto the couch, numbly sorting through his bag as Nurse Joy began to fret, “Oh dear, I really hope they decide against it. This storm is growing to break all sorts of records!”
Of course it is. It wouldn’t be an adventure with Ash if it didn’t involve something completely out of the ordinary.
Brock tried in vain to find an umbrella in his bag, a part of him already knowing that he had left it at home with the assumption that he wouldn’t need it.
Mew’s laughing at him, he can feel it.
With a tired huff, Brock extracted a frying pan from the bag, and stared at it for a moment before shrugging helplessly, zipping up the bag, and running after his friends.
With the frying pan held over his head, Brock ran into the rain, trailing after Ash and Misty as they skipped along to an ill-advised fishing trip.
At least with the frying pan, he could keep himself somewhat dry.
Almost as if it was a frying pan… for drying… a Drying Pan.
Brock couldn’t help but let out a slightly manic grin as he began to catch up to Misty - Ash still ran several times faster, and several times longer than they did.
A Drying Pan. Oh, nice one, Brock.
Definitely saving that one for later.
…
Pokémon Center, Base of Mount Moon, Route 3, December 25th, 1997
“No! My decision is final! I’m not going to lift this lockdown just because someone wants to look good! ”
Lance was shouting. He found himself doing a lot of that over the past few days, and he found that his voice was suited to it in a way that he’d never heard in his usual careful tones.
It was almost freeing.
If nothing else, finally being able to make Goodshow shut his trap for one single moment was a change that Lance was certainly happy about, even if it required him to delve into his draconic roots and roar. He could see the old man’s face on the other end of the X-transceiver, flushed in such a stark shade of red that he looked like a Cheri Berry.
Of course, no good thing could last forever, as Goodshow eventually found his voice and responded will poorly hidden outrage, “But we need to consider the image that we present! We can’t be hiding away from something like this, especially not after what happened at the Silver League! The World League needs to appear strong in the face of this disaster!”
Given that Lance had been arguing this point for almost thirty solid minutes - which wasted precious time - he thought that he could be forgiven for losing his patience, just this once.
Clair would say that it’s therapeutic, to unleash one’s inner dragon at their superior.
Lance found that he normally shouldn’t listen to Clair’s advice.
…It didn’t stop him from doing so, though.
“ Strength, ” Lance snarled , his eyes narrowing into golden slits as he glared Goodshow into submission, “Is knowing when to prioritise the safety of one’s people over appearances. ”
“Sinnoh is going into lockdown as well,” Cynthia chimed in, representing the Sinnoh League. Her grey eyes were hard as she spoke, her words aligning herself to Lance, “I made the order this morning.”
Goodshow sputtered, no longer appearing quite as resistant to the idea now that his favourite Champion - despite Cynthia’s denial - agreed with Lance. Still, he tried to come up with a retort, “H-Hoenn hasn’t gone under lockdown!”
Steven perked up, having been nodding off in the background. He reached forward to unmute himself, boredom lacing his words, “With all due respect, Hoenn doesn’t have a lockdown procedure.”
Goodshow was visibly shocked, and Cynthia leaned forward, seemingly interested. For his own part, Lance had some experience interacting with the Draconid Tribe, which led to him having a basic understanding of the people of Hoenn as a whole.
They were a hardy bunch.
“A storm like this,” Steven continued, ignoring Goodshow’s confusion, “Well, it’s certainly something , but it’s not the first time we’ve faced something like this.” Steven shrugged, as if the casual mention of Hoenn’s semi-common issues with legendaries was no big deal, “It’ll pass eventually, so there’s no need to worry about my people. They’ve got it handled.”
Lance couldn’t help but scowl - well, scowl further, really - since he very much couldn’t say the same.
Indigo didn’t have nearly the same history as Hoenn in dealing with elemental forces. Sure, there was the Legendary Bird Trio, but they were usually pretty docile, when they weren’t fighting each other. Most of Indigo’s history revolved around human conflict rather than that of pokémon, which was why both Kanto and Johto retained the most developed military, though Unova was a close second.
However, whereas the periodic tantrum of Groudon or Kyogre usually lasted no more than a week, this storm showed no sign of stopping, only continuing to grow until it engulfed the Earth.
Lance couldn’t afford to sit back and allow things to pass the same way Steven could. He had to stop the storm at its source, lest his region be drowned out by the rain.
Goodshow was making to speak again, so Lance interrupted him, “Listen, Mr. Goodshow. Nothing you say will change my mind on this matter. Have a Merry Christmas. ”
Lance left the call before Goodshow could respond, and eat up more of his time. The man was already pushing his luck with Lance answering the call in the first place, especially considering that Lance was still several days away from New Island.
Lance sighed as he leaned back against his chair, looking over the common room of the Pokémon Center that they occupied for the next couple of hours. Aside from the Nurse Joy manning the building, and two trainers unlucky enough to be stuck here, Lance’s group of eight were the only ones here.
Aside from Lance himself, his - remaining - Elite Four joined him on the journey, along with Karen, Koga, Clair, and Flint (who tagged along when they passed Pewter). Most of them were catching what sleep they could at the moment, with the exception of Lance himself, Lorelei - who was typing away on a portable computer - and Clair, who was trying, and failing, to sneak up on Lance.
Clair seemed to notice that Lance could see her creeping up to his side, as she dropped any pretence of stealth to flop herself over the arm of Lance’s chair and onto his lap, clearly feeling no shame for anyone who may be watching.
Though, to be fair, the only two who were watching were those random trainers who were more focused in staring at Lance in awe than anything Clair was doing.
Lance scowled tiredly at her, which only elicited an equally tired smirk in response, “Long call?”
He knocked his head back, lightly tapping the wall with the back of his skull, “...Have you ever wanted to kill your boss?”
“Oh, always, ” Clair responded with morbid humour. It had been ages since they’ve indulged in it, “You know how I feel about the Elders sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”
There was a surprising amount of bitterness in her voice, though it was well-hidden in her light tone. Unluckily for her, he knew her well enough to catch the grain of truth in her words, probably more so than she would like to acknowledge, “We could always trade roles.”
Clair stretched her arms like a Persian, blinking her eyes tiredly, “No. Gods, no .” She propped herself up on her arm, leaning a fist against her cheek, “If I left you in charge of the Gym for a single day , I’d come back to see it burned down.”
Lance smirked at her joke, finding himself unable to give a true smile. They both knew that the opposite was more likely in that scenario, given Clair’s temperament.
For all that Lance had his own temper, he could at least keep some patience with Goodshow’s tauros shit.
Had Clair been Champion for the same time that Lance was, there was a high likelihood that Goodshow would be eating through a straw.
…Dragons were temperamental, that’s all he could say.
Still, Lance appreciated that Clair was trying to cheer him up, in her own unique way. After all, he would be the first to admit that the past week had been rough.
First there was the clusterfuck with Team Rocket’s attack, leading to a whole multitude of issues that Lance had been forced to put off because of a god-forsaken rainstorm. Then, when Lance had the chance to interrogate an admin within Team Rocket for their leader’s identity, she ended up committing suicide - and they had yet to catch the individual who spiked her drink.
To top it all off, when Lance and the others reached Diglett’s Cave in an attempt to cross Kanto, it was engulfed in the middle of a Diglett War.
At this point, Lance didn’t know whether this was some sort of divine punishment or foul play.
Still, Lance had adapted, as had those who followed him. While going over the mountains of Kanto was certainly slower than going under, it was their only option left.
Lance only hoped that it wouldn’t be too late by the time they made it to New Island.
Lance shook his head, forcibly distracting himself from his worries by directing his attention to Clair, “I haven’t heard you mention Satoshi recently.”
Clair jolted in his lap, sitting up to squeeze Lance onto one half of the chair. She gave him the stink eye, which, to be fair, he kind of deserved for the sudden change in conversation.
But, honestly, Lance needed to distract himself with something, even if it was as embarrassing as Clair’s poorly hidden crush on the man.
Clair only glared at Lance for a few moments before sighing, puffing a lock of hair from her face as she leaned against him, crossing her arms, “ I’m sorry , I was trying to stay focused on more important things during a crisis. ”
Lance raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised - and feeling somewhat guilty at that surprise - that Clair seemed to be taking this as seriously as he was, “I would’ve thought you’d be worried about him, with his disappearance and all.”
Karen certainly had been.
Clair huffed, turning to look him in the eye, “...Red will be fine.” She turned up her nose, as if she was looking down on Lance, “But you needed someone looking out for your sanity, since that’s in low supply.”
Lance couldn’t help but wince at that, mainly because it was the truth, no matter how he may wish to deny it. The past two years as Champion, while tough, hadn’t challenged him quite the same way the last week has. With everything that’s happened and all of the stress Lance wore on his shoulders, he found his patience - his hold on his draconic instinct - slipping by the day.
He could only thank Clair for being there to reign him in, ironically by acting a little insane herself. Still, there was a difference - muddled as it was - between insanity and the Madness , and Lance would be the first to defend his cousin if any of the Elders decreed her to be of the latter.
And if that made him a little Mad…
Well, he’d live with it, like everything else.
Lance shrugged off the thought with a shudder, and returned to the conversation at hand, “Still, he’s probably been caught out in the storm.” He turned his head to look out of the window, watching as the deluge of water poured down from the sky, “You can’t say for certain that he’ll be fine out there.”
Clair scoffed, “C’mon, Lance, he has lightning fingies! ” She waved her arms out, jazz hands splayed in the air, “Only the Dragon Lord has shot lightning out of his fingers!”
Lance privately agreed that it was an absolutely wild thing to witness - though it had been overshadowed with the other events of the day - but he hissed out, “ Keep your voice down. ”
Clair meeped, turning around with wide eyes only to breath a sigh of relief as their sleeping allies merely shifted in their sleep, not waking at the volume of her voice, “ Sorry. ”
Lance grunted, “Just… remember that they’re asleep.” It had been a long day for them all. He shook his head, “Still, with your crush and all, I would’ve thought you’d be more worried.”
As expected, when directly mentioned, Clair sputtered over her interest in Satoshi. However, once she recovered, Clair’s voice was surprisingly level as she responded, “Actually… Red didn’t really strike me as the type to be all that interested in… ‘romance’.”
Lance raised an eyebrow at the emphasis on that word, and Clair continued, “But even if I’m maybe a little… a touch interested in that respect, I did really enjoy talking to him. You know… without the subtext.”
Clair shook off her apprehension, a soft look of respect crossing her face, “He’s actually got a lot of experience rearing dragons, given that he’s not an official dragon trainer. You can just tell by listening to him talk.” Clair bore a small smile at the memory, which Lance had never seen on her face before when she talked about those who caught her eye, “He knows a whole lotta other stuff as well… I’d like to keep in touch with him,” Clair snorted, her tone becoming wry, “Mainly to see his Charmeleon again, I’ll admit, but to see him as well.”
Lance couldn’t help but blink in surprise at the mature response, from Clair of all people. Of course, his surprise must have been visible on his face, because Clair quickly slapped him on the shoulder with a scowl, though a bashful grin threatened to break through.
Lance allowed himself a small smirk at her expense, before quickly refocusing at the central problem he found in her wish, “You do know that you won’t be able to keep in contact with him, right?”
Clair blinked, “What?”
“He’s Arkeu-Kin,” - the glowing eyes, the lightning fingers, the disproportionate strength. Yeah, Lance was sure of it - “You can’t keep in contact with him without violating the Rites of Transgression.”
Clair blinked again, then once more, before letting out a sly smile, “But that’s only if we know for certain that he’s the one.”
Lance rose an eyebrow, and he stared at Clair for several moments, before steepling his fingers, “I’ll keep your secret,” He raised a finger, “But only if you delete the recording of ‘95. I know you have one. ”
Clair narrowed her eyes, a slightly incredulous smirk gracing her lips, “Why, cousin , blackmailing me to get rid of my blackmail?” She leaned back, crossing her arms as she watched him, “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Lance shrugged lightly, his face carefully set in a neutral gaze, “Do we have a deal?”
Clair pursed her lips, before sighing back with a pout, “Yes, fine, I’ll delete it.” She grumbled to herself, “I suppose it’ll just have to live on in my memory.”
Lance rolled his eyes - gods, he hadn’t been this emotive in weeks - and grouched out, “Figures you’d remember it perfectly.” He tilted his head, looking at her, “You are aware that you’ll have to find Satoshi to get his contact information, yes?”
“Can’t I just find it in the database?” Clair asked glibly, only to back down at Lance’s glare, “Fine, fine. Besides, I’m pretty sure I know where Red’s going.”
At Lance’s questioning gaze, Clair elaborated, “Knowing Red - or, well, as well as I can know him - he’s probably on his way to deal with that pokémon as well.”
Lance’s eyes sharpened - they assumed that the mystery pokémon was behind the storm, and prepared to fight it - and he murmured, “I’d rather he not. He’s going to get himself killed.”
“Nah,” Clair drawled, nestling herself into a comfortable position to sleep, even if only for a few hours, “Red’s a survivor, Lance. He’ll be fine. ”
…
Outskirts of Lavender Town, Eastern Coast of Kanto, December 30th, 1997
Red was beginning to think that this situation could no longer be considered ‘ fine ’.
The Source Storm, for all of its terrible power, was only directly dangerous within 500 kilometres of its centre. Most of its destructive potential came from its effect on the world’s pokémon, with periodic Source Waves acting to further deteriorate their mental faculties, making them nothing more than mindless beasts that ravaged the few remains untouched by the Storm itself.
For the majority of Red’s three years under the Source Storm, though, he was able to evade the Storm itself. Aside from those first few months - where everyone scrambled to understand what the Storm even was - and the final weeks leading to the Conduit - in which Red had actively pursued the Storm’s centre - most of the danger he’d faced had been in the forms of rabid pokémon and the Chariot.
However, this was not to say that Red didn’t have any experience in surviving the worst of the Storm itself. He had been at ground zero when it first erupted, after all. And many of the lessons learned from that experience translated over to the storm he was currently facing, spurned on by Mewtwo’s command.
Red marched forth, ignoring the water pooling in his boots as they sank into waterlogged grass. Frogadier trudged by his side, lifting his arms in tandem with Red as they parted the rain above them, creating a thin sliver of space free of the torrential downpour that surrounded them.
Behind Red, Salvare’s Feraligatr did the same, though with limited success. The beast’s command over water seemed more focused on power than precision, making the delicate job of deflecting rainfall rather difficult for him.
Of course, they’d found an alternative use for Feraligatr, as any time the storm surged with waves of water, he could blast it away far easier than Frogadier could do on his own.
On Red’s other side was Salvare, who, despite looking ready to keel over from exhaustion, remained steady in his pace alongside Red, not uttering even a single word of complaint.
Red had warned the kid, after all, of the distance they would cover.
They’d crossed the entirety of Kanto in ten days, under continuous downpour and limited sleep.
In the back of his mind, Red thought that he would’ve been able to cross the region is only seven days, without having to drag Salvare along as well. However, he couldn’t fault the kid for slowing him down as much as he did, especially considering it could be a whole lot worse.
Salvare hadn’t complained even once throughout the whole ordeal.
In fact, Salvare showed the kind of grit Red found only in those few who lived long enough to see the aftermath of the First Source Wave.
Despite Salvare’s presence, though, Red didn’t let up on their journey. The storm was growing to engulf the entire world, in a twisted mockery of the Storm he remembered. All of the latent rage and desperation Red felt in his soul was channelled in the shuffle in his legs, in the blood pounding along his veins, in the constant glow of his eyes as he held the storm at bay alongside Frogadier, refusing to allow himself to be swept away by the waves.
Red’s shirt rustled, and two tufts of violet fur poked out of his collar, bouncing along with his footsteps as they neared the coast. Vee’s snout reached up to sniff the air, before disappearing back into the warmth of his chest and Pichu beside it, drowsy thoughts filtering into his mind.
‘Near… Storm point… Light is coming… Sleepy…’
Red felt Vee retract from his mind, subconsciously drawing their fatigue into her snores as she slept for all of them. For the hundredth time that week, Red reminded himself to profusely thank the young pokémon after the whole ordeal was over with, preferably with some sort of special treat as thanks.
After all, Vee didn’t just keep them moving by funnelling all of their fatigue into her form, but was also invaluable in helping them navigate towards the storm’s centre, as Espeon’s fur could detect air currents, allowing them to properly navigate towards the origin of the storm.
This was essential, given that their surroundings were entirely obscured by the rain, and any compass was made obsolete by the psychic energies throwing off its magnetic pull.
A flash of lightning ahead of them was shortly followed by a roar of thunder. In that moment of light, Red caught the glimmer of waves, crashing against the eastern coast.
There were silhouettes lining the coast, all holding their hands out as if holding the waves back from flooding the coast. Red recognised the shapes of Alakazams and Slowkings, amongst various others, combining the powers of Water and Psychic types in a desperate attempt to keep the worst of the storm from ravaging inland.
And they were beginning to falter.
Red and Salvare marched past the line of pokémon, the storm so severe that none of them could lose their focus to accost either trainer for their apparent foolishness.
Red stumbled as his boot hit rock, and Salvare surged to his side, catching him to prevent a fall.
Not that Red would have fell, but he appreciated the gesture.
Despite Salvare’s apparent exhaustion - which lingered even after Vee’s help - the kid remained vigilant in a way that Red couldn’t help but be proud. Every day, despite their silence, it became apparent that Salvare was adapting to the danger around them, learning from Red’s silent example to push against the might of the storm in a way that the kid Red had met at the Lake of Rage never would have.
Every day, it became more and more difficult for Red to differentiate the Salvare of today from the Judgement of future past.
Red could no longer say whether such a thing horrified him, or filled him with unexplainable comfort.
Salvare’s eyes glowed a vibrant purple as he let go of Red, who stepped down the rocky edge towards a barely-visible dock at the edge of the road. Yet, unlike the malignant glare of Red’s eyes - pupil-less, crimson suns - Salvare’s eyes still remained human.
Red’s eyes were decidedly inhuman.
The dock was splintered under the assault of sea and sky. Shards of wood were splayed along the ocean, spread along like an open wound by the unforgiving waves.
Of the few boats that had appeared to be docked, all but one were lost to the ocean floor, damaged beyond repair by strikes of lightning and hail. The one that remained only did so because of its size, making it durable in the face of the apocalypse, bearing only scratches along its steel frame.
The dinghy was held down via anchor, which was likely the sole reason why it wasn’t lost at sea. Red and Frogadier held back the rain as Salvare stepped onto the boat with Feraligatr, hopping onto the boat themselves after severing the rope tied to the anchor.
At once, the boat spun against the waves, nearly capsizing them into the ocean. Yet, as Red reached deep within his bond with Frogadier, they kept hold of the currents around the boat, clenching their fists to still the water around them, allowing for Feraligatr to rear back, and push , propelling them into the sea with a backwards Surf .
Red grit his teeth as moved his hands, as if swimming through the ocean himself, to part the raging tides around them for clear passage ahead. After what seemed like hours of reaching forwards, gripping the unwilling waves, and forcing them aside, the storm began to clear. The waves around them began to still, as the downpour of rain trickled down into nothing more than a drizzle.
Red leaned against the edge of the boat, silently heaving in air as Frogadier did the same. Pichu’s head popped out of Red’s collar upon realising that the rain had subsided, and hopped up to the edge of the dinghy, looking out to the calm waters ahead.
They were in the eye of the storm.
And in the distance, obscured by a veil of mist, a palace came into view, towering over the seas with spiralling battlements and glimmering lights.
The morning sky shown above them, unobscured by the clouds, and the blue peeking out into the darkness of the horizon brought a beautiful - terrible - inverse to the image of the last time Red had ventured into the eye of a Storm.
A Storm created by the same being that created this one.
Red’s eyes flashed to Salvare’s face for a moment - which went unnoticed, for the kid stared in mixed dread and anticipation at the palace - and they glowed a malevolent crimson, flickering once more to the island, and the being that called it home.
When Red had last emerged into the eye of the Storm, he killed the creature that commanded it.
Red trailed his fingers along his bracelet, outlining the shapes of the Source Stones embedded within. An uneasy feeling of anticipation settled within his stomach.
Now, emerging once more in the storm’s centre, Red contemplated whether this, too, must end in death.
He may not wish for it; not in the same way that he wished for death before.
…But he wouldn’t hesitate to deliver it once more, should he be faced with no other choice.
…
Abandoned Snagem Hideout, Eclo Canyon, Outskirts of Orre, December 31st, 1997
The constant drip of water echoed along the steel halls. Distant peals of thunder rumbled along the dilapidated floor boards, rotted away after over two decades of disrepair.
Puddles of beige coloured water rippled with every step of a boot, the sediment from the canyon above falling through the cracks of the walls, rusted and blackened in shades of old, bleeding red.
Scorch marks lined the floors and walls, now faint after all this time, but still visible to those who knew to look for it. The acrid scent of used gunpowder remained, even if only in memory, fighting against the prominent stench of musty air and decayed corpses.
The Chariot paused as his nose registered a new smell - a fresher smell - and his grey eyes narrowed into the darkness of the corner, finding the remains of human bones, picked clean of muscle and blood.
The Chariot sniffed the air with Odour Sleuth , finding the same smell scattered across the ruined base, all in various states of freshness, and various states of decay.
The Chariot smirked to himself - a hollow image - and he shook his head as he stepped past the human bones.
He supposed that it wasn’t too surprising that there remained fools who thought to scout the base out for usable remains.
Chariot could almost commend the effort, were it not obvious that this was their final place of resting. One had to fight to survive in Orre, and oftentimes that called for less civilised methods of survival such as thievery, fraud, or murder. It was either that, or be sucked up into one of the various criminal syndacites scattered along the wasteland, usually culminating in servitude to Cipher.
Which also required its members to steal, cheat, and kill.
The Chariot traced a scarred hand along cold steel, fingers rising up and down as they ran along rust and cursed blood, blackened by shadows unleashed by human monsters.
But the Chariot was a monster himself, and instead of being repulsed by the sight, he remained unphased. The base held a long and bloody history, and only the final hours of it were painted by his own hand.
As the Chariot reached the edge of the base, the final rays of outside light lost themselves in shadow. With a flick of the wrist, a small Flash of light emanated from his hand, and the Chariot saw a stairway leading to the depths of the base.
Condensing the errant light into a ball, the Chariot stepped down the steps of creaking wood. With every step, the steel walls rusted further, finally tearing off completely to scatter the ground, which now glistened with small rivers of water along a musty yellow cavern.
The Chariot took one step, two steps into the cave, and snuffed the ball of light out with a clench of the fist. All around him stood a pervasive darkness, and the only sounds to pierce his ears were the trickle of cave water and a slow, heavy breathing on the other side of the stone chamber.
It’s been too long.
The Chariot closed his eyes of grey, and reopened them, pinpricks of crimson red casting a malevolent glow into the void of the room. With a rasped whisper, the Chariot called out into the darkness, “ I know you’re there, Zeus. ”
Immediately, the cave lit up with blood-red light, as a pair of eyes glowed amidst a mass of shadows. The shadows stretched towards him, wings of void wrapping along the sides of the cavern’s walls, surrounding him in its embrace.
The Chariot mused for a moment that the sight that met his eyes was likely the same that preceded the deaths of those whose skeletons now lined the base. He never worried for his own mortality, however, for the danger of the beast before him was familiar. The staticky skreak that emanated from its maw was almost comforting in how unnatural it sounded.
It reminded him of himself.
The Shadow Lugia uttered a low croon as it lowered its head onto his shoulder, closing its glowing, bloody eyes as the Chariot rubbed the beast’s neck, “Come on, old friend.” The Chariot stepped back up the steps, through the ruined base, out into the raging storm, and the corrupted god followed , “Let’s show them who the real God of the Storm is.”