-The Dragon King-
-New World Blues: Ch 6-
Mark had done it, he’d won! He had been pitted against every single odd and yet, somehow, he still won!
Exactly like he said he would.
Casey was the first to his feet once the ref called the match, he was jumping and cheering wildly, stage fright completely forgotten.
Once he broke the silence that had suffocated the audience after Steelix collapsed, other people finally started joining in. The applause ranged from politely awkward to enthusiastic, but Mark practically preened under the praise no matter where it came from.
Already people were eagerly chatting to each other about a whole gambit of things, ranging from what would happen to Roark after this, to theorizing if the new trainer had what it took to make it to the big leagues.
But Casey didn’t bother listening into any of those conversations, he was far too busy cheering for his friend.
“YAAAAH! THAT WAS SO COOL! GO MARK! WOOO!”
As he started clambering down the stands to go congratulate his old school desk-neighbor, Dawn caught him by the sleeve and stopped him.
“Don’t go after him.” She said abruptly, and without any of the sass or emotion that usually defined the way she spoke.
“Huh?” Casey blinked back at her in obvious confusion, and tilted his head the same way a puppy would. “Why not?”
“Remember what you learned back in trainer school? TE messes with people’s heads, and Pokémon release massive amounts of it when they evolve. Mark was standing right next to a Dragon Energy bomb, and got blasted with it point blank.”
And that was on top of whatever had initially set off her sensor, and provided the catalyst for Bagon to evolve in the first place.
Dawn’s eyes narrowed as she watched the dragon trainer swagger up to the Gym leader and hold out his hand for the badge with a punchable grin on his face. He said something that Dawn was too far to hear, which caused Roark to bristle and hurl the badge on the ground.
Mark didn’t move a muscle in response, he just stood there, hand still outstretched, grin still smug, waiting for Roark to pick up the badge and put it in his hand- something the poor ref had to run over and do before a fistfight broke out.
“Anyone would have their heads in the clouds after a win like that, and someone like Mark doubly so. But with so much Dragon Energy in his system…” Dawn trailed off and made a face. “He’s going to be completely insufferable for the next few days.”
-The Dragon King-
“Your Shelgon has been fully healed, the cracks in his shell have been patched up, but I would recommend having him avoid any high impact blunt trauma for a few days. His evolution seems to have triggered early from the stress of the Gym battle, and his body wasn’t ready for it. He’s underweight and malnourished, so I've gone ahead and administered some Oran based medication to help him get back on his feet, and given him some vitamins.”
Nurse Joy handed over a plastic bag containing Shelgon’s Pokeball, a basic spray potion, and a small pack of protein powder.
“Administer the spray to his shell once a day for the next week, and mix one spoonful of the protein powder into his dinner every day until none remains. I would heavily recommend you pick up some vitamin supplements to help his diet, as well. There is a note in the bag detailing some basics on that.”
“But he’s not in any danger, right?” Mark asked as he took the bag.
“Not at all! You did good in getting him here so fast. Your Bidoof on the other hand is in extensive care, and we will need to keep her here for another few days before-”
“Awesome! You’re a lifesaver, miss Joy!” Marcus gave her finger guns before spinning around and walking out the door, feeling like a million dollars.
The moment he was outside the Pokeball broke open on its own and Shelgon materialized with the cockiest, most smug, expression you could possibly manage with only his eyes visible through the front of his shell.
“There he is! The champion! Haha!” Mark kneeled down and grabbed ahold of the dragon before shaking him. “We fucking won! We got so much fucking cash from that loser, we could buy out town! Let’s go spend it!”
-The Dragon King-
Two massive plates clunked audibly as they were dropped on opposite sides of a dark wood table. Two fat slabs of twin steak were splayed out like a supermodel sexy Jabba the Hutt. It was nothing but deep red meat, perfectly seared with a rich caramelized crust for a deep smoky flavor. Juices glistened as they pooled slightly around the edges of the plate. Cuts of butter slowly melted on top, washing over fresh herbs and a couple thin slices of tangy berries.
Shelgon had never seen Heaven before, but now he knew what lay beyond its gates.
“Boom baby! That’s the feast of fucking KINGS right there!” Mark let out a bellowing laugh as an entire glass pitcher of iced lemonade was dropped between them.
“Shell!”
“I don’t know what the fuck you said, but you’re Goddamned right!” Marcus raised his steak knife into the air like a knight holding a sword. “For victory!”
-The Dragon King-
The Pokemart employee yelped in surprise, hurriedly hiding her phone, as a customer slid up to her and dropped his elbow on the counter.
“Hey girl, what’s a gem like you doing in this dump? They should move all the junk product stands out of the way and have you over towards the front. If you were visible through the windows, this place would have twice the traffic, because you are making that employee outfit look downright criminal.”
“Th-Thank you.” She stammered with a blush, shivering as the blond haired man’s burning gaze raked down her body. “B-But please don’t say th-things like that, they aren’t even true.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“N-N-No!”
“Good, cuz I’m a man of my word.” Mark grinned as he lowered a pair of sunglasses that still had the tag on them, revealing a pair of red eyes that were smoldering like embers. “When I say something, I always mean it.”
“Eep!”
“Excuse me.” A disgruntled woman walked over who straddled the line perfectly between goth and tomboy, she had black hair that was dyed purple at the tips and a black leather jacket. She also looked annoyed at what she was watching.
“Please don’t harass my employees.”
“Only if she asks me to stop.” Mark said with a wink that caused the cashier to blush even harder and start stammering like a broken record.
“Well I’m telling you to stop because she’s not for sale, and I need her to work.” The manager rolled her eyes at their antics. “What brings you to the Pokemart?”
“I’ve got cash, a LOT of it. I just blew the gym out of the fucking water, you’ll most likely see it on the news later, and on top of the normal winnings I doubled it all with a bet against the leader! I am here to spend like a champion!”
“Uh-huh.” The manager looked thoroughly unimpressed. “What are you going to spend like a champion on? Hot dogs?”
“That’s a good idea, but no. I need gear, I need equipment that can take me to the TOP!”
Mark gestured to the battered and stitched together green undershirt that was the last surviving part of his old officer uniform.
“I need new clothes for a new man, I need clothes for a winner!”
“The clothing aisle is over in that direction.”
“I already checked there! I don’t want any of your trendy Barbie girl clothes, I need something nice and durable that can take a good beating. You know, just in case I need to get a little bit…” Mark obnoxiously flexed his arms, showing off his muscles and scars like a protein addicted gym bro. “Physical when things go south out in the wilds.”
The manager raised a single eyebrow. The cashier buried her hands in her hands to hide her burning face, but was still obviously peeking through her fingers.
“Back corner of the store, aisle 23, past the camping supplies. That’s where we keep custom trainer gear, it’s pricey, but someone who ‘spends like a champion’ shouldn’t have to worry about that.”
The manager sent Mark off with a pointed finger, and turned to her employee with a disappointed look.
“You know you have terrible taste in men, right?”
Mark quickly made his way to the back of the store and began flipping through hangers of gear that was marketed to “professional and aspiring Ace trainers”, and came in all sorts of varieties. There was stuff made of fire resistant material, to water repellent cloth, to skintight bodysuits for people that specialize in flying types.
“Shit. Shit. Shit. Worse than shit. Shit. Pink. Shit. Shit.”
He got halfway through the entire section before he found something that he liked.
“Oh now this is what I’m talking about!”
It was as close to armor as you could find in a clothes store, even one specifically for trainers. It was a long sleeved shirt that was made of thick padded leather, that was held together by iron studs along the seams, and had dull metal plates covering vital areas like the chest and forearms. The back and sides of the gear extended down to cover the mid-thigh, while the front ended at the groin, giving it an upside down V shape.
“Hand made for Rangers who deal with the meanest ‘mons out there, and need a little more protection to their name. Ask the register for options to tailor to your size for an additional fee.”
Mark read the tag aloud as he unclipped the gloves from the outfit and tried them on.
“Who needs a tailor? This fits fine, maybe a size too big at most.”
He slid his hands into the glove, feeling the treated leather interior conform to his grip, while the thin steel plates on the outside hazily reflected the ceiling lights with a rugged edge. It wasn’t made to be pretty, it wasn’t made to catch the eye of sponsors, it was made to work and to keep working until it physically fell apart.
It was exactly what he wanted.
“All I need now is some pants with a good belt, and I’m golden.”
…
Well, there was one other thing that had caught his eye…
-The Dragon King-
The Pokemart employee yelped as she was pressed against the wall, or at least she would have yelped if her mouth was preoccupied with something else.
She broke the sloppy kiss for air and started desperately gasping for breath, something that Mark made considerably more difficult when he clamped his mouth down on the nape of her neck.
Down at the alleyway entrance, Shelgon stood as a lookout, playing the best damned wingman Marcus had ever seen.
“M-My lunch break only lasts 30 minutes.”
“30? Don’t worry your pretty little face.” Mark growled as he pressed his forehead against hers. “I’ll have you screaming my name in less than five.”
-The Dragon King-
The TV of the bar was a giant thing, built up into the back wall, and visible not just to all the patrons but also through the large windows and for people on the street.
It was an easy tactic to grab passerby’s attention and make them consider walking in. Right now it was showing a rerun of some of the best battles from years past.
On the screen two heavyweights of the southern regions were facing off in a tournament that Mark didn’t know the name of.
The crowd in the bar whooped and cheered as a battle-scarred Dragonite clashed with an absolutely massive Gyarados.
“And Dragonite tanks through the Hyperbeam to deliver a fully charged Thunder Punch! OH! That’s gotta hurt! Both contestants are on their last legs! What a remarkable show!”
The announcer’s voice was only half audible through the walls. The camera panned to show the trainers
Lance, Champion of the Indigo League, stood across from Clair, the strongest of Jhoto’s Gym leaders- both of whom were Dragon specialists from the Blackthorn clan.
Two Dragon type masters, both with capes.
Very over the top, dragon-y capes.
Shelgon let out a low growl and looked up at Mark meaningfully.
Mark rolled his eyes but turned around back towards the Pokemon center.
He was going to be the champion with the badass Dragon starter, he wasn’t going to be shown up by the professionals for not having a cape.
“They better have something in black, because I’m not wearing some stupid color like orange.”
-The Dragon King-
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
The door to the ice cream shop was kicked open, and a man strutted in wearing leather/metal armor and a black Darth Vader cape billowing behind him, like some kind of Lance fanboy- it even had a tall collar like the Champion’s
The Lance-fan idea was further reinforced by the midget Shelgon at his side.
“My boy wants some chocolate!” Mark shouted as he crouched down and pointed at his partner. “So get him some fucking chocolate! As many scoops as you can stack!”
-The Dragon King-
Varivk’s Vitamins was a small-time shop that served a small but loyal customer base. Not many trainers were willing to put down stacks of cash for dietary supplements that they wouldn’t see any benefits from for multiple months down the line, not when there was so many other things they needed to spend that money on first.
But the trainers that did? Those were the ones that knew their stuff, and almost all of them went far.
Varivk frowned as he read over the pink Pokecenter note.
“An early evolution, ay? Sorry for jumpin to conclusions, then. Usualleh it takes sumn bad siteations fer a ‘mon to be so underweight. S’ ther anythin else ya want, other than the basics tha nurse is tellin ya?”
“That other shit’s good and all, but my boy needs PROTEIN! He needs IRON! I want his shell to be so strong that he can shrug off a tank round!”
The shopkeeper looked down at the tiny underweight Shelgon with a thoughtful expression, and raised a hand to stroke his beard.
“It’ll cost ya a purtey penny, but… Ah think ah can set yeh up for the long run to get them results yeh want.”
“Really? Just with some dietary stuff?”
“‘Mon’s are stong as is, thar bodies can take thangs that’d turn us intuh paste. Give ‘em a struh-tee-gick base ov nutrients n vitamins to grow as fast as thar bodies want too, an they can be right terrifyin.”
Shelgon puffed up, trying to somehow look down at the shopkeeper who was thrice his height.
“I’ll turn this felluh intuh a real monstar.”
-The Dragon King-
“Oh yeah! This takes me BACK!” Mark laughed like an idiot as he plucked at the string of an old red electric guitar. “I used to have a band back in school, those days were a blast!”
His old failure of a highschool band was a dark shame of his past that he never talked about to anyone but his family, and normally he would have cringed just from holding an instrument in front of someone.
But now wasn’t exactly a “normal” point in time.
Drunk metaphorically off the high of his win, semi-literally with the Dragon Energy running through his brain, and literally just in the normal sense since he was tipsy off the drink’s he’d gotten at the bar; Mark head his harsh strum on the poorly tuned guitar as if it was the single most glorious piece of music ever made.
“Hey, you guys can sell the shit I record for me, right? That’s what the sign out front says.”
“Yes we do.” The owner of the radio shack answered while rubbing the tetanus out of his ear, from Mark’s horrible playing.
“If you’re willing to pay me for licensing and distribution, I’ll put it up for sale on vinyl and record tapes, and try to get the songs on some local radio stations for a bit. Naturally you’ll get a cut of any revenues, and while it might initially seem like a money sink, it has long term potential.”
The owner repeated his normal spiel, leaving out the fact that you’d need to make it big to make any actual money back, and not a single customer of his had even gotten close to that point.
“Bet! Put it on my bill, because I got a song that’ll rock this whole world! Shelgon, give me a beat!”
VRRRIIMMMM
The owner cringed as Mark started ripping into the electric guitar strings.
“I wanna be the very BEST, like no one ever was!~”
He waited until Mark looked away, and then quickly put in earplugs.
-The Dragon King-
“I will travel across the land, searchiiiing far and wide!”
“Shell! Shell! Shell-Shell!”
“Teach Pokemon, to understand! The powah that’s insiiiiide!”
Mark and Shelgon marched through the backroads of the city like they owned the place, hitting up any shop that peaked their interests. While they went they sang the same song they had recorded in the radio shack, and they sang it the same way they had done it there- completely off tune.
“Every challenge along the way- With courage, I will face!”
“I will battle every day! To claim my rightful place!”
“Shell! Gon!”
“Oh yeah! Bring it back!”
The sound of a metal crash from an alleyway interrupted their singing and saved the local population from ear injury.
A trashcan had been knocked over, explaining the noise, and two people were arguing in the space between two rundown buildings. One was a galactic grunt, it was obvious from a mile away with their stupid cyan haircut, but the other was just a normal looking businessman.
It was a guy in a nice looking black suit, with a dark coat over his shoulders, wearing a fedora, and holding a briefcase: AKA prime robbery material.
“I thought the boss already taught you guys a lesson? Or do you need to relearn it the hard way? Huh? No one messes with Galactic!”
“When my associates find out about this-”
“They’ll do nothing! Get that through your head! This is our turf, this whole region is our turf. Sinnoh’s ours, you guys are washed out nobodies here! Why don’t you run back to Kanto, where you belong?” The Galactic grunt mocked the businessman, shoving him into the wall and knocking off his hat.
Mark pivoted on his feet and started walking down the alley. He smoothed out his hair, adjusted the collar on the cape, and put some effort into making sure his footsteps echoed as he approached.
A Galactic grunt? Just out and about, all alone in broad daylight? This’ll be fun.
“Well well well, what do we have here?” He grinned wolfishly as he approached. “One of the blue babies on his own? All alone without any backup? I couldn’t have possibly thought today could get any better!”
“Fuck off, this isn’t your business.”
“How about I make it my business, huh? Whatcha gonna do about it?”
”You don’t want to do this, pal. You have no idea who I am, or who I work for.”
“Actually I think I know exactly who you are.”
“Oh really? And you still want to step in?”
“I know I want to step in.” Mark leaned forward, teeth bared in a cruel grin. “Just to fuck with you.”
The businessman's eyebrows raised at that, suddenly looking curious, but he still made no move to help.
In a single fluid movement the Team Galactic grunt pulled a Pokeball from a hidden pouch in his belt, enlarged it, and reared back to throw it.
Unfortunately for him, Mark was faster.
“Go Zubaaagh!” The Grunt cried out and dropped the Pokeball as Mark’s knee caught him square between the legs.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Mark laughed and held his hands up in a ‘oops’ gesture. “I’m so clumsy sometimes. Slip of the leg, you know? It’s just-” Mark rammed his fist into the grunt’s gut with enough force to lift him off the ground.
“Man, I don't know what’s gotten into me today.” The veteran said sarcastically as the grunt fell to his knees.
“Here, I’ll make it up to you, let me just-” Mark reared back and put his whole weight into a brutal haymaker that went right into the grunt’s jaw. The metal of his glove made an audible impact as it made contact, knocking the grunt to the ground, and out cold.
“I think the black eye suits you, maybe I should look into getting all of you dillweeds installed with the latest version.”
Mark kicked the grunt, before turning his attention to the victim. He swiped the black fedora off the ground, gave it a quick dust off, and tossed it over to the man.
“Thank you.” The man said with a hint of curiosity behind his steely eyes. “These mooks are bad for business, and have been harassing my friends and I for months now.”
“Bah, Team Galactic is just a bunch of two time mooks who have a grossly over inflated opinion of themselves.”
Mark rummaged through the grunts pockets, pulling out a thin metal wallet that lit up like a pokeball when he opened it.
“Oh great, it’s one of those weird energy storage things. How the crap do these even work?”
Mark hesitantly stuck his fingers into the light and was immediately weirded out at how much larger it seemed on the inside.
“This is some Harry Potter shit. Let’s see… There’s some cash- that's useful. Can’t use the card because it is traceable, same with the keys and library card. Two empty Pokeballs, score! Some basic potions and a granola bar. The rest of this junk can be tracked to me in some way.”
Mark threw a fistfull of miscellaneous items at the unconscious grunt, before pausing and looking at the other person in the alley… the guy who was watching him rob an unconscious person.
“You know if these things have trackers?” He asked casually, holding up the thin metal box like you would a bag of chips.
“Usually yes, it's a standard feature for all matter compression devices, considering how expensive they can be. However the ones that Galactic provides to its agents are built without trackers, without a way to sync your trainer ID to them, and are all basically indistinguishable from one another- all to make it as difficult as possible to use them as identifying evidence.”
The businessman man explained with thinly veiled amusement as he watched Mark dig through the wallet. He had an odd amount of strangely specific knowledge about Galactic gear for just some random guy to know, but Mark just brushed it off.
Whatever this guy and his “friends” did to get Galactic on their asses, wasn’t his problem.
“Sweet, then I’m keeping it. It’ll be the first positive contribution these guys have made to anyone’s life.”
The wallet closed with a snap and then disappeared into his pocket.
“All they do is make life difficult with stupid Psyducks and power outages. If you see me around, just give me a holler anytime you need these fuckers dealt with.”
Mark gave a two-fingered salute, to the man, before walking off back towards Shelgon, who was waiting patiently at the end of the alley.
The man in the black hat watched Mark go with no small amount of curiosity.
It wasn’t everyday someone helped Team Rocket keep from being muscled out by a local gang. There was always the chance the trainer didn’t know who he was, but the opposite could be true as well- after all, he had immediately recognized team Galactic and knew them by name, so he had to be involved with the underworld in some way.
“Anytime I need Galactic dealt with, huh?”
Team Rocket might have a potential friend to help them set up in Sinnoh. And Rocket was always good to their friends.
-The Dragon King-
It was nearly past midnight by the time Mark stumbled back to the Pokecenter, laughing drunkenly with a half empty box of GaBITE Energy drink tucked under his arm. (Each can had three times the caffeine of a Coffee cup back home, and the main ingredient was some kind of indigenous spicy-sour berry.)
“Mark! There you are, where have you been! It’s almost 1 in the morning!” Casey hopped up from the bench next to the center door, and rushed over.
For someone who had lived by a strict 8 o'clock curfew his entire life, and had never known anything else, this kind of behavior was much more worrying than it would be to anyone else.
Casey ran up to Mark, clutching his baby blue jacket around him to ward off the cold wind of the night. Ralts had no such protection from the wind, and was shivering like a popsicle as he hugged Casey’s neck, and huddled down in the pocket that he’d commandeered for his own, in his trainers big pink backpack.
“Nobody knew where you went, Dawn hadn’t seen you all day, Nurse Joy said you took off without half your team! Where have you been!?”
“Kid, I say this with all due respect- and by that I mean not a lot- who the fuck do you think you are? My mom?”
“I’m a friend who’s concerned about you making stupid mistakes that could get you hurt! What if you got attacked by a Ghost Pokemon and had your memories messed with again!?”
“Hey, I can handle myself just fine against some dumb ghosts. I’m offended by how little you think of me, show some respect. You’re talking to a badged trainer!”
“Oh so now my opinion doesn’t matter, because you have a badge and I don’t!?”
“I mean I didn’t say that, but you might be on the right track.” Mark laughed.
And by that he meant he hadn’t ever really taken Casey’s opinions seriously. It was nothing personal, just that the kid was only 18, almost a full decade his junior, and had zero real life experience.
“You- You- You can’t just brush off people’s concerns!”
“Maybe not everyone’s, but when it comes to Pokemon and how I live my life? I can absolutely brush off yours.”
“How can you say that!?”
“Have you fought a single battle since you got your trainer license?”
“...”
Casey’s silence was damning.
“That’s what I thought.” Mark snorted and pushed his way past the scrawny prettyboy. “Come back when you’ve actually done something, meanwhile I’ll be out catching legendaries and becoming champion.”
“Catching legendaries??” Casey whispered under his breath as his anger welled up. “This is what I’m talking about!” He ran back in front of Mark, stopping him in the doorway.
“It’s like you think everything is a game! You walk around all cocky, as if you think you already know what’s going to happen. You’re going to get yourself and your team hurt! It’s pissing me off!”
“It pisses you off? Ha! You want to know what pisses me off?”
Marcus scowled and leaned down.
“What pisses me off is people like you. You talk a big game, but refuse to put your foot in the mud with everyone else. High ranking officers who pull every string in the book to keep from seeing actual combat, and then pin themselves a medal for running away. Limp dick bureaucrats who write laws about things they don’t know shit about, destroying hundreds of jobs because they want to be more ‘ethical’ or some bullshit. Trainers who haven’t fought a single battle, and have all their expenses paid for by mommy, but think they can lecture me about what I choose to do.”
Mark growled and poked Casey in the chest.
“You don’t get to do nothing and then go around acting all high and mighty, looking down on everyone else from your supposed moral high ground.”
“You’re still not taking me seriously. You’re not taking anything seriously.”
“Nope. Nothing here has given me a real reason too, yet. Now get out of my way.”
Casey clenched his fists and looked up at the old soldier in defiance.
“No.”
“I’m sorry, repeat that for me?”
“I said no. You’re going to have to make me move. I’m going to make you take me seriously.”
“You’re serious? You finally muster up the courage for a fight, and it’s against me? Ha!” Mark leaned his head back and let out a hearty laugh that pulled the attention of the people eating inside. “Oh this’ll be good. Come on then, let’s settle this now. There’s a field out back, where I can humble you.”
“I’m not the one who needs to be humbled.”
“You have to earn the right to be proud of yourself, and you haven't earned shit yet, kid.”
Mark turned sharply, with an unintentional flip of his cape, and confidently walked over to the first field that was cleared beside the center for small battles. Casey followed after him, trying his best to push down his nerves and not shrink under the eyes that followed him from the people inside.
Stepping into the trainer square drawn with cheap chalk caused Casey's breath to hitch and catch in his throat. It was a scene out of every dream he’d had his entire life. He was going to have a Pokemon battle, he was going to finally be a real trainer- the only thing he had ever wanted.
But his opponent was so much scarier than anything in his dreams had been.
Mark stood across the field with his arms crossed and a wide fanged grin. His eyes gleamed hungerly under the fluorescent light streaming from the Pokecenter windows, and under the spotlight a wicked scar was clearly visible on his face. A harsh, discolored cut of skin ran from his neck upwards and licked up over the left side of his jaw.
When you toss in the fact he was wearing combat boots, thick leather gear that was reinforced with metal plates, and had a black cape billowing behind him like a movie villain, he looked every part of the future-champion that he boasted about being.
No. That wasn’t right. Mark had never claimed he was a ‘future-champion’- well, he had, but it was never the important part of what he was talking about.
Mark had explicitly said what type of person he was dozens of times before, but it was only in this moment, staring him down across a battlefield, that Casey fully understood.
This was a fighter. This was someone who would punch and claw his way to the top, and forcefully drag the Champion of her throne with bloody hands, just to sit in it himself.
“What? Getting cold feet? I wouldn’t blame you for chickening out.”
“I’m not chickening out of anything.” Casey’s jaw clenched as the mocking brought back memories of all the name calling and bullying he’d endured in the past.
He gripped Hatenna’s Pokeball off his belt, since he knew she had been spoiling for a fight but before he could throw her out, the grip on his neck tightened.
“R-Ralts.”
Little Ralts, his shy and timid partner, who hid at even the smallest attention from strangers, pushed his head in the air and volunteered to battle.
“You sure buddy?” His trainer asked softly.
“Ral.”
Casey was his friend, his trainer, his partner, and he wouldn’t let someone insult him like this, no matter who they were.
“Alright then. Ralts, I choose you!”
Casey turned around to let Ralts jump out of the bag, and he only stumbled slightly as he landed in the area.
“Alright Shelgon, let's show these guys how it’s done. Mess them up!”
The dragon materialized in the air and crashed down like a cannonball. The dramatic entrance worked like a charm, and both Ralts and Casey suddenly seemed much less confident.
“I can do this, I can do this.”
Casey closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath.
“I can do this.”
He didn’t see the tiny flash of gold that briefly illuminated the outline of ghostly chains that wrapped around the arm that he had used for the handshake, but he did hear a whisper in his ear, repeating the terms of the deal he had made in the deep woods.
I guarantee you become a Pokemon trainer capable of rivaling the Champion herself
Casey opened his eyes and the soft purple had been burned away by a harsh glowing pink.
Pink met Red and the battle began.
-Chapter End-