-The Dragon King-
-New World Blues: Ch 5-
Pokémon battling was, by definition, a sport, but that didn’t really do it justice. Nor did calling it a “cultural phenomenon”, or even a “cultural hallmark”, fit either. Back on Earth, Baseball was considered to be the unofficial national sport of America, and even had the moniker of “America’s pastime”, but not even Baseball at its peak as a cultural icon could possibly hold a candle to Pokemon battling.
It was a way of life.
Everything from childhood dreams, to the government, to the economy, was built upon battling.
Yes. Even the economy. Compared to developed countries on Earth, citizens of Sinnoh, Unovah, and the like were able to enjoy a prosperous near-tax-free life because of the income the League made off of selling licensed trainer equipment, and hosting the largest tournaments that people were willing to pay hand over fist to get tickets for.
Like all things to do with culture there wasn’t a clear set of written rules, you just had to feel it to know the boundaries. Volkner pulling out all the stops to act as a final challenge before the Elite Four, Wake putting his foot down and using his ace to impart an important lesson to a naive trainer, Maylene getting fired up and using a stronger team than a challenger is ready for because she thinks they can handle it, those were all completely acceptable.
Using a veteran Gym Pokemon against a no badge trainer, because he embarrassed you, was not socially acceptable. Especially when that Pokemon was captured, raised, trained, and gifted to you by someone else.
If Mark had been a part of the local culture, he would have understood the significance of what was happening, and why people in the stands were whispering to each other and suddenly pulling out their phones to record.
If he knew better he could have perhaps used it to his advantage in some way to exploit the situation, and get what he wanted without continuing the battle. But then again, that would require him to not just stubbornly attempt to bullhead his way through the problem.
But he didn’t know the culture. And he was just that stubborn.
“Shiiiiiit.”
Mark and Bagon both gawked as Steelix rose to a towering height of almost 20 feet (6 meters) into the air, with plenty more of its snake-like body coiled on the ground for support.
It was a beast that had seen hundreds of battles and had the scars to prove it.
But instead of the battle addicted maniac that Mark projected onto all of his Pokemon in the games, the old Steel type seemed confused as it looked down at them, before turning around at Roark with a disappointed look in its one good eye.
Calling back to his military days, Mark allowed himself five seconds to panic, before forcing himself to get a grip and start thinking.
“Okay. I wasn’t expecting this, this is a new problem, we need a solution. There is a wall in front of me, where are the holes in it?”
This wasn’t as bad as it seemed. It was bad, but they weren’t totally fucked yet!
Bagon had been pretty strong when Mark first caught him, and they had spent the last week fighting wild Pokémon, beating the asses of any newb trainers dumb enough to accept a fight, and training nonstop. If he was being generous in his estimations. Bagon was somewhere in the low to mid twenties level wise, while this Steelix was probably, oof, uhhhh, we’ll just throw out a random and completely unsupported level 40? Yeah, that seemed fairish. Maybe.
And Steelix has really shit stats, like, of the 500 stat points it has, half of it is in physical defense. So even if it’s twice the level of Bagon, half of all its growth is going into its defense, which they can just sidestep by using special attacks.
(That’s all assuming that the level system even works in this world, which he has no evidence that it does.)
And that wasn’t all!
For as intimidating as the monster was, it was also very clearly past its prime. It moved with a sluggishness that spoke of aching joints, there were several large cracks in its steel hide from injuries that it had never fully recovered from, and a horrible scar covered half of its face where it was missing an eye.
It was a mighty Pokemon, a veteran battler with many wins to its name, but it was also very obvious why Byron had “retired” Steelix to watch over his son. Truth be told, Steelix just wasn’t fit for competitive battling anymore.
“And it also adds a new type dynamic that we can take advantage of! Bagon, use Ember!”
Bagon snapped out of his shock, riding the wave of resolve from his trainer, and launched a volley of fire that was miles better than the poor display he had displayed at the start of his training.
Steelix didn’t even move to dodge, and let the attack hit him head on. The Ember exploded in small pops as each pellet impacted Steelix’s metal hide, but even with the type advantage it didn’t deal any major injuries.
“Don’t let up, another volley! Aim for the cracks in his armor!”
“Steelix, put an end to this upstart. Rock Tomb!”
Once again, Steelix took the attack head on, though this time it flinched as several of the pellets found their way between his plate armor. The snake raised its tail and gently wacked the ground with it.
Across the field, the dirt under Bagon’s feet rumbled, giving him the warning he needed to leap away before two rocks rose up and crashed into each other.
“Nice dodge! Use your speed! Get in close and hit ‘em with a Dragon Breath right in the weak spot!”
“Steelix!” Roark yelled out, pissed that his last ditch solution wasn’t taking this seriously. “Stop holding back! Take that dragon out! Iron Tail!”
Again the metal titan didn’t move as Ember rained down on him and left light scorch marks, nor did he do anything more than let out a hiss of pain as Bagon blew dragon fire directly into a crack in his hide.
But then it was almost like Bagon stepped on a tripwire, as he let out another volley of Ember, Steelix’s tail suddenly snapped out and slammed into his side faster than either him or Mark could react.
The TE wasn’t in it so it wasn’t quite Iron Tail, and was instead more of a “normal tail that happened to already be made of iron”, but it did the job regardless.
“Bagon!” Mark shouted as he watched his partner get flung through the air like a rag doll.
Thinking quickly, Mark attempted to return Bagon to his Pokeball before he could hit the ground, but due to his inexperience with laser-based weaponry, he missed with the red beam, and was unable to help as Bagon slammed into the ground.
“Shit! Come back, buddy and rest up. I’ll think of something.”
“Not so high and mighty now, are you? Huh?” Roark called out from across the arena. “You’re completely out matched here. Just throw in the towel to save yourself the embarrassment of dragging this out. I won’t even make you pay the bet, if you ask nicely.”
“Fuck off, dumbass! I ain’t no fucking quitter!” The ex soldier sneered as he withdrew Bagon, pride and anger blinding his judgment. “Bidoof1 go!”
“Not this shit again. Steelix! They’re going to try to lower your defense, defeat him before they can do it!”
Steelix was a lot less concerned than Roark, about whatever tricks Mark was trying to pull off, and instead seemed concerned for the half dead rodent that was never technically called out by the ref.
“Bidoof1! On your feet soldier!”
The plump mouse Pokemon obeyed her trainer, pulling herself back to her feet, even as she swayed dangerously close to toppling over to either side.
“Brilliant! Now, use your secret move! Leer! And then follow it up with Growl!”
Steelix visibly wilted as the normal TE seeped into him and sapped his strength. It took a lot to stand proudly with all his old injuries and age, so even just a simple status effect move looked like it had an outside effect on him.
In the air beside Steelix, a faint brown glow rapidly pulled together pieces of dirt from thin air, compacting it into a mighty rock, which he sent sailing forward with a flick of his tail.
Just like with the “iron tail”, it was less of a Rock Throw, and more of a “rock toss”, but the result wasn’t any prettier.
“Oooooh!” Everyone in the Gym collectively cringed as the car-sized boulder landed square on Bidoof1 and kind of just did what any boulder would do if it hit a gerbil.
Smush.
Steelix reached out with its tail and rolled the rock to the side, causing the audience to let out another collective cringe.
“Oh. Ooooh. Uh, that’s uh, oof. Don’t worry, we’ll get you to the Pokecenter, and you’ll be as good as new in no time.” Mark withdrew the vaguely Bidoof-shaped-mess back into the Pokeball with a wince.
“Bidoof is unable to battle! Can the Gym nurse please collect that Pokeball from Marcus, and take it to the Pokecenter?”
With no third Pokemon to speak of, Mark had no option but to pull Bagon’s ball off his belt again, even though there hadn’t been as much time as Mark had wanted for him to rest.
“Alright little buddy, he’s been softened up a bit. He’s going gloves off, and so are we. No mercy, aim for his good eye. If he can’t see you, he can’t hit you. I’m hot dropping you right in front of him, so start charging up now. When you pop out, hit him point blank with your biggest blast and use the recoil to get some distance.”
The Pokeball shook in affirmative as Mark whispered his newest strategy.
“Bagon, I choose you!”
Pulling on his childhood years of pitching in baseball, Mark hurled Bagon’s Pokeball with as much force as he could put behind it. It whizzed through the air like a fastball, the spin even curving it a little as it flew towards Steelix, who seemed genuinely caught off guard.
The blue dragon materialized with his head reared back and as much dragon fire as his lungs could possibly hold, and the Pokeball’s natural knockback from releasing wasn’t enough to send it back to Mark, instead it fell off to the side, where the ref had to scurry and catch it.
“DRAGON BREATH!”
“BAAAAAAA!”
Steelix only saved its last eye with a split second turn of his head, but Bagon took the opportunity to aim directly for the empty socket where the snake’s old eye used to be.
Steelix recoiled and let out a roar of agony, as it toppled backwards into the ground with a mighty crash that sent debris flying in all directions. He wasn’t out yet, as evidenced by the fact he was writhing in pain, but he had taken more damage with that one attack than he had in entire battles in the past.
“Hit him again! Ember!”
“Fuck, it’s just like with Cranidos! Steelix use Harden! Get back your defense!”
But the iron snake ignored Roark, he wasn’t even his real master. Instead he roared in rage as he pushed his head back into the air. Ember washed over him like a sheet of rain, but he withstood it, forming two rocks out of TE in a fraction of the time that it had with Bidoof1, and sent them blasting through the air at Bagon.
The dragon managed to just barely dodge the rocks, but lacked the critical battle experience to recognize the trap. He leapt out of the way of one attack, and jumped right into the path of another.
Steelix slammed its tail into the ground, and twin rocks erupted from the soil under Bagon, snapping shut faster than a mousetrap and crushing him between them in a Rock Tomb.
In less than three seconds, the match was over. Decisively.
“BAGON! Come on! Break out of there, you can do it!”
Trapped painfully between two massive rocks, Bagon pushed past the pain of his injuries to fight desperately to free himself. He strained and twisted, but the stone held him fast, scraping his skin raw. With each failed attempt, his strength waned, and he only cut himself more and more on the jagged rocks.
Finally Bagon managed to wiggle free, and fall to the ground with a thud. But he was still. Unresponsive. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open.
“Get up, Bagon! Come on! I know you’re not out for the count, I know you’re not giving up, that’s just not what you do!”
But Bagon did not get up. Mark’s desperate shouting echoed around the suddenly very quiet Gym arena. The spectators seemed disgruntled, as they awkwardly shifted in their spectator seats. Sure the challenger had been acting like a prick, but this all had been a bit… drastic, don’t you think? And beating him down so mercilessly? A guy who was a no badge trainer? And why, because the guy got under Roark’s skin and then backed up his talk by almost winning?
Casey wrung his hands nervously. Part of him wanted so desperately to stand up to cheer on Mark and boo at Roark, but his stage fright kept it sealed- it felt like a bubble welling up inside him that kept getting tighter and tighter but refused to pop.
Dawn had a fierce frown on her face, and was rapidly tapping her finger on her knee without realizing it. She already had a detailed message half written in her head that she was going to send to the Professor once this was over. She had fought an earnest young man who was trying his best to fill his father’s shoes. This was not that man.
Doubts of shame flickered beneath the anger in Roark’s expression, and even Steelix seemed a little regretful now that he had calmed down.
“Come on! Get up!”
This was it? A once in a lifetime chance that he didn’t deserve, a chance to try again without the weight of all his failures dragging him down, and THIS was how it ended!?
This was it. He’d lost. And it wasn’t even against the Champion, he’d fumbled at the very first gym.
He had lost, and considering this was an official League sponsored Gym challenge, avoiding the entry fine was as illegal for the challenger to do as it is for the gym leader to withhold the reward. Mark wasn’t sure on the details, or the specific wording of the law, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Roark could use his influence as the de facto head of Oreburgh to force him to go into debt to pay his end of the wager.
This could ruin him economically in a way that he might not be able to come back from for a long time, and might ruin his career completely if he got the cops on his ass for this.
And so Mark’s story came to an abrupt but temporary end. He had played his cards too aggressively, and turned out to be too good at getting under Roark’s skin. It was a rough but inevitable conclusion for someone who placed all their faith in games that had been proven to not match this world perfectly.
…
But Mark wasn’t the only one dissatisfied with how things had turned out.
The Renegade Pokemon watched his champion’s fight conclude with a simmering anger in his gut.
To be cheated out of a glorious victory, after such an impressive performance beforehand- and by such pettiness too! It was an insult to anyone who valued a good battle, and had even a scrap of honor to their name.
But there was something very specific about this that really angered him.
If your opponent managed to steal victory out from under you through cunning or guile, that was one thing. But when done on the back of something that he put no effort into? That was never his to begin with?
It was undeserved.
Trapped in the Distortion World, Giratina didn’t have much presence in the materium realm, but there were drops that had seeped through over the years. Despite knowing what kind of attention it would bring, he pulled together the tiny fragments of himself into a dark yet invisible fog, and swooped down.
Mark squeezed his eyes shut, grinding his teeth together, and clenching his fists as he tried to think of some way out of this. With every second that passed, and each failed idea, the anger and frustration inside him grew larger and larger.
Giratina’s brand on his soul fanned the flames, slowly building the fire higher and higher until the dam could barely contain the raging firestorm.
A weight settled down on Mark’s shoulders, and when he opened his eyes, they burned crimson red.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“What are you doing?” This time, Mark’s voice carried a weight to it that hadn’t been there before. “Don’t ignore me, I asked what are you doing!? Are you really going to give up right at the finish line? What happened to your dream, huh? What happened to wanting to soar? You’re just going to let this chump crush you before you even get off the ground!? Where’s your FIRE!? Where’s your DRIVE! Where’s your ANGER at those who are keeping you from your dream!?!”
“B-Bag.” Bagon whimpered.
“I am your master, and I am giving you a command! Stand Up!”
The order felt like it physically hit Bagon, almost like a punch. And using his rage as fuel, Bagon rode the punch back to his feet, stumbling forward in a mad drunk stupor.
“BAAAAAG!”
Bagon planted his feet on the ground, and raised his head in defiance at Steelix. He stared down the impossible threat in front of him with the anger, defiance, and PRIDE that only a Dragon could have. And in response the Dragon Energy that had punched into him echoed his roar.
A brilliant light erupted from Bagon’s chest and engulfed his entire body, causing everyone to gasp in shock and cheer in surprise.
But no one was more caught off guard than Dawn.
“What!? An early evolution! How?! Bagon wasn't showing any signs of being close to evolution during the checkup! To trigger it so early you would need…” She pulled out her Pokedex, tuned the scanner to look for a certain frequency, and her eyebrows shot up through her hairline. “Wh-What!? The Dragon Type Energy readings are off the charts! Where is it all coming from!?!”
Helena stood atop the stands, shivering as every hair on the back of her neck stood on end. A ghost was here- she could feel it, it was an energy unlike anything she had ever encountered! The sheer power of its presence wiped away all her previous guesses. This had to be the work of a Spiritomb; nothing short of mythical status could possibly fill the room with such overwhelming Ghost energy just from its presence.
“RAAAAAAAAA!!!”
Bagon let out a roar as he evolved.
And for a moment, just a single moment, Roark saw two enormous eyes of pure hellfire staring at him from behind Mark, and a cruel laughter that was made of scraping rusted metal echoed in his head.
But it was just a single moment. Then it disappeared, leaving him questioning if he had seen anything at all.
“LET’S FUCKING GOOOO!” Mark whooped as his partner finished evolving.
The light exploded off Bagon in a wave of raw Dragon TE, revealing a royally pissed off Shelgon.
Dawn had been right, it was a forced early evolution. Shelgon was critically underweight for his evolution, and was only two thirds the size of even the youngest Shelgons. His body wasn’t ready to evolve, he was underpowered for what his species should be, and he was incredibly light headed from the massive amount of nutrients that were just burnt transforming him- nutrients that his body hadn’t been stockpiling up beforehand in preparation.
But right now, with all the TE pumping through his veins like the meanest mix of crack and adrenaline, Shelgon didn’t give a flying fuck.
This dumbass, one eye’d, fuck face of a rock snake was DEAD!
“Blast him with Ember, then RUSH HIM!” Mark shouted! “Charge right in! Right fucking in! Get point blank!”
“Steelix, sweep low with Iron Tail!”
“Jump it!”
Shelgon obeyed, galloping forward on all fours like a horse, and using the newfound power in his legs to leap high over the tail.
Roark grinned and activated his trap.
“He’s airborne and can’t move! Use Ice Fang!”
But rather than panicking, like the Gym Leader expected, Mark just grinned back like a mad dog. There were lots of fun little facts that he remembered from the games, and on that list is that there’s a new move that every Bagoin learns upon evolution into Shelgon.
“Shelgon, Protect!”
At the command, a semi-transparent green barrier formed around Shelgon. Since Shelgon had never used the move before it was shaky, flickered a bit around the edges, and cracked like glass when Steelix bit into it.
But it held, and that was all Mark needed.
“Take the chance! Drop the shield and let ‘er rip!”
Shelgon immediately understood the hidden meaning. As the green barrier disappeared he was in the exact same position Mark had put him in earlier- point blank in Steelix’s face.
Without hesitation or mercy, a lance of dragon fire speared directly into Steelix’s good eye.
The entire building shook at the roar of fury and pain that Steelix let out.
Shelgon scurried away the moment the tips of his feet touched the ground, just barely avoiding the barrage of Iron Tails that rained down in every direction as Steelix trashed about in a blind rage.
Roark called out in dismay, but his Pokemon refused to listen to him or be calmed down. Instead it continued to tear up the arena around it.
“Distance! DISTANCE!” Mark whisper-shouted at Shelgon, waving frantically towards himself, and trying to get his partner away from the tornado of death without tipping off the very pissed off snake where his buddy was at.
“Don’t stay still, circle him while keeping your distance, and hit him with everything you’ve got!”
Shelgon launched a round of Ember and then followed it up with a Dragon Breath. A rock slammed into the space he had just been, forming a crater as deep as a man was tall, but the dragon had already moved away.
“Ember!”
“Steelix he’s on your left! No, your other left!”
“Dragon Breath!”
“Use Harden!”
“Another Ember!”
Shelgon’s attacks all hit home, but every time Steelix tried to retaliate his moves missed. Rocks went flying in all directions, with several even smashing into the barrier protecting the audience, causing people to scream as it cracked.
And this dance repeated again.
And again.
And again, and again, and again, and AGAIN!
Every attack left light burns, and they were directed at Steelix’s weak points at every opportunity. Bit by bit they added up, slowly wearing the once proud battler down.
It was like watching someone slowly chip away at a rock with a metal pick, except the rock was alive and screaming in agony. Mark and Shelgon were brutally pulling Steelix apart piece by piece, but no one could blame them- there was nothing else the two could do. Instead every eye in the room bore down on the back of Roark’s head, glaring at the fraud of a Gym Leader who was willingly subjecting his Pokemon to this because he refused to swallow his pride and bow out of the match.
Steelix roared in defiance, pushing through the pain and completely ignoring the bumbling of his foolish trainer. Calling upon more strength than his battered body had used in almost a decade- even before he was retired from Byron’s main team, he slammed his tail into the ground and let out a burst of TE.
Massive spears of rocks began erupting all over the arena, as Steelix put everything it had into a massive Stone Edge. If he didn’t have eyes to aim anymore, he would just hit everywhere.
A jagged lance of rock clipped Shelgon’s side and sent him flying into the air. He landed with a mighty crash, and scrambled to his feet as he desperately tried to avoid the rocks.
The attack was still going strong.
A second hit cut a nasty gash in his leg, and it was only thanks to his new hardy shell that he came out relatively unscathed.
Steelix was hunched over, panting, and the assault was losing momentum.
Shelgon leapt to the side, narrowly dodging a hit that would have knocked him out for sure.
The attack was rapidly dwindling, it couldn’t keep going for much longer.
Then, as the relentless onslaught ended, and right as Shelgon and Mark collectively let out a sigh of relief, a Stone Edge erupted right underneath Shelgon.
Unlike the first hit, it wasn’t a glancing blow, it was a direct hit that applied all the force directly into the impact. Instead of most of the energy being bled off in momentum by sending Shelgon skywards, the rock slammed into him with such force that it shattered on impact.
Shelgon screeched, and a sprawling spiderweb crack exploded from the point of contact on his shell, branching out in every direction. The once-clear surface was instantly marred by deep jagged lines, radiating outward like a chaotic starburst, as the force of the blow reverberated across the shield, threatening to shatter it like an egg.
It was only thanks to the shell that the dragon wasn’t speared through like a bloody marshmallow, but even so he fell to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut.
“SHELGON! Shit! Are you alright!”
The Pokemon growled at his trainer’s concern, almost offended at the worry. Slowly, and with great effort, he hauled himself to his feet. A single good hit was almost enough to take him out, but he wasn’t down just yet.
In the middle of the arena, Steelix stood completely still, the sound of his pained wheezing and panting was the only indication he was alive.
Then slowly, oh so slowly, Steelix fell to the ground, losing the fight with gravity, and ending his final battle.
Everyone held their breath, before the ref finally blew her whistle.
“S-Steelix is unable to battle. The winner is Marcus Cross!”
The victor was announced, but no one cheered. Everyone was too busy staring at Steelix in shock to do anything else.
The stillness was only broken when Shelgon raced across the arena in glee and leapt into Mark’s arms.
“Oughk!” Mark grunted as the living cannonball slammed into him, weighing a lot more than he had as a Bagon. If Mark were anyone else he would have been knocked over then and there- Hell, if it had been Mark at any other time before this, he would have been toppled over to the floor.
But riding high on the adrenaline of the battle, and as a tsunami of dopamine flooded his brain when it finally clicked that he fucking won, he refused to back down. Mark grit his teeth, braced his arms, and let out a guttural war cry as he slowly forced Shelgon into the air.
“RRRAAAAAH! WE FUCKING DID IIIIIITTT! YEEEEEAAAAAAAH!!”
And that was the photo that a lucky audience member would snap on her phone, and have her pocket padded by a news company so they could use it for their story tomorrow.
Marcus standing proudly, screaming in victory as he lifted Shelton high over his head with both arms.
The title of the paper would be simple, but prophetic.
[The Dragon Lands- A new Gym Circuit competitor proves he’s worth keeping an eye on]
-The Dragon King-
A dark presence watched in amusement from above. It hadn’t intended to intervene so directly in the fight, but it had paid off. His champion had grown stronger, become a better commander through experience, and the little dragon had been exposed to enough draconic energy to evolve earlier than it should have been able to.
Perhaps being forced to face the cold reality of defeat would have been a good lesson for Marcus as well, but that was always bound to happen eventually, regardless.
No, a little nudge and influx of energy was the least he could do as the future dark lord’s patron, especially since he wasn’t able to provide the financial support Marcus seemed to be struggling with.
Suddenly color drained from the world, and time seemed to stutter like an old film reel, before snapping back to exactly how it had been before. Only, there was a single difference. Instead of one presence hanging in the sky, now there were two.
Immediately the dark aura, near invisible to the naked eye, flew off at a blistering speed, racing through the atmosphere towards Eterna city, trying to put as much distance between himself and his champion as possible. The other presence was hot on his tail and closing fast, but he could tell she was humoring him- if she really wanted to catch him, he would have been in her claws the moment she wanted it.
As the lights of the city got closer, the dark fog swooped downwards towards the Eterna City Opera House, snaking its way through an open window on the top floor, and slithering under the door of a nearby maintenance closet.
In the dark, the black fog condensed, taking some time to morph into an unfamiliar shape.
The door unlocked with a click, and out stepped a distinguished gentleman in a perfectly fitted black suit. He had gleaming red eyes, his hair was an icy white that was combed to perfection on the top of his head and was chiseled into a sharp beard on his jaw.
The man closed the door behind him, careful not to get any dust on his white gloves, he adjusted his red tie, and then took his leave. He wandered through the decorated hallways, making his way through crowds of Sinnoh’s rich elite without a doubt of hesitation.
A woman with black teardrops in her silky blond hair eyed him suspiciously as he passed, before dismissing her suspicion with a shake of her head and resuming her conversation.
The air was rich with the scent of polished mahogany and subtle notes of jasmine from the elaborate floral arrangements adorning the corridors. He passed paintings and golden chandeliers, before eventually stepping out onto a small balcony overlooking the center floor, where the Opera was going on in earnest.
Below, the stage was a masterpiece of velvet drapes and gilded fixtures, shimmering under the glow of crystal chandeliers that hung like celestial bodies. The audience, dressed in elegant evening attire, sat in rapt attention as the orchestra weaved their symphony.
The conductor swiped his wand through the air sharply, without an ounce of doubt or hesitation, guiding the musicians with precision, their instruments gleaming in the soft golden light of the stage. Each note weaved seamlessly into the next, creating a cascade of harmonious beauty that even the man, who had no personal love of music, had to begrudgingly admit was pretty good.
The man waved a server over, took two glasses of red wine, leaned against the railing, and waited.
…
And waited.
…
And still waited.
…
And just as he was starting to think he’d somehow been forgotten about (a truly offensive idea), he heard the sound of heels clacking on tile behind him.
A beautiful woman leaned her back against the railing to his right, her skin was flawless, her hourglass figure easily put actors and models to shame, and her mere presence was enough to draw the eyes of several onlookers- both male and female. She wore a glittering pearl white dress that sparkled in the light, and contrasted well with her deep navy blue hair and shining sapphire eyes.
The man quirked an eyebrow as he had to look up at someone a full head taller than him, even when he was already six feet tall.
“You know, typically Human women aren’t that tall.”
The woman smiled and leaned over slightly, bringing him eye level with a set of sharp fangs
“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never had to put on a human disguise before, so I had to take my time to make mine perfect. I’m surprised you have experience with it, Giratina.”
The King of the distortion world smiled at the Queen of time.
“Not all of us have the liberty to stop time to avoid getting spotted, Dia. Some of us have to work with finesse.”
“Oh please. You wouldn’t know what finesse was if it bit you on the ass.”
“I’ll have you know that it’s near second nature to me.” He grinned smugly as he offered her one of the glasses he was holding. “Wine, my dear?”
Dialga frowned, but accepted the wine. “What are you doing, and how did you get here?”
“Enjoying the music,” He said, gesturing to the show below, “And I know you saw me sneak in through the window.”
“That’s not what I meant. Answer the question.”
“It’s always business with you, learn to have humor sometime.” Giratina scowled. “This world is mine by birthright, no one can deny that to me, not even Father. Even with the distortion realm completely sealed off, I can still slowly manifest small pieces of myself here because the world itself is linked to me. It is not a matter of if I will rule this realm, but when.”
Dialga rolled her eyes at her brother's theatrics. “Yes, but are you ruling it now?”
“...No.”
“Exactly. Because it’s my ability to turn any ‘when’ into a ‘never’.” She said smugly and took a sip of her wine. For being of mortal make, it was pretty good.
“Which is why I want you to join me.” Her brother held out his hand towards her. “Aren’t you tired of living under the heel of Father’s boot? Together we can rule however we want, and guide this planet on a better path.”
If she was caught off guard by the offer, Dialga didn’t show it.
“Join you and risk getting locked away for all of eternity? I’ll pass. Besides, what ‘better path’ could either of us bring?” Dialga chuckled in a sound that reeked of self deprecation, and waved down at the Opera below, where the band and singers were picking up for the grand finale. “Back when you were with us, we were all pretty hands off, remember? We let the Humans do what they wanted, and fight whatever wars they felt like. Then the King of Kalos made that damn weapon, and you started your rebellion…”
Dialga trailed off and stared at the red wine in her crystal glass.
“Now Father has everything on total lockdown. Humanity’s salvation. World peace for everyone… Forever.”
“Stagnation is not salvation.” Giratina growled. “Nothing has been solved, all the problems are still there, it’s all just been forcibly repressed. The world needs balance, and this forced order is as much of an antithesis to that as the distortion world’s chaos. Change needs to happen! Every time it gets pressed back down, the pressure just gets greater, and the next time gets more dangerous as the world pushes back.”
“It doesn’t sound like my problem. I’ve been instructed very specifically to stay away from surface matters.” Dialga shrugged and looked away from her brother. “Besides, Father’s precious chosen one has been taking care of everything pretty easily, if you ask me.”
“Taking care of things!? You can’t be serious! Use your eyes, Dia, I know you’re not blind!”
Giratina gripped the gold painted railing so tightly it bent.
“It started gently, you know. Team Rocket were just mobsters that desired money and power. Then Team Cipher studied legends of my own power and started creating those ‘Shadow Pokemon’ as perfect soldiers to wage war. Then team Aqua and Magma tried to harness the power of legendaries to physically rip the world asunder. And now things are only getting more extreme! The Plasma group has started to fall into fanaticism and is whispering about armed revolution. Lysandre Labs has begun excavation and study on the ultimate weapon used by the last King of Kalos. The Galactic Corporation has begun hunting down the lake trinity here in sinnoh. And even Rocket’s Giovani, who originally only cared for his own wealth, has somehow come up with the idea that he should attempt to capture Mewtwo and create the ultimate living weapon. The world will tear itself apart if this continues!”
Giratina hurled his drink in frustration over the edge of the balcony, to the dismay of some poor schmuck three floors down.
“Say whatever you want about me, or what you think I would do if released from my prison. Insult me. Scold me. Laugh and sneer. I don’t care, because even the worst I could do is a mercy compared to the certain doom that Father’s obsessive need for control is driving this world towards, and not even Ash Ketchum with all the blessings of Hoho, Mew, and Arceus himself placed upon his shoulders can hold that back forever.”
Dialga didn’t immediately respond, instead she just sat in silence, staring vacantly at her glass as she swirled the wine around in it.
“Even if you disagree with my methods, even if you hate me, surely you have to agree that something has to be done.”
“And what do you think we can possibly do?” Dialga laughed, but it was a hollow thing, soaked in self loathing. “Even if I did side with you, space and time are fundamentally linked, Palkia and I will always stalemate each other, it's written into our very essence. That would leave you alone to have a shot at Father, and, well…” She scoffed. “I remember that going horribly for you last time you tried that.”
“My imprisonment in the distortion world has given me all the time and anger I needed to truly come into my power, and transcend beyond what I was ever capable of before.”
“Strong enough to survive getting a sun thrown at you again?” Dia raised a singular eyebrow. “And besides, even before you could get to Father, you would have to fight through legions of soldiers that have either sworn allegiance, or don’t even realize they’re playing to his tune. The Ketchum boy would eagerly be the first to stand in your way, without any regards to his personal safety, and harass you at every turn.”
“He’s just one child, he can't be everywhere at once.”
“A child who has faced off against legendaries, been blessed by minor gods, and systematically disassembled entire criminal organizations without even realizing it. He’s not exactly a thinker, so there wouldn't be a strategy for you to outsmart, he would just randomly stumble upon and unravel every critical piece of your plan at the worst possible moment. It happens every single time, just by luck and happenstance.” She waved her fingers through the air, and said those words with such mockery it was clear she knew it wasn’t just random luck at all.
“I have things in motion, and the chosen one hasn’t even been called to this region yet.” The dark king placed his hand on her shoulder. “Dia… All I need is for my little sister to trust me again, just one last time. Please.”
Dialga paused at the sincerity of his tone, doubt flickering across her face for a moment, before she forced her mask back on. “Things you’re not going to tell me about, I take it?”
“Of course not, how could you claim plausible deniability otherwise? You couldn’t possibly try to stop something you didn’t know existed.”
“Ha! You’re such an ass! You don’t even have anything set up yet, and you’re still acting all confident and trying to smooth talk me.”
The queen of time threw back her glass, downing the last of the wine, and copied her brother in tossing it over the edge of the balcony. Then she turned and poked him in the chest. Her fingernail faintly glowed blue with power, and pierced down to the knuckle where his heart should have been. He grunted but he didn’t show any sign of pain.
Then she leaned in close to his ear, and whispered-
“The next time we meet, you better have turned whatever you're orchestrating into something with an actual shot at working.”
Giratina grinned, but before her brother could say any smug quip, she swiped her hand downwards, and bisected him in two. Instead of killing him, and having his organs flop all over the place, like a normal person, he just disappeared in a puff of ash and dark smoke. Banished back to the distortion world.
Exactly one second later a grandfather clock chimed at the turn of the hour, and Dialga disappeared at the toll of the bell.
-Chapter End-