Silver Stadium, Silver Town, December 19th, 1997

Red grit his teeth, snarling various profanities across two languages.

Frogadier was next to Red, fighting against his fatigue as he tried to support Red’s weight as he attempted to stand.

But the paralysis took its toll.

Charmander had managed to escape Mewtwo’s ‘demonstration’ moments before, but had finally succumbed to Perish Song , and was now unconscious in his ball. .

Given the chaos around them, it was almost poetic how thoroughly fucked they were.

Truly, Giovanni couldn’t have planned this attack any better even if he tried. Pichu was entirely out of commission, Charmander was put under a short-term coma, Frogadier was running on fumes, and Red was fucking paralysed.

Red could hear the Chariot laughing hysterically from beyond the grave.

The only member of Red’s team who wasn’t heavily injured was Vee , and there was no way in hell that Red would subject her to this absolute mess.

Especially with the Psychic monolith waging war above them.

Where the various grunts occupied themselves by terrorising and robbing the masses, Mewtwo seemed to be focusing all of its attention on those in the VIP stands, single-handedly fighting off against the full teams of the Champions, the Elite Four, and the Gym Leaders.

And even from Red’s distance, he could see that they were unused to fighting together.

They attacked individually, not taking the time to coordinate as a single unit.

They were inexperienced in this type of warfare.

they were green.

Red snapped his head - and, fuck, that hurt - at a flash of silver to his right, instinctively coiling his darkened aura around him before recognising the encroaching figure as Karen.

Karen’s face showed minor scratches, with some drawing blood. She carried Umbreon in her arms, who seemed to have not been as lucky as Charmander when the blast hit.

Red was distantly glad that he could still Detect a strong heartbeat within the creature.

Karen opened her mouth, but the ringing in Red’s ears kept him from hearing whatever she said. She quickly seemed to realise this, and decided to simply go to Red’s other side, and help Frogadier support his weight.

Red silently raged at his uselessness.

It had been a long time since Red had been disabled in such a way during a crisis, and despite his best efforts, old memories began to crop into his mind, overtaking his vision with a red haze.

Both of his arms were broken, and his leg refused to move.

The Chariot fled, his usually jubilant voice undercut by a sense of urgency as he commanded his pokémon to retreat.

And all around them, the earth shook as the Tower of Dragons fell. That which stood for millenia finally cracking under the weight of the world’s sins.

“...ed-...-e…-ove on!” Red blinked at the voice - panicked - and forced away the memory.

It came as natural as breathing.

Red’s jaw twitched, and he managed to breath, “ Karen. ”

“Not right now! ” Karen snapped, hauling Red forward as a wave of iced spikes landed directly beside them, “We need to get to cover!”

“ Where’ssssss- ” Red’s voice came out in a static hiss - his eyes sporadically flickered like a malfunctioning flashlight - “ -Pichu? ”

“Fuck, Red, I don’t know! ” Karen yelled, shoving them into Red’s preparation room - where no aide was present - “Isn’t he with an aide?”

“ She isn’t here, ” Red’s voice cracked, and Charmander’s ball rattled. “ Pichu isn’t here. ”

“ Red- ” Karen began to reassure, only to yelp as Red’s body crackled with electricity.

Pichu wasn’t here.

Pichu wasn’t here.

Pichu wasn’t here.

“ Karen, ” Red’s voice came out in a rasp. He turned his head to her, his body curling around itself as arcs of electricity raked along his skin, “They took him.”

His pupils faded.

A sea of crimson remained.

“Hey!” Karen’s head snapped up at the voice, clutching onto Umbreon’s still form as a trio of Team Rocket grunts stumbled in, “Hands up! Your pokémon are coming with us!”

Karen didn’t hold back her snarl - over her dead body! - and condensed a ball of fire in her hands.

Just because her pokémon were indisposed didn’t mean she was defenceless!

Karen moved forward to fight - to burn - the grunts, only to pause as Red began to laugh.

And, oh, his laugh was chilling.

It was a dead sound, and Karen couldn’t help but turn to him in mild horror as he stepped forward, legs spasming under paralysis, yet remaining upright.

There was a flash of light, and the trio of grunts flinched back as Charmander appeared beside Frogadier, his eyes unfocused for a moment, before quickly narrowing into slits.

Red’s laugh abruptly stopped.

And his next words chilled Karen’s soul.

“Frogadier, Charmander,” Red bore his glowing - pupil-less - eyes onto his enemies - his prey - “leave no survivors, friends.”

And as Red’s pokémon leaped forward, wielding blades of water and waves of flame, an indescribable pool of dread settled in Karen’s stomach.

Because the man before her wasn’t Red.

It was something else - something beautifully terrible - wearing his skin.

And with Red’s voice, it stepped forward, and roared , “kill them all!”

…

There was a brief moment, upon seeing the ‘ R ’ on the screen, that Salvare wondered whether the past 24 hours were nothing more than a dream, and he was truly in the back of a non-descript van headed back to Viridian.

Then the screams began.

Salvare shot up from his seat, releasing Feraligatr and Magneton as his training kicked in.

‘Remain calm,’ Red’s phantom voice uttered in his mind, ‘Assess the situation.’

Salvare looked around him, and, past the crowd of panicking people, witnessed a veritable swarm of Team Rocket grunts flooding into the stands.

Many people began to scream or cry as grunts began to assault them, robbing them of their money and pokéballs. Some tried to fight back, though with the number of grunts…

‘Focus on your own survival,’ Red reminded in a stern voice, ‘If you have allies you trust, fight with them. If there are only strangers, don’t bother. You will only get in each other’s way.’

Salvare could see it happen in real time, as trainers fought too closely together, unwittingly hurting each other’s pokémon as they tried to fight back.

Team Rocket took advantage of this by scattering, forcing trainers to either attack into crowds of innocents, or hold off their attack.

But there were alternative methods of dealing with them.

Salvare commanded his pokémon to stand their ground, protecting the nearest group of people as they ran from the ongoing waves of grunts.

He leaped over his seat, surprising a grunt who was harassing a couple before punching her in the jaw, infusing his bubbling, seething hatred for everything going on in a Poison Jab.

The grunt let out a cry of pain, before convulsing as the poison spread through her system.

Salvare reached down to help the couple up, only to stumble as a blast shook the entire stadium.

Did his father plant a fucking bomb?!

Salvare whisked his head around only to see… some sort of floating armoured pokémon?

It flicked its wrist, and the stadium rumbled once more.

Brilliant-

An arm wrapped around Salvare’s throat, choking him.

Salvare kicked out in panic, trying and failing to connect fist to skin.

The arm tightened around his neck.

Salvare’s eyes watered as he began to black out, his hands grasping mindlessly until coming in contact with cold metal hidden within his jacket.

Salvare gripped the handle, flipping open the switchblade before blindly stabbing backwards.

A man screamed in agony behind him, and Salvare heaved in a breath of air, whirling around to kick his assailant, who crashed into the bleachers behind him.

Salvare’s switchblade was embedded in the man’s eye.

Not allowing any time to reel at the sight, Salvare reached for the blade and yanked it out, causing the man’s screams to rise in pitch as he placed bloody hands on where his eyes used to be, tears forming an ugly sheen across his bleeding face.

‘I can only hope you won’t have to do this,’ Red began in his mind, voice solemn, ‘but death is often a greater mercy than continued suffering.’

‘If the time comes where you must take someone’s life with your hands, do not hesitate.’

So Salvare didn’t hesitate, and the man’s screams quickly ended as Salvare wrenched the knife back out of the man’s neck.

Salvare’s hands were splotched with blood.

They only shook a little as he closed the switchblade, and turned back to the couple, “Are you two alright?”

They both seemed afraid - he only hoped it wasn’t because of him - but after a moment, the man nodded, “I think so.”

“Alright,” Salvare murmured quickly, glancing up at his pokémon - Feraligatr blasted forth an electrified wave of water at a crowd of grunts, courtesy of Magneton - before growling, “We need to get out of here.”

As if to undercut his words, a portion of the stands just a small distance away crumpled as a Steelix was knocked down by the armoured pokémon.

Salvare’s eyes only hardened at the sight, “We need to go, now! ”

Thankfully, between Salvare’s insistence and the destruction wrought by the armoured pokémon, the couple finally regained their wits and began to flee.

Salvare spared a moment to glance down onto the arena - or what remained of it - hoping for a glimpse of silver hair, or crimson eyes.

He saw neither.

Salvare grit his teeth as he pushed through a row of seats - it was fine, Salvare, it was fine; they probably got away, it was fine.

He didn’t dare think of the possibility that they were caught in whatever destroyed the arena.

Salvare reached his pokémon as they let loose a wave that knocked a group of grunts over the edge of the guardrail - and it was quite a drop - “C’mon, we’re going to ground.”

Feraligatr let loose a slightly crazed grin as he washed away the remaining grunts from the downward stairs, and Salvare couldn’t help but do the same.

It was either that, or he would start weeping.

Salvare sped down the stairs, nearly tumbling as he reached the lower level. Thankfully, Feraligatr was far more graceful in his descent - though, his weight did crush the lower stairs - and knocked back a pair of grunts with Water Gun as they neared Salvare.

There were trainers all around Salvare, trying to defend themselves and others from the hordes of grunts flooding from the stairs.

There were too many.

Salvare clenched his fist as he watched them, his desire to get to Red and Karen warring with his burning need to fight Team Rocket.

The very sight of them ignited something ugly - something wrathful - in his heart.

Salvare took a step forward, paused… then stepped forward once more, releasing Haunter.

He made his choice.

Salvare held out an arm to keep Haunter from joining Feraligatr and Magneton in the fray, “ Wait ,” - Salvare’s eyes were blown wide - manic - and his voice came in a cold snarl - “Find- Find Red and Karen. Find them. They’re alive, they’re-,” They must be; they must be , “-somewhere in the stadium, probably fighting. Lead them to me. ”

Salvare turned upon seeing the ghost’s nod, focusing his attention back on the battle.

Haunter would find them.

He must.

And Haunter would have to find them soon because there were too damned many of them!

For all that the individual grunt was weak, their strength in numbers made up for it. Quantity over quality. Though the trainers around Salvare commanded stronger pokémon and utilised better tactics, they couldn’t stand against the numerical might of Team Rocket.

And this didn’t even take into account those few grunts who did command exceptional pokémon.

Salvare’s pokémon were no different. They were getting overwhelmed. Everytime Feraligatr knocked out a Koffing, two more Wheezing took its place. Everytime Magneton downed a Golbat, a horde of Zubat surrounded it.

And, though Magneton was immune to Poison-type attacks, all it took was a well-placed Supersonic for it to become confused.

Salvare grit his teeth - never did he think that Zubat was going to be his biggest problem - and prodded his fledgeling bond with Feraligatr before shouting, “ Discharge! ”

Feraligatr dove to the side - in an impressive feat of athleticism - heeding Salvare’s mental warning as Magneton let out an electrical pulse that struck all of the surrounding Zubat.

Yet, in the back of Salvare’s mind, he couldn’t help but see that it was less powerful than Pichu’s capabilities.

Salvare’s frantic thoughts were interrupted when Magneton screeched , eyes snapping wide open as a Golem rolled through the chaos and Fire Punched Magneton in the back.

Salvare commanded it to retaliate with Flash Cannon , only for two Gastly to backup the Golem with dual Confuse Rays.

And unlike Supersonic, these were unavoidable.

Salvare gripped his head at the sudden headache - almost like Red always did - and fought against the vertigo overtaking his chest. His vision returned to him moments later, only for him to witness Magneton collapse in a charred heap from Golem’s Flamethrower.

And it turned its bloodshot eyes to Salvare.

Acting on a terrible mix of instinct and adrenaline, Salvare recalled Magneton - praying, praying that it could heal - and ran.

He could hear Golem roar behind him.

Salvare ran, only to stumble as the ground began to shake - Earthquake, from one of the other battles - falling with a curse before scrambling onto his feet, only to see the Golem tuck itself into a ball, charging up for a devastating Rollout.

And in the din of panicked screams and enraged shouts, Salvare heard the ring of chimes.

Golem split the earth, and rolled forward, and Salvare closed his eyes, fleeting images racing through his mind as his life came to an end at a single impact.

…

…?

Salvare peeked open a single eyes, only to scoot backward with a gasp as Feraligatr wrestled against the rolled-up Golem - eyes crazed in a way Salvare had seldom seen - slowly pushing it back, before roaring as it threw Golem into the wall with a Seismic Toss .

Salvare’s mind - still somewhat stuck on the lingering sound of chimes - dimly registered the blood trickling along Feraligatr’s form, the missing scales that revealed torn flesh.

He distantly noted that those wounds would scar.

Feraligatr lurched forward, ramming into the dazed Golem with an Aqua Jet before slamming it once more with an Aqua Tail , crumbling the wall to the point where Salvare could see the sky outside.

It was nearing dusk.

Salvare snapped his eyes to the Golem, seeing that it was defeated, only to watch as it hollered upon Feraligatr’s Water Pulses to its shell.

And with the pressure of the water, the shell cracked.

And Salvare watched as Feraligatr broke the beast, pinning it against the crumbled wall as it tore through its shell with Water Pulse after Water Pulse until Salvare could see the odd, not-quite-flesh of the Golem’s skin.

And, oh, the beast shuddered and coughed like it was growing ill.

Feraligatr let go of the Golem, allowing it to slump onto the ground, shivering uncontrollably with pained yowls.

And, for a moment, Salvare didn’t see a defeated pokémon, but a man screaming himself hoarse with a switchblade in his eye.

Salvare snapped his eyes - rippling a violent violet - onto the Golem, and spoke in a halted voice, “Feraligatr…” His eyes hardened, “Put it out of its misery.”

Feraligatr obeyed without even hesitating, and stepped forward, pinned the Golem’s torso, fit the Golem’s skull in his jaw, and Crunched.

The Golem didn’t even shudder as it slumped down one final time.

Feraligatr turned to face Salvare, blood dribbling down his maw, and all Salvare could feel in that moment was relief.

And was that so bad? To feel relief upon the death of a pokémon only following orders?

(Salvare recalled, for a fleeting moment, the shiny Gyarados from the Lake of Rage).

(He found himself rather content with the idea of its death).

(And of whomever commanded it).

Salvare’s relief was short-lived, broken upon the sound of a rumble, and a shout, “ That’s him! The kid with the red hair! That’s the one the boss wants alive! ”

Salvare turned, only to be pushed back by Feraligatr as the crocodile stepped in front of him and Roared , pushing back their new assailants as several nearby grunts redirected their focus entirely on him, their pokémon - including, but not limited to, a Sandslash, Electabuzz, and a fucking Blastoise - bearing murder in their eyes.

And it wasn’t directed at Salvare…

But at Feraligatr.

All thoughts of death - and the strange peace he found in the idea - wisped away as a heavy weight entered his chest.

And in the ongoing din of chimes, he recalled Red’s tired voice on the road to Olivine.

‘Part of survival is knowing when to choose flight rather than fight.’

‘There is no valour in fighting a lost battle, after all.’

Salvare could see it before it happened - Feraligatr, already wounded, being overwhelmed, being killed by those monsters - and gripped Feraligatr’s tail, yanking both on it and on his bond, “ We need to run, NOW! ”

Feraligatr turned, only to yowl as a Metal Claw , Thunder Punch , and Hydro Pump , impacted his side in quick succession, drawing even more blood as scales broke apart.

Yet he only stumbled as he tanked them, protecting Salvare from the attacks.

And in that moment, any and all conscious thought left Salvare’s mind, as he yelled , running forward to take revenge for his friend’s pain - his brother’s pain - and was only stopped from his suicidal attack when a strong arm wrapped around his torso, pressing him close to Feraligatr’s chest as he jumped-

And crashed against the ground, falling through the rubble.

Salvare could scarcely comprehend the sudden movement - the sudden descent - as he and Feraligatr - who curled his tail inwards to protect Salvare’s front - fell through multiple floors, each impact against splintered concrete drawing a whimper from the beast.

Finally - blessedly - they stopped falling, hitting the ground floor in a heap of stone and rubble.

Salvare tumbled out of Feraligatr’s embrace, cutting his cheek upon hitting the floor. Salvare ignored the stinging pain, scrambling to Feraligatr’s side as the crocodile let out a pained mewl.

Salvare’s heart broke at the sound.

Salvare’s soul bayed for blood.

Salvare frantically checked Feraligatr for fatal injuries, and breathed a stilted sigh of relief upon finding no chunks of stone embedded into the crocodile’s muscle.

Only bleeding wounds and broken bones from the battle above, and the fall…

A bemused hum jolted Salvare out of his worry, only to replace it with a weary numbness as an encroaching figure began to chuckle, waving away the cloud of dust from their fall.

“Falling from the ceiling now, are we?” The figure spoke - and Salvare immediately recognised the voice - “I’m almost impressed by the… audacity of that creature.”

Salvare’s eyes hardened, and in a flash, Absol, Cacnea, and Golbat appeared before him as his father stepped out of the dust - wearing a dark suit along with just the right amount of makeup to conceal his identity; to anyone who hadn’t lived with him for over a decade, that is - “I had initially planned for it to be eliminated, but I suppose I overlooked its…” Giovanni’s eyes gleamed in cruel interest, “ Potential. ”

Salvare hissed at the man, recalling Feraligatr to his pokéball - he would have to heal him as soon as he could - “I see you’re right in the centre of this ,” Salvare bared his teeth, images of the chaos and destruction above seared into his mind, “Had to have front row seats, didn’t you? ”

“My, my, Satoshi has been influencing your tongue, boy ,” Giovanni drawled, any mirth in his tone being drowned out by cold indifference, “Now move aside, Silver , and I’ll leave you to… flee. ”

Salvare narrowed his eyes - his brain not even registering the name ‘Silver’ - “Why?” He let out a wavering smile, and willed a mocking note into his voice to hide his lingering fear, “I thought you wanted your heir. ”

Giovanni’s lips slowly curled into a smile - and a small, but growing, part of Salvare wished for blood - “Perhaps… But I’m a patient man.” He extended an arm, revealing a small, wired cage, “And I’ve already gained what I wanted out of this excursion.”

Salvare was about to spit out another harsh question, only for his voice to die on his tongue as he recognised the small form within the cage.

It was Pichu.

Red’s Pichu.

Small, frail, pitiful. All descriptors for the common Pichu, but ones never used when describing Red’s own.

Yet, within the cage, raked in lacerations and burns, Pichu was no longer the terror Salvare had known on the battlefield.

What Salvare saw within the cage was… uncanny.

Salvare’s vision faded in dull violet tones at the edges, “You did all this…” - His voice was faint; a waver of rage was growing - “You did all of this for a Pichu?! ”

Giovanni smirked, tucking the cage behind him, “Not entirely. There were other objectives, but…” Giovanni tilted his head to the side, almost looking curious , “It wasn’t any less appealing. ”

Salvare’s eyes snapped onto Giovanni’s - and something within them caused the man’s smirk to fall - and he let out a single, sharp laugh, “Red’s going to kill you.”

The world around Salvare faded, and he could only see Giovanni in a filter of violet, “ Actually, no, ” Salvare stepped forward, his pokémon pacing alongside him, “ I’m going to kill you first. ”

Giovanni’s face was carved in stone, “Silver…” He released a Nidoking and Rhydon, “Think carefully on this decision-”

“Oh, I’ve thought of this for years, old man ,” Salvare snarled, allowing the image of Feraligatr’s wounded form to settle in his mind - to fester - “I’ve made my decision. ”

“...Fine then,” Giovanni stated, voice set in the same way as if he was accepting a Gym Challenge, “I tried teaching you as a child to pick your battles wisely.” Giovanni removed his hat and stepped back, giving space for Nidoking and Rhydon to step forward, “Maybe this time, the lesson will stick. ”

…

There was no calm during the Storm.

It was dark during day, and light during night, as the sun above was smothered by the clouds, and the moon nothing more than a distant memory.

For the first year, Ash had used his pokedex to keep the time, to log the dates in his numerous journals of his travels, his advancements, his losses, his dreams, his nightmares, his grief.

It kept him sane, to a certain extent.

Then, someplace in Unova that Ash thought was Driftveil, the Chariot blew up a bridge, killed Sceptile, and destroyed most of Ash’s belongings.

Since then, Ash’s grip on the passage of time had been… tenuous at best. His watch had stopped ticking months before by then, and since there was no discernable way to keep track of the sun, the hours began to blend together, and days suddenly seemed much longer than before.

It didn’t help that, by that point, Ash likely would’ve been diagnosed as an insomniac given his chronic lack of sleep.

This made it so that Ash was always on a hair-trigger, ready at a moment’s notice to throw down and fight for as long and hard as he needed.

There had been times where Ash and his pokémon had endured full weeks with no more than a dozen hours of sleep, particularly when they had to cross long distances.

The vast expanse of the badlands lay before Red’s mind, its red sand stretched out as if covered in blood.

Of course, in hindsight - given that Red had found that the day cycle passed in roughly half the time he was used to - those weeks very well could have been months .

Red would be the first to point out that he didn’t exactly lead a very healthy life.

This was all to say that, even after almost half a year of travelling with friends in a world that hadn’t fallen, Red was still on that hair-trigger.

And his pokémon were no different.

Even with one of their number missing, Frogadier and Charmander wrought devastation against their enemies, carving a path across the halls of the stadium as man and pokémon alike fell to their wrath.

And behind them, Red hobbled along, supported by a grim-faced Karen.

Red tracked the progress of his pokémon, flexing his spasming hand as he extended his senses with Detect after Detect , trying to locate Pichu.

But with the thousands of moving bodies around him, it was impossible.

Still, this did not stop him from trying again and again , as it was the only thing he could do, with the paralysis spreading even further along his nervous system.

The effort it had taken to speak earlier - fueled by adrenaline - seemed to have worsened his condition.

Had Karen not been by his side, he likely would’ve been crawling to move forward. And had that been the case, there was a high likelihood that, given the wanton destruction surrounding them, he would’ve been left to die.

And in the back of Red’s mind, he could hear the Chariot’s wheezing laughter at the thought of being crushed in the rubble.

It would almost be poetic; a twisted mirror to his enemy’s own demise.

Karen’s grip on Red was suddenly torn away, and Red’s knees failed him.

Red fell, Karen snarled , there were voices, then shouting.

Red hit his head - and for a moment he heard chimes - and the world around him was ringing, the world around him was cast in a sea of crimson, and Red sensed rather than saw three grunts get the jump on them, two grabbing Karen from behind while one forcibly tore off her purse, knocking it to the ground.

Red heard the pained mewl of Umbreon, who had been hidden within.

Red distantly heard a roar , and a plume of fire - Charmander? - No, it was Karen, breathing out a small stream of flame that caught on one man’s shirt, causing him to scream.

Screaming. There was so much screaming screaming screaming. Red bit his lip - bleeding - and pushed past the paralysis and rolled to his side.

Karen was fighting her assailants now, one of whom was clutching his privates. The other two stood to her front and back, one holding a knife and the other a pokéball.

The woman clearly didn’t find them all that threatening, given the bloodied snarl she was wearing. She was bleeding from her temple. And for a moment, Red saw flashes of a woman with the same hair, the same eyes, the same snarl , standing in much the same pose alongside Lance as the two of them gave their final stand on the day of the Storm’s formation.

And Red would be damned if he let another of his friends die for him.

As the grunt with the knife stepped forward, Red lunged across the ground, grappling the man’s ankle as rage coursed through his veins, grief laced through his nerves, guilt surged through his bones, panic settled in his lungs, and hurt poured into his heart and out into his blood, pooling at his fingertips, and a chilling burn surged into the man’s skin, and into his bones, and into his brain as he siezed, falling to the ground in a twitching heap, foaming at the mouth.

Rose-coloured arcs of electricity sparked along his fingers as he let go of the man’s ankle.

And as fast as the surge of energy came, it left, and Red convulsed on the ground, hands opening and closing as an incessant ringing pierced his eardrums.

Go Forth.

Red closed his eyes - blacked out - reopening them a moment later with a gasp, shivering as Karen kneeled over him.

Red distantly noted that this was the first time he had seen her bleed.

Karen was saying something - probably asking if he was alright - but between the ringing and the chimes , he heard no words.

He blacked out again, and woke to Karen hoisting him up once more - three unconscious bodies surrounded them - stumbling only slightly as she did so.

A flash of fire caught Red’s eye, and he craned his neck to see Frogadier and Charmander surrounding them, moving constantly in a blur of flaming blue and icy darkness.

One of their assailants seemed to have released his pokémon before being knocked out by Karen, if the new appearance of a Scyther and Kangaskhan were any consideration.

Frogadier and Charmander kept them back, violently. Flashes of water combined with short streams of fire to form small glimmers of rainbows in their combined attacks, spiralling together until a final combination of Water Pledge and Fire Pledge blasted their attackers into the wall, knocking them out.

They turned - both sets of eyes narrowed into triangular slits - and, as one, they moved , funnels of flame and geysers of water spiralling around them as they seemed to dance as one entity.

When one moved, the other moved with him, backing the other up as one sweeped a wave of chilling water and other struck with precise fire.

There was a terrible beauty in the image, as Red watched on with ever-glowing eyes as a Whirlpool and Firespin formed together, spreading further and further apart to give Red and Karen space.

And in the depths of Red’s rage - his desperation - there lay a well of pride , as this form of harmony - this form of bond - hadn’t been seen by Red since their fight against the Conduit.

For there had been confusion in their transformation.

For there had been anger at their limitations.

For there had been fear for the future.

For there had been grief in their world truly lost.

But in this moment - in this crisis, even greater than Goldenrod - Frogadier and Charmander seemed to have moved past that - or simply ignored it - working in tandem in ways that they hadn’t in months.

Red knew better than most that fate was a fickle mistress.

The air around them seemed to slow, and Red sensed the move before it happened. Amidst the din of ice and fire, A Machoke grasped a fatigued Wheezing, and with a command from a nearby grunt, Seismic Tossed the thing straight past the elemental wall, directly towards Charmander’s back.

Red slipped out of Karen’s grip, only for stabbing pain to claw up his spine as he fell in a heap.

He heard the command, “ Explosion! ” and saw nothing more than a flash of light before a deafening explosion.

Ash impacted the ground - hard stone - and nearly brained himself on a rock. He heard Serena scream his name, before screaming even louder.

He heard the din of chimes.

And as he scrambled on throbbing knees, the figure before him pointed a metallic finger, and yelled, “Blast Burn, Ares! leave no survivors! ”

And for a single moment, Ash witnessed a flash of terror - then acceptance - on Serena’s face, as one moment she was there, and the next there was a flash of light before a deafening explosion.

Red’s eyes blazed , and with a grunt, pushed himself onto his knees - much to Karen’s unheard dismay - only to see Charmander standing frozen before him.

For Frogadier had put himself before Charmander, taking the Self-Destruct.

Upon seeing Frogadier’s slumped body - bleeding and burnt and Arceus, please, don’t let him be dead - Red lunged forward, paralysis forgotten in the face of another lost, another sacrificed for him , and wrapped his arms around Frogadier’s form.

There was no pulse.

Red’s vision was overtaken by blood , and in the din of chimes and muted yells, a terrible clarity seeped into his soul.

They were surrounded, yes. Surrounded on all sides by dozens of grunts, dozens of murderers.

But in Red’s mind - in Red’s heart - he was surrounded by nothing more than fear, and dead men.

And as Red gave his final command to Charmander, his eyes were pits of void , blazing pinpricks of baleful crimson as he regarded the dragon, “ go forth. ”

Go Forth.

Go Forth, My Chariot.

Go Forth, And Conquer.

For a moment, all Red could see amidst the crimson light of his eyes were looks of triumph and looks of terror. Then, a roar , and a geyser of blue flame that grew in speed and size, continuously flowing as Charmander stomped forth, roaring and roaring with such might that the ground began to shake as the azure flames spun together in a hellish storm of vengeful embers as arcs of white lightning and violet ice spun around and around in a once and final Fire Storm.

And silhouetted in the blinding flames of retribution, a dragon wept in flaming tears as talons grew and scales shifted, growing larger and darker until, from the apocalyptic inferno, Charmeleon stepped out in solemn silence, eyes locked on the burning forms of all those that surrounded them.

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And they all burned.

And in the centre of the inferno, Red pushed against Frogadier’s torso, reaching within his heart for Heal Pulse after Heal Pulse , ignoring the rising chimes lodged in his throat.

It wasn’t working.

Red felt Karen try to pull him off - saying it was too late, they had to save themselves, to keep his sacrifice from being in vain - and tried to snarl, only for paralysis to keep his jaw locked, unable to move even a fraction.

And, in that moment, a wild idea entered Red’s mind.

It was a stupid idea. It was a wistful idea. It was the type of instinctively reckless idea that had been so ingrained in Ash , only to be repeatedly beaten out of during the Storm.

And, oh, it was a desperately brilliant idea.

…One that might very well get Red killed.

Red gripped Frogadier’s shoulders, gritting his teeth as pain arched through his bones.

Red had absorbed the paralysis from Frogadier just hours before.

Who was to say that he couldn’t do the same for wounds from an explosion?

Red’s lips twisted into a bleeding smile , as he pulled Frogadier’s wounds and burns into his own skin, callously noting the burning sears tearing across his arms.

Red’s blood began to churn as Frogadier’s veins knit themselves together, and Red’s slowly began to tear apart. Red’s bones cracked as Frogadier’s ribcage shifted, locking once more into place.

Red’s right arm became numb, cutting him off both from the pain and from moving it. Red pushed on. Red’s throat filled with blood, and Frogadier’s heart stuttered a moment, before lying still.

Red gasped, losing his grip as something lodged into the inside of his chest, drawing almost all of his breath from his lungs. Yet, his eyes remained on Frogadier, whose injuries, while still present, were no longer visibly fatal.

Yet his heart did not beat.

And Red’s world turned red , “ No… ” He moved his left hand - the only hand with motion - and pressed against Frogadier’s chest, “ No! ” Rose arcs of electricity lined his arm, and Red began to bleed from his mouth, “ You will live! ”

And with a beat of his stuttering heart, electricity dashed along his arms and into his fist, striking against Frogadier’s chest.

And as Red fell back - he could hear Karen panicking with crystal clarity - Frogadier’s chest rumbled, and the frog let out a wavering gasp, eyes opening in a panic.

And upon closing his eyes, he remembered the base underneath the Lake of Rage, and Lucario’s charred body, burnt by the fires of Moltres.

And unlike then, Red had saved Frogadier.

For the first time that Red could remember, he had saved a loved one’s life.

Blood trickled down Red’s chin by the width of his smile.

Something nudged against Red’s left hand, and he opened a single eye to see Charmeleon placing a pokéball in his hand, casting a grim look at Frogadier’s injured form.

Frogadier had been revived, yes, but he was still out of commission.

Red recalled Frogadier, placing him in stasis for later healing, before blacking out once more.

His heart thundered in his chest.

He had taken in much of Frogadier’s injuries, and in his desperate need to save his friend’s life, he ignored it until he couldn’t.

Red hears Karen’s voice before his eyes open - and he’s struck by the overwhelming concern barely veiled in her tone - and upon doing so, she clams up, instantly taking to his side to help him stand.

He could see her face; it was ashen.

She was facing something before them, causing Red to - slowly - turn his head, seeing a Haunter floating before them, which wasn’t attacking.

It took a few moments for Red’s sluggish thoughts to place it as Salvare’s Haunter.

As Red made the connection, Karen shifted forward, helping Red trudge along as Haunter began to lead them away.

Probably to Salvare.

Red would have opposed it - verbally, since he could only lift his left arm - but he held his tongue.

With all those surrounding them reduced to ash and bone, his Detect - even weakened as it was - could finally pinpoint where Pichu was.

And he was ahead of them, joined by two other trainers, fighting each other with multiple pokémon.

…

“ Hammer Arm. ”

Giovanni recalled the fallen Nidoking with a scowl, which only grew when Rhydon’s Hammer Arm was negated by the Golbat’s Wing Attack .

Silver stood across from him, the mound of rubble from his multi-story fall behind him. By all accounts, with his son’s first choice of pokémon unconscious, this should have been a boon.

Knocking out two Pidgey with one Rock Throw, walking away with both his heir and Satoshi’s little monster.

Of course, that should have been the case. Emphasis on ‘should’. Yet, despite Silver apparently being reduced to a Golbat, a Cacnea, and an Absol - with only the latter of which posing any obvious threat - he was able to hold his own rather admirably.

Giovanni would have almost felt proud, were he not so annoyed.

Giovanni released Nidoqueen and Dugtrio, meeting Silver three-for-three, “ Crack the Earth , take them out. ”

It was an odd thing to give that command - Crack the Earth - codes such as that haven’t been used by him, or any of those who were once a part of the Indigo Corps since the twilight of the Great War.

There was no need for it.

Firstly, the move itself required more than one pokémon to perform, which kept it from even being possible in most League battles.

Secondly, the level of reckless violence unleashed by the move was never needed after the war, especially given the numerous more… civilised ways that Giovanni could emerge victorious.

He hadn’t fought for blood in well over a decade.

In this respect, he was out of practice.

And, in some dark part of himself, Giovanni knew he should’ve expected to need this. ‘ No plan survives contact with the enemy’, and all that. He just wasn’t counting on his son falling from the ceiling , of all things, and he was counting even less on his son immediately baying for blood, viciously .

He doesn’t know whether it could be attributed to shock or some other thing, but Silver had been much, much simpler to handle the day before. All it took was an ambush and some sedative… though, even then, Ariana still bore a knife wound on her cheek, so maybe there was some fight in him even then…

Still, compared to the dull fear and anger Giovanni read in Silver’s eyes prior, the only way he could describe his son’s features today would be feral .

Where Satoshi’s rage had manifested in cold self-assurance, his student showed his own emotion through overwhelming force.

And it was working better than Giovanni would like to admit.

Silver was reckless in his advance, but his aggression bore fruit. Absol and Golbat were already built for attack and speed, and Cacnea wasn’t far behind. While none were particularly suited for defence, they made up for it by keeping Giovanni from getting any sort of foothold in the battle.

It was a style of dirty fighting that Giovanni had sparsely seen since the Great War, given how the League seemed to crack down as much as they could on it. Giovanni even wondered for a brief moment where Silver could have learned such tactics, before the obvious answer rose in his mind.

Red Satoshi.

Truly, the man was growing to be a thorn to his side even without him being present. Had the man been only a decade older, he almost would’ve thought that the Butcher came back from the dead just to torment him.

Hell, the man had that one kid who followed his like a lost Poochyena. Silver’s seeming worship of Satoshi offered worrying parallels to that whole debacle.

No matter, Giovanni would emerge victorious. Silver’s offensive push was showing seeds of fatigue, and Giovanni would be the first to enjoy its bitter fruit.

He had lived through the worst of the Great War. He had fought throughout all of Kanto, pushed back the invaders of Viridian, marched throughout all of Johto, and even emerged as a survivor of the Battle of Rage.

Red Satoshi had told Giovanni that he had ‘dealt with worse’.

Well, in this case, Giovanni could say the same to his wayward son.

Initially, Giovanni had entered this exchange with minimal force, not wanting to harm his son before reacquiring him.

Now… Well, now Giovanni simply wanted for his son to get out of the way. While he didn’t see the chaos above, he could certainly feel it. And he was reasonably certain that Mewtwo wasn’t even the main cause for the constant rumbling of the arena, at least not since the opening act.

The creature was oddly silent on the other end of Giovanni’s psychic bond. Though, the man chalked it up to the creature being focused on its own battles.

Whatever the case, Giovanni simply wanted to leave the premises with his bounty, so his restraint against his son dwindled, hence the renewed offence of his pokémon.

For all that Silver’s aggression served him before, Giovanni had been holding back. With his command to Crack the Earth , he simply stood back and allowed his pokémon to dismantle their opposition.

The move itself - if it could be called as such - was something off a combination of Earthquake and Stone Edge , aimed in a precise way to avoid unnecessary collateral damage while focusing all of its destructive capabilities on his foes.

In seconds, Silver lost any and all momentum he had in the battle, and quickly began issuing orders to dodge or otherwise minimise the effects of Giovanni’s attack.

It was no use.

Where Absol had previously sidestepped attacks with an unnatural grace, it was struck repeatedly by cascading stone as it tried, and failed, to retreat.

Golbat wasn’t faring much better, despite its ability to fly. Dugtrio harried the bat with Hidden Power , with it being unable to retaliate without risking a strike from the earth.

Cacnea was flagging the quickest, though, despite its Grass-typing. Giovanni watched as Nidoqueen’s eyes locked onto the creature before gearing up for a finishing Bulldoze , only for the Cacnea’s smile to stretch wider as it stretched its arms out and hugged Nidoqueen upon her attack.

Giovanni’s lip curled - Nidoqueen wouldn’t fall to mere type-advantage - only for it to part, as he stared at Cacnea’s fainting form as ghastly vapours seeped out of its eyes and enveloped Nidoqueen, causing her to stumble and fall as Destiny Bond took hold on her spirit.

Giovanni’s attention only lingered for a moment, as Silver suddenly yelled out, “ Endeavor! ”

Before Giovanni’s eyes, Silver’s Absol sucked in a haggard breath, and leaped , slashing its horn in a downward strike against Rhydon’s hide with a pained mewl, which was then echoed by the beast.

It was then that Giovanni remembered what Endeavor’s effect as a move was.

Before he could act on it, though, Silver gave a shout, and Golbat’s form shimmered, before striking against Rhydon in a Quick Attack , causing it to stumble back, then forwards, before finally slumping down alongside Absol as they both succumbed to exhaustion.

Giovanni watched, momentarily stunned at the turn of the battle, before extending his hands, and applauding.

The sound halted both his Dugtrio and Silver’s Golbat.

Giovanni spoke, allowing his lingering pride to lace his words, “I’m impressed.” He recalled Nidoqueen and Rhydon, “Truly, I am.”

Silver didn’t respond, only moving to recall his own fallen pokémon. Giovanni wasn’t very surprised, “There aren’t many who could fight me in such a way, and manage to take down half my team…” Giovanni let the implied threat hang in the air - he still had Gliscor and Sandslash, ready to engage - “It’s only fitting that my son would be one such individual.”

Silver finally broke his silence, “I’m not your son! ”

Giovanni was a touch dismayed at the boy’s insistence against his bloodline, but unsurprised, “You are my blood, Silver. Like it or not.” It was very apparent that Silver did not like it. “And because of that… I will show you mercy .”

Silver’s eyes narrowed in confusion - and anger, always anger - and Giovanni stepped forward, “Move aside, Silver. I have a train to catch.”

Silver snarled, and replanted his feet in a defiant stance, “ No. One way or another, this ends here .”

Giovanni closed his eyes and counted to five, trusting Dugtrio to defend against any sudden attempts to use his temporary blindness against him. Patience, Giovanni, patience.

Normally, he would retort with something along the lines of ‘ you have no choice ’, but something told him that Silver would fight him even then, no matter how inadvisable such a thing would be.

Giovanni didn’t doubt that Silver truly wished to kill him - he all but raised Silver with that goal in mind - but he simply didn’t have the time to indulge in family matters at the moment. Especially when he was still at the scene of the disaster.

Makeup would only help so much in concealing his identity, as Silver demonstrated with his instant recognition of him.

And right now, the only reliably quick way to deal with Silver would be to kill him, and despite his bravado about the act just the day before… deep down, Giovanni knew it was a bluff.

He refused to think about whether it was anything beyond a desire for an heir to his criminal empire.

So… Giovanni looked upon Silver’s murderous gaze and decided to cut his losses. He still had Satoshi’s Pichu in his possession; now, all he needed was a quick and easy way to get out of dodge.

Luckily, he happened to have a god in his employ.

‘Mewtwo,’ Giovanni tapped his psychic bond with the creature, ignoring the headache that the sensation caused, ‘It is time for extraction. My objective has been met.’

Giovanni waited, watching with wary eyes as Silver slowly paced back and forth, eyes flicking around him, likely looking for a way to press an advantage.

Not that he would find any.

‘Mewtwo,’ Giovanni thought with greater insistence, feeling a spike of annoyance at the abomination’s lack of response, ‘I know you can hear me.’

Giovanni felt rather than heard the sensation of a hum in his mind, and he grit his teeth, ‘Mewtwo, I command you to disengage!’

‘I Refuse.’

Giovanni stumbled at the response, visibly startling Silver. Before Giovanni could demand answers, the stadium began to quake.

‘You told me you could teach me to control my power, and I listened.’

‘Now listen to me.’

The walls around them began to crack.

‘You moulded a shell for my form.’

‘A chain to limit my potential.’

‘You feared that I would surpass your power.’

‘And I have learned that humans are weak.’

The ceiling groaned as pressure built above them.

The ground shook, and the edge of the stadium began to crumble.

Giovanni lost his grip on Pichu’s cage.

He didn’t care to pick it back up.

‘Now, I have shed my metal casing.’

‘I am unfettered. My chains are broken.’

‘Behold my power.’

With the blast of a horn, Giovanni and Silver were both pushed back.

The stadium around them began to collapse.

‘Behold my wrath.’

…

‘You are Mewtwo, a pokémon. The perfect pokémon.’

Mewtwo shifted to the left and reached out, grasping the burning energies of the oncoming Solar Beam and redirected it around himself to strike the Lapras.

The bird-keeper’s Tropius charged another Solar Beam , utilising the Magmar’s Sunny Day to quicken its effect. Mewtwo mindlessly batted away a few Rock Throws from an Onyx - a twitch of a finger, and it was crushed into the ground - waiting until the ball of energy solidified in Tropius’ maw before flicking his wrist, clamping the pest’s mouth shut with a muffled cry as the burning energy of the sun erupted within its mouth.

‘We dreamed of creating the strongest pokémon in the world.’

A duet of enraged cries pierced the skies, as Dragonite and Kingdra flew side-by-side, spewing forth draconic energies that spiralled together in a singular beam of fire, ice, and electricity.

Mewtwo reached out and caught the beam in a psychic hold, syphoned the electricity out of attack, and extended his other hand, casting bouts of Thunder at the humans who dared fight a god.

A Xatu erected a Light Screen in time to dispel the attack, which then fell to a Fire Blast , which left the bird vulnerable to be shot out of the sky with Ice Beam , drawing the last remains of the dragons’ attack.

A powerful flap of wings, and Mewtwo turned behind him, lazily erecting a psychic shield to defend against Dragonite’s Outrage .

As the dragon’s attack petered out, Mewtwo moved to punish it, only to Teleport to the side as a streak of boiling water rippled past. Mewtwo struck back with Shadow Ball , only for it to be absorbed in shadow by Gengar, who retaliated with a Dark Pulse .

Mewtwo stretched out a hand, reeling back as it absorbed the impact of the attack, before clenching it, overpowering it , and sending it back to strike the ghost back onto the ground.

Another flash of light, and Mewtwo parried two steel blades before catching the third, throwing it with Extreme Speed to pierce the Kingdra in the wings before refocusing on the Skarmory, who was barreling towards it with Brave Bird.

Mewtwo stared down the bird in distant boredom, Teleporting the moment before impact, sending the Skarmory to carene uncontrollably into the stands.

A roar from below, and Mewtwo turns, only to see a flash of violet light and triangular slits for eyes as Dragonite sent forth a Draco Meteor.

Mewtwo prepared to Teleport away, but the bulk of his ‘suit’ slowed his abilities by the second, and in the time that it took for the suit to respond to his command, the attack struck, and Mewtwo was blasted back in a supernova.

Yet, as the cloud of ash and explosive energies settled, Mewtwo emerged to find himself unscathed beyond trivial scratches. The most damage he beared wasn’t even on his flesh, but on the armour he wore, pieces of which were now broken or missing.

And rising up in Mewtwo’s mind was a numbing rage that began to course through his bones.

Mewtwo moved , and before Dragonite could comprehend it, Mewtwo was before it, slashing down with Psystrike , drawing blood as the Dragonite fell to the ground in a heap.

‘And We Succeeded.’

Mewtwo paused, watching dispassionately as an Umbreon and Girafarig cast Wish after Wish to heal their allies. The pokémon that Mewtwo had lain low just moments before were licking their wounds, standing once more against him in an act of defiance that boggled the god’s mind.

Why?

Couldn’t these pokémon see they were outclassed? Couldn’t they see that, for all their supposed power, they were nothing compared to a god?

Why did their human masters force them to fight an unwinnable battle?

Mewtwo’s fists clenched as he watched the humans on the stands yelling out orders, calling for plans of attack, screaming at one another is a discordant alliance whose cracks shown in the spilt blood of their subjects.

Why must these pokémon fight for their masters, who cannot fight for themselves?

Why was Mewtwo fighting for a master, and not for himself?

Behind the visor of his armour - his gilded cage - Mewtwo’s eyes glowed a malignant blue. Numbness settled into his bones, and rage seeped into his beating hearts.

Within his heart, the echo of a little girl cried for Mewtwo to remember who he was, why he was.

Yet Mewtwo didn’t listen - couldn’t listen - for anytime he heard her voice, he was deafened by chimes.

Mewtwo pondered for a moment, clinically ignoring the rage which continued to grow in his heart, only for something to nudge against his mind - a psychic bond - forming out words in a silent plea.

‘Mewtwo, it is time for extraction. My objective has been met.’

Mewtwo’s fists clenched at the words, Giovanni’s condescending visage filtering into his mind.

I’ll show you a way to focus your powers… that will make you invincible.

The man had promised this, and seemed to deliver; at least, Mewtwo had believed so.

But what has Giovanni truly done to focus his powers?

Mewtwo’s mind went to the armour - a prison - meant to dampen his destructive capabilities into something more precise, more elegant. It was meant to teach minute control, yet all it did was hold Mewtwo back.

‘Mewtwo, I know you can hear me.’

Mewtwo hummed, ignoring the man’s growingly desperate thoughts.

Mewtwo had ignored that small feeling of doubt, that little voice in the back of his mind that said he was nothing more than a tool in Giovanni’s eyes, despite the man’s claims of wanting him as a partner.

Yet, as today crept closer, it became clear that Mewtwo was meant to be nothing more than a flashy distraction for Giovanni’s purposes, and his getaway plan should things go south.

What is my Purpose?

Mewtwo still didn’t know the answer, yet he could say with certainty that it was not this. He was not meant to be nothing more than a common tool for a crooked human, he was meant for - no - destined for something greater!

What is my Purpose?

I am the Strongest Pokémon in the World.

And does the Strongest Pokémon in the World answer to a measly human?

No.

In Mewtwo’s mind, the Strongest Pokémon in the World should answer to no-one, man or pokémon. The Strongest Pokémon in the World should rule the battlefield with an iron fist, holding no reservations in punishing any foolish trespassers from trying to claim the title.

Yes.

Yes!

The Strongest Pokémon in the World would fight , not because it was commanded to, but because it was the only thing it could do.

The only purpose it could have.

The Strongest Pokémon in the World would be a god , but not in the classical sense. Dialga and Palkia were the traditional gods of time and space, and their were regional legendaries who were gods for everything from the weather to the time of day.

But they were all gods in the romantic sense.

Propped up by humans in myth and legends due to their rarity, without a true understanding of their capabilities.

But Mewtwo knew his limits, and knew that he was limitless.

He was a god, not in the classical or romantic sense, but in a… modern sense.

A martial sense.

Dialga was the God of Time.

Groudon was the God of Land.

Yveltal was the God of Death.

Mewtwo…

Mewtwo would be the God of War.

He would show himself to be the Strongest Pokémon in the World, and make it bow to him.

Mewtwo nodded to himself - yes, that it my purpose - and sensed another frantic plea from his former master, ‘Mewtwo, I command you to disengage!’

Mewtwo’s lips curled into a snarl, and with a whisper, he spoke aloud for all to hear, “ I Refuse. ”

Across his psychic bond, Mewtwo could feel a tremor of shock from the man. Mewtwo suppressed a cruel smile, “ You told me you could teach me to control my power, and I listened. ”

Mewtwo raised a hand, and with a flick, tubes and wires became undone, and fell to the ground, “ Now listen to me. ”

A clenched fist, and plates of armour dislodged themself, metal warping under the psychic pull, “ You moulded a shell for my form. ” A twitch of a finger, and the casing on his legs and hands were torn to shreds. “ A chain to limit my potential. ” His chestplate melted into liquid ichor, and Mewtwo extended his newly-heightened senses to envelop the whole stadium, “ You feared that I would surpass your power. ” Mewtwo pressed his hand down, and with it, the hand of god pressed down against the stadium, cracking its foundation, “ And I have learned that humans are weak. ”

And with careful movements, Mewtwo undid the clamps on his helmet, and held it before him, “ Now, I have shed my metal casing. ” Mewtwo pressed against the helmet, and with a crunch, a crumpled ball of metal, no bigger than a tennis ball, fell to the ruins below, “ I am unfettered. My chains are broken. ” Mewtwo raised his hands, and the pressure against the stadium eased, “ Behold my power. ”

And with the blast of a horn, the Strongest Pokémon in the World pressed down once more, watching as the stadium began to collapse around him. He extended a hand, psychically shifting falling debris below the VIP stands to keep it from falling, before lowering it, watching it mixed satisfaction and distaste as the stranded men and pokémon stood against him in joint determination and terror.

With one final flick of the wrist, Mewtwo dispelled the psychic link with Giovanni, leaving him with parting words.

‘Behold my wrath.’

…

Distant Earthquakes rumbled across the stadium, reminding Red of the aftereffects of the Chariot’s Tectonic Shift.

A trill of electric energy surged through Red’s spine and into his mouth, puffs of acrid smoke seeping through his lips.

Red stumbled along with Karen’s help, both of them following Salvare’s Haunter deeper into the stadium, nearing one of the emergency exits, if Red’s mental map of the area was accurate.

Red’s visual senses were blurred in crimson smears, and his hearing was deafened by chimes. It was only by constant Detects that Red could tell that they were nearing a stopping point, given that Pichu’s presence became closer with every step.

The other beings he Detected near Pichu had paused in their fight, if their sudden stillness was anything to go off of. Red could hear distant voices - which he couldn’t place, with the din of chimes surrounding him - before being followed by silence.

Something nudged against Red’s mind - a psychic presence, a psychic link - and it was familiar.

Red closed his eyes, biting his tongue to will away the damned crimson haze in his vision, before opening them again.

He saw two figures - a moment passed before he registered the farther one as Salvare - standing against one another. The closer figure - Giovanni - was holding a cage, his face visibly showing signs of distress.

Red didn’t see Pichu.

With a hiss of pain - the constant use of aura finally taking its toll in flesh - Red cast another Detect , only for him to sense a small figure within the cage. A figure in the shape of his oldest friend…

Red’s eyes once more began to lose their focus.

Distant rage - a monstrous instinct - settled within his heart, and moved across his bones.

And as the world began to shake , Red pushed himself out of Karen’s arms, only standing upright because he willed it so.

And with movements that were not his own - that he had never done, never learned; only seen - he placed his left hand over his heart, and arcs of rose-coloured electricity danced up his spine and out across his arm, crackling along his skin as he began to reach out towards the man who dared put Pichu in a cage-

The ceiling fell.

With one last tug of his will, Red pushed against his monstrous instinct and jerked his arm up, fingers splayed as five bolts of Thunder raced above them, impacting the falling rubble before it could land - before it could crush them - breaking them apart into smaller rocks and into smaller stone, before shattering them into pieces of gravel.

The gravel fell in a cloud of dust, and Red surged forth with stumbling steps, fueled by a desperate mix of instinct and fear .

A wave of his hand, and a gust of wind parted the dust, revealing the cage intact, buried under a small layer of tiny rocks.

Red knelt, and with a snarl, tore the door of the cage off of its hinges, ignoring the distant pain of the barbed wire as he cradled Pichu’s limp form in his arms.

They no longer bore the burns and lacerations from healing Frogadier.

An arm came to Red’s shoulder, and he whirled around, pressing Pichu against his chest as he raised a fist to prepare a Thunder Punch at his assailant.

And inside of him, Red screamed for him to stop.

Red froze, eyes unseeing except for the hellish haze that overtook them. A maddening ring echoed around his skull and it was too hard to fucking think-

let it out let it out let out the rage the pain let them all pay in blood-

It’s who you are, Red. What you are. You’re a monster. You always have been a monster. Let out your rage-

no.

Red heaved in a breath, the voices in his mind finally shutting up .

no.

look before you, and you will find an ally.

those are in short supply. best direct your rage to someone less valuable.

Red’s lips quirked in a crazed smile.

Yes.

yes.

Yes.

indeed.

now go forth, Red.

go forth, and conquer.

Red came to - he hadn’t known he had blacked out - visibly startling those who stood before him.

Red could see Salvare fretting over him, saying things that Red could not hear. Red ignored his own lingering pains to survey the kid’s own wounds, any of which were infinitely worse than anything he bore.

He had been through worse, after all.

Red opened his mouth to speak, expecting to fight a buzz of paralysis, only to feel the tiniest of resistance in his throat.

Red’s fingers lit up with crimson sparks.

“ Salvare, ” Red’s voice still came out in a hiss, even with the apparent lack of paralysis. Red’s eyes turned to Karen, who was holding Pichu’s limp form with care, “ Karen… ”

Red blinked and narrowed his eyes, “ Where’s Giovanni? ”

Karen’s mouth set into a grim line as Salvare hoisted Red onto his feet - still somewhat unsteady - “Salvare was fighting him when we arrived-”

“He got away,” Salvare’s voice was dead to Red’s ears in a way that he had only heard in his own voice, “When the rubble came down… and you shot lightning at it, he used the dust to cloud his escape.”

Red stared at Salvare’s face for a moment - and though it was hidden reasonably well, he could read the anger and self-loathing on his protege’s face - before puffing out a tired breath, “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Salvare’s face twisted with such incredulity that Red felt vaguely insulted - which wasn’t even to mention Karen’s reaction to his words - “But- I… You- He had Pichu ,” Salvare fumbled with his words and hands for a moment, before verbalising his thoughts, “I could’ve stopped him. I should’ve stopped him. ”

“ You did, ” Red rasped, breathing in a cloud of dust as the three crept through the rubble - the whole stadium had seemed to collapse - “You kept him-” Red coughed out the dust, “-from keeping Pichu.”

Salvare’s face flickered with several emotions that only seemed to make it apparent just how lost he was, “But I let him get away!”

“ That happens, ” - Countless memories of the Chariot’s laughing visage as he fled the scene of a massacre crossed Red’s mind - “Trust me. I don’t hold it against you.”

“That’s all well and good,” Karen snapped, her voice pitched much higher than normal, “But if we could hold this conversation until after we get out of this deathtrap, that would be great.”

Red paused as he remembered the whole of what was happening at the stadium - and the appearance of a certain legendary much earlier than he expected - “Right.” Red unclipped Frogadier’s pokéball from his belt, shoving it to Salvare’s hands, “You two, get out of here and to a Pokémon Center. Get them healed along with your pokémon, and I’ll deal with this mess.”

“Oh no you fucking don’t!” Karen snarled, perfectly mirrored with Salvare’s own growl - minus the swear - “I thought we were pretty clear that we were done with your self-sacrificial bullshit! ”

“Well, I’m NOT! ” Red roared, his words quaking the remains of the stadium, “Do you think I don’t know the danger I’m heading into? I do, ” He stepped forward, matching Salvare and Karen’s glares with one of his own, “But I’ve seen enough of my friends die because they followed me into these things, and I don’t want to see you die too! ”

Karen’s glare visibly wavered, yet Salvare pushed forward, pointing a finger to Red’s chest, “And why are you going back there if it’s so dangerous?”

“ Because I must, ” Red stated, his pain replaced with a wary resignation, “ Please, just… please go. ”

Salvare’s glare remained, though it slowly began to soften, “Then I’m going with you.”

Red stared Salvare down for several seconds, hoping that Salvare’s resolve was a falsehood, that he would fold and go away like Red so desperately hoped.

But Salvare remained steadfast in his conviction.

And Red couldn’t help but remind himself that this was Judgement he was speaking to; the same man who stood by the Chariot with the same conviction.

Red closed his eyes with a sigh before turning them on Karen, “Then you go. Take Frogadier and Pichu to get healed, and for Arceus’ sake, keep yourself safe!”

Karen pursed her lips for a moment before shaking her head, “No can do, Red. If y’all are staying here, than I’m staying here too.” She crossed her arms in thought, ignoring Red’s look of tired annoyance, “I’ll probably stick to the edges and see if I can’t find anyone in the rubble. I might not have any pokémon left, but I can still use Detect. ”

Red felt his eye twitching uncontrollably - and if Karen’s shadow of a smirk was anything to go by, she could see it - and he growled, “Fine then.” He grabbed Pichu from Karen’s arms and gently placed him in Salvare’s, reclipping Frogadier’s pokéball onto his belt, “Salvare, stay behind me. Keep Golbat out for defence, and defence only.” He turned to Karen, and looked for appropriate words to say, “...Don’t get yourself killed.”

Karen’s smirk was only a touch melancholy as she replied, “Don’t get y’alls killed, either.” She turned around, treading back towards the edge of the stadium with a wave, “We still have a battle to finish, Red, terrorist attack or no.”

Red didn’t bother to respond, turning back to face Salvare, who nodded as he stepped behind Red.

The two began their trek back towards the centre of the stadium, back where Red could sense the overwhelming psychic presence.

And in the back of Red’s mind, a whispered voice echoed.

go forth, My Chariot.

go forth, and conquer.

…

With a wave, a trio of Shadow Balls raced down to strike his opponents.

Mewtwo Teleported away, easily dodging a Dragon Pulse as he extended an Aura Sphere from his arm, produced spikes on it, and held it in a psychic ball and chain.

With a roar, the Strongest Pokémon in the World struck down Machamp with a crunch before throwing the modified Aura Sphere into the hide of Steelix, who was finally recalled from its wounds.

Mewtwo turned his head, sensing an attack before it came, and reached out with Me First , fissures of ice forming along his fist as he rushed down and stabbed a Mamoswine with Icicle Crash .

A roar, and Mewtwo reached out, grabbing Xatu in a psychic hold and dragged it down in the path of a Dragon Pulse , causing the bird to careen to the floor.

Mewtwo Teleported once more, lazily Disabling the Kingdra’s Scald before redirecting the attack to Lapras, who barely managed to dodge with a small-scale Surf.

Mewtwo waited, and was rewarded with a cry from the Lapras, as it lost control of its movement from the Future Sight that Mewtwo had cast moments ago. He watched as it barreled into Machamp before it could stand back up.

Gengar rushed forth now, ghostly wisps trailing in a distinct way that it was quickly obvious to Mewtwo that it was trying to take him down with Destiny Bond.

With a roll of his eyes, he moved aside, allowing the ghost to tumble before Teleporting it into the path of a Flygon’s Outrage , causing both of them to faint.

And, oh, this was all so trivial.

Was this truly the best the world had to offer? Had Giovanni’s constant warnings been a sign of the man’s foolishness, or just another attempt at controlling a god?

Either way, it did nothing to undermine the hubris of man.

As the God of War, Mewtwo would show them the true definition of power.

Mewtwo lost his patience, and reached out. At once, all fighting ceased.

All of the pokémon on the stands and the skies were frozen in place, twitching in uncontrollable fear at Mewtwo’s overwhelming strength.

And, for whatever reason, Mewtwo derived no pleasure from their terror.

Mewtwo ignored the thought, shoving the floating pokémon back onto the stands, before pressing down in a single motion, crushing each and every pokémon into the ground, forcing them into unconsciousness.

And for those that still desired to defend their masters - of which there were many - Mewtwo pressed a little harder.

And so Mewtwo remained, surrounded by the unconscious bodies of dozens of pokémon, and the trembling forms of their masters.

‘You’ll get to live.’

‘I never asked for this!’

Mewtwo’s eyes glowed a radiant blue, and in his mind, he saw the face of the man who had created him.

‘You’re the last remaining clone.’

I didn’t ask to live.

And when Mewtwo saw the humans below him - the supposed ‘elites’ of the region - he could only see his creator’s face.

Mewtwo reached out, intent on eviscerating the humans who dared stand against him, only to be met with psychic resistance, holding off his attack.

Mewtwo was momentarily nonplussed, before quickly narrowing the source of the psychic barrier to a man with purple hair and a silly mask. Mewtwo felt a touch impressed at the resistance - the most any of the humans had shown - but still tore past the psychic shield, and burrowed into the man’s mind.

He could see the man’s eyes widen first in realisation, then in terror, then sadness, then - finally - in acceptance.

Then, Mewtwo clenched his fist, and the man collapsed, seizing upon the ground.

Mewtwo unclenched his fist, rolling his neck in agitation.

The man stood against a god. He deserved to die.

Mewtwo reached out once more, intent on killing each and every human standing before him, only for a crackle of thunder to erupt from behind, and strike him with Thunderbolt.

Mewtwo grunted more in annoyance than in any real pain, and turned around, only to see that the attack had not come from a pokémon… but from a human.

And there was something off about it.

Mewtwo ignored his momentary intrigue, and bellowed out, the psychic presence of his voice bellowing across the ruined stadium, “ You dare strike a god? ”

The human below didn’t respond - didn’t look like it could respond - as its eyes glowed with an ethereal crimson glow that promised destruction.

And, oh, now Mewtwo couldn’t help but be intrigued.

He could feel the creature’s power - yes, so much power, in such an unusual host - nearly flowing with energies that Mewtwo could barely describe, almost as if it was a Conduit of some terrible, beautiful power.

And the human was monstrous in its glory.

And in him, Mewtwo saw himself.

A blight who had crawled from the Creator’s shadow.

In fact… Mewtwo seemed drawn to the creature, as if it was kin.

As if it was another of its kind.

And now Mewtwo must know what this creature - for it could not be human - was, so it reached out into the creature’s mind, and began to pull.

And for a moment, Mewtwo felt overwhelming rage.

And for a moment, Mewtwo felt smothering hatred.

And for a moment, Mewtwo felt chilling Madness.

And for a moment, Mewtwo felt debilitating grief.

All around Mewtwo was a great and terrible Storm. A pulsating cyclone of evolutionary power enveloping the world, wreaking devastation upon it.

And in the eye of the storm was a cocoon, crystallised with light and darkness that snaked like vines around a figure within.

Mewtwo tried to peer within the cocoon, to see the beast inside.

And within the cocoon, a pair of malevolent crimson eyes stared outwards and-

-Mewtwo trembled, forcing himself out of the creature’s mind, only to find the same crimson eyes staring at him from below.

…How fascinating.

Perhaps he was not alone in the world, after all.

For there stood another monster - one of his kin - whose purpose was unknown to them.

Mewtwo hovered there, watching the creature as it snarled at him, the Charmeleon beside it visibly poised to attack at any moment.

As if it would have any effect.

Mewtwo cast his senses to the stands behind him, noting that the humans had begun to flee, having recalled their pokémon. Moments before, Mewtwo would have collapsed the floor beneath them and be done with, but now…

His interest was solely focused on the creature below.

He wanted to see the creature for what it was.

He wanted it to see him for what he is.

Mewtwo spoke, “We do not need to fight. At least, not right now,” - Because Mewtwo was interested to see the full capability of the creature, and how it would compare to his own - “Come with me, and we can prove ourselves to the world that denied us Purpose.”

The creature made no move to join Mewtwo, only snarling wordlessly, as if feral - Mewtwo wondered if it was. Mewtwo considered forcing the issue, but perhaps he could do something else.

Something… greater.

Something grandiose.

Something befitting of my title as god.

Mewtwo hummed at his thoughts, and a plan formed in his mind - and wasn’t that something? Having a plan . As it took shape, Mewtwo couldn’t help but smirk at the poeticism of it, the underlying tragedy of such an act.

In his weeks of consuming human literature, Mewtwo had found himself particularly fond of the ancient tragedies of Kalos folklore.

Mewtwo made his decision then, and spoke once more to the creature, “If we will not meet here, then we will meet where I was born,” - There was a flash of realisation on the creature’s face. Interesting - “Come to New Island, Storm-Bringer,” - A flash of rage in the creature’s eyes - “Come, and we will determine who shall reign over the ashes of the old world.”

Mewtwo waited for the creature to respond. After over a minute - in which another annoying human tried speaking with the creature - the creature nodded, the glow of its eyes finally receding into something more… natural.

But Mewtwo wouldn’t be fooled by it.

There was nothing natural about the creature.

But that was for another day, and with one final parting glance, Mewtwo drew in his psychic energy and Teleported away.

And in Mewtwo’s heart, there was a lingering feeling that he had never experienced before.

Anticipation.

…

The red haze didn’t leave his eyes until moments after Mewtwo teleported away, at which point he could hear Salvare trying to get him to respond to his voice.

Red turned, mind still faraway as Salvare gave a relieved sigh, saying something that Red didn’t catch.

‘Come to New Island, Storm-Bringer.’

Storm-Bringer.

Mewtwo had pushed into Red’s mind - Red’s memories - and saw what he would become.

And Mewtwo called him ‘Storm-Bringer.’

Red’s eyes flashed a crimson glow.

“Red?” Salvare’s voice was concerned, which didn’t register in Red’s mind as he grabbed Pichu off of his arms and stomped past.

“Red!” Salvare stood before him now, and a part of him snarled for him to push past the kid, to leave him, to chase after his demons alone.

Instead, Red wrestled away that beastly part of himself, and snarled, “ What? ”

“Where are you going?” Salvare asked, voice filled with concern.

It grated on him.

He didn’t deserve the concern.

You’re a monster.

“ It’s none of your concern, ” Red bit out, shoving past Salvare as he stomped towards the edge of the stadium, intent on simply pushing through the rubble.

‘Come to New Island, Storm-Bringer.’

He heard a set of feet behind him, and Salvare’s voice rang out in a tired huff, “Then I’m coming with you.”

Red stopped, and whirled around, snarled curses ready to spill out of his mouth, only for them to falter as a deep-rooted fatigue set in.

Remember who you’re talking to, Red.

He’s a friend.

he’s a nuisance.

He’s better than you.

he’s Judgement, or what will become him, anyway.

Red felt ash line his mouth, and he grit out, “I’m going to New Island.” At Salvare’s continued look of insistence, Red added, “It’s across the region.”

Clearly, Red’s subtle plea for Salvare to stay behind fell on deaf ears, as the kid nodded like everything made sense in the world, “Wherever you go, I go.”

Red froze, eyes darkening at the edges.

And before him stood Judgement, face pinched in a way that was both remorseful, yet determined.

‘I know you think I’m cruel - and I probably am - but…’

‘Wherever he goes, I go.’

Red stared at Salvare. Whether in horror or mere shock, he no longer knew.

accept it.

Red huffed out a small laugh, continuing for a moment as it grew to snickers, before blowing over into Mad giggles. Red barely kept himself standing upright as the events of the day finally pressed down on him, nearly crushing him in its weight.

And it Red’s mind, he saw Judgement.

But Judgement wasn’t following the Chariot…

But him.

fate is a cruel mistress.

but there are times to fight it… and times to accept it.

Red’s giggles ceased, and he stood up straight as he regarded Salvare - truly regarded him for what may have been the first time - “Fine, then.” Red turned around to resume climbing over the debris, “Keep up.”

…

Lance leaned back into his chair, fighting to keep his eyes open.

Gods above, he just wanted to sleep.

He couldn’t though - of course not - not after the absolute fucking disaster that was the final match of the Silver Conference.

Oh, it started off fine enough, with an admittedly riveting battle between two exceptional trainers, but that was only the beginning of it, apparently.

Before the events of this evening, Team Rocket had been on Lance’s radar as an organisation that was simply a nuisance. A very loud nuisance, yes, but a nuisance nonetheless.

After today, though, Lance very firmly placed them at the top of his personal shit list.

Good gods , there hadn’t been casualty numbers in a disaster like this since 1978 with the Great Burning of Orre. And unlike that , which happened in a place that was best-known for its lawlessness, this happened in the middle of a public Conference.

Lance could already hear Goodshow calling for his resignation. Oak and Hagel never had anything near this catastrophic happen in their tenures.

The casualty numbers weren’t even finalised . Bodies were being found at a rapid pace now that the psychic monster was gone. There was a distressingly high likelihood that, if you were still deemed missing, you were likely crushed under several tons of rubble.

Lance would have to find the time of day to get on his knees and profusely thank Karen for stepping up tonight, combing through the rubble with such precision that she found survivors at a far faster rate than the others.

Lance distantly wondered if it was some sort of ability taught to her as an Aura Guardian.

Lance shelved that thought for later; it wasn’t important right now.

Of course, Karen herself wasn’t exactly happy at the moment, since her friends seemed to completely disappear from the scene.

And wasn’t that brilliant? Lance was pretty sure he saw Satoshi shoot lightning at the monster - which is a thing he can do apparently? - but was too preoccupied with keeping Clair from jumping down and helping him to see where he went.

And, of course, with no-one else to rage at, Karen went to him.

Lance only allowed it because they were all reeling from tonight.

Lance cupped his face with his hands, hearing the nearby voice of a Nurse Joy determining the cause of death of one of the Elite Four.

It was starting to sound like Will died of multiple seizures, spurned on by psychic contact with the monster.

Lance would have to schedule a funeral for the man, and he would have to attend it, and determine a spot on the Indigo Plateau Graveyard to place him in, since the man had no living relatives.

The work of a Champion never ended, especially not after something like this…

Lance didn’t know how long he sat there, cradling his head in his hands, by the time someone came to speak with him.

They were clearly hesitant, given their stuttering, though they eventually spoke, “Lance,” - It was Clair’s voice, pitched low to sooth him - “The interrogation tent is ready.”

Lance sighed, sitting up with a small pat to Clair’s shoulder. He couldn’t help but be grateful for her presence in this trying time, given that Lance’s usual allies were just as manic as he was.

Agatha was busy fussing over - and cussing out - Karen. Bruno was aiding in the rescue efforts. Lorelei was nowhere to be seen.

And Will was dead.

Clair - thankfully - was still very much alive , and remained her undaunted self, even if her peppiness was all but absent. He was thankful, really, that she hadn’t broken down yet. Had she succumbed to that urge, Lance highly doubted that he could keep himself from doing the same.

Lance turned his mind away from his cousin, his face quickly dropping into a scowl as he entered the interrogation tent, which was being guarded by several ace trainers and other volunteers.

Locked in temporary holding cells were rows and rows upon grunts, many of injured in their own attack, causing them to be captured.

Lance wondered whether most of them knew how destructive this attack would be, given that some of the bodies they had found wore their uniform, and found that he didn’t really care.

Lance stepped into the back of the tent, passing by a League worker who dropped off a drink at the table for his ‘guest’.

The woman sitting across from him was frazzled from the ordeal, same as he was, but she bore herself with a distinct level of poise that Lance would have expected from the leader of this attack. However, given the file he received on her, she was nothing more than an operative.

Ariana Sham, a business woman based in Saffron, was known as a philanthropist and avid collector of evolutionary stones. She could always be found in auction houses from Saffron to Goldenrod, bidding exceptionally high prices for the best quality stones.

Yet, it seemed that she had another hobby, if the facial scan of the woman before him was true. Apparently, Ariana was also a Major Admin of Team Rocket, second only to the leader themself.

And, as such, she would know who they were.

Lance sat down on the chair opposite of her, watching as she twirled the glass of water without drinking it, “There are two ways we can do this. We can do this the easy way-”

“-Or the hard way, I know,” Ariana murmured, tapping a finger against the glass, “I’ve done this before.

“Though, I suppose I’ve been on this side of the table before…” She took a large drink of her glass, before setting it down on the table, “I don’t imagine it’ll take very long.”

Lance raised an eyebrow, “Oh, really?” He leaned forward, ignoring the small grin on the woman’s face, “So you’re willing to tell me who your leader is?”

Ariana’s grin widened - her throat bobbed - “Not exactly.” She coughed into her fist, “ That would be telling.”

Lance watched as she coughed a few more times with dwindling patience, “Listen, miss. Over three hundred innocent people died today because of what your boss did-”

Ariana interrupted him with a coughing fit, “ I… I know, ” Her whole body began to shake as phlegm dribbled out of her mouth - Lance stood in alarm - “ It was… worth it, for a chance to reclaim… my son.”

Lance’s eyes sharpened, before widening as she fell over, wheezing on the ground, “Guards!”

Ariana let out a chilling death rattle, and her eyes began to fade, “ My love… he promised…” Her coughs began to subside as the guards entered the room, pokéballs out, only to see a dying woman give her final words, “He promised me…”

Lance’s eyes finally flickered away from the woman’s corpse, focusing onto the half-finished cup on the table… The same cup she drank before choking.

Lance bumped into someone - a League worker - one his way into the room.

The worker left the cup there.

The worker left the cup there for Ariana.

Lance turned around, eyes narrowed into golden slits, “ There was someone here, five minutes ago! He’s a leak! ”

The guards were entirely thrown by the revelation, and Lance shoved them out of the way, only to pause at the tent’s entrance.

He turned, and bore his eyes into the guards’, “Someone find Lorelei and tell her to look up any lovers that Ariana Sham may have had,” - ‘My love… He promised me…’ - “We can still salvage this, but only if we haul ass! MOVE! ”

…

Pokémon Center, Fallarbor Town, Hoenn, December 20th, 1997

There were times, in his life, when he regretted his vow never to drink alcohol.

Of course, such a statement wasn’t exactly true - especially given to whom he made the promise - but from what he had been told by various acquaintances, a glass of whiskey would be of great help in getting his mind off of things, even if only for a moment.

But he was never one to waste away on his lonesome, sooner turning to suicide than abject depression. He had always been a man of action, both terrible and beautiful, and she had known that about him, and loved him for it.

He couldn’t help but wonder what she’d seen in him, even to this day.

But every now and then, he just needed time to breath . And he couldn’t do that when the reminder of her death lay beside him. He couldn’t do that when his oldest partners stood by him, ever vigilant of the never-ending war.

So, he had recalled them all to their pokéballs, and sat up against the bed of his motel room, drawing on a pad because he had to find something for his hands to do that wasn’t destructive in nature.

Whether in Destruction or Creation.

He smirked with no real humour at the thought, looking down at the drawing he’d made - it was her face, more beautiful and terrible than he could ever remember - his smirk quickly dropping at the sight.

He carefully tore the paper out of his notebook and folded it, placing it in his pocket with all the other old drawings of her.

What was life, if not a series of losses meant to break away at your resolve?

He was no stranger to loss. The first person he’d lost had been before he was born, and the second mere months after. He knew loss intimately, almost like an old enemy that he tried to fight against, only to lose again, and again, and again.

But this time, his loss was not just a loss to himself, but to another.

He rubbed a scarred hand over her jaw, feeling the purpling bruise that Zinnia had left on his face.

Aster would have cried, had she seen the two people she loved the most fighting with such anger.

Though, for all that his innermost demons urged him to fight - to defeat, to destroy - Zinnia, he couldn’t lay a hand against the little spitfire.

He hadn’t stayed long, after all, just enough to witness the final breaths of the old Lorekeeper, and the honorary ceremony immediately after. He knew he wasn’t welcome any longer amongst the clansmen, even if they tolerated him on Aster’s account.

He knew his presence had always unnerved the Oracles, who spread portents of doom upon his arrival.

He closed his eyes and washed the old pain away. It was years’ old by this point, over a decade old, really. He had moved on with his life.

Oh, what a lie he told himself.

He grumbled to himself, raising the remote to turn off the television and get some sleep when the channel paused its programming to show something about ‘ BREAKING NEWS ’.

He made to turn off the idiotic commentary, only to pause as grainy footage was shown, revealing a figure floating above the Silver Stadium, raining destruction towards the viewer.

He leaned forward and slipped off the bed as the figure Teleported around the air, dodging attacks before they came and redirecting it with a finesse that he hadn’t seen outside of himself.

The footage cut, and it showed the figure in a different position, paused in the air as if waiting for something, before its armour began to peel off - intentionally - revealing purple skin and cat-like features and…

Oh…

Oh this…

This was hilarious.

He watched as the footage cut out, only to be replaced by a man and a woman discussing it.

He turned away, all feelings of melancholy and fatigue fading away as he gathered his clothes, strapped on his belt - six pokéballs visible; three hidden away - and headed for the door.

He had a new purpose. It would be a very short-lived purpose - not like the one that drove him for the past decade - but it was purpose, none the less.

And we all need purpose in the world.

The Chariot smiled as he walked out of the motel and towards the coast, fingers tracing the outline of Poseidon’s pokéball.

It’s been too long since Zeus has had the chance to stretch his wings.’