-The Dragon King-
-Arc Start: Yankee in Wonderland-
-Yankee in Wonderland: Ch1-
Arceus looked down upon its world, and was content.
Its chosen one, the Pallet Town boy, had put down yet another rebellion against the world order IT had created. Aqua and Magma, such foolish humans they were to think they could chain legendaries for their own gain, and even more foolish still to think themselves worthy of reshaping the world.
The boy would linger, fail at becoming “champion”, then move on to another region to start anew, where he would defeat those who would challenge ITs order. And the boy would do it again, and again, and again, forever, until all Its work was done.
The boy would do it perpetually, without rest, frozen in time, and without ever realizing.
Arceus looked down upon its world, and was content. So it closed its eyes, and slept.
But not everything was content.
In the darkness of the Distortion world, something was very much not content.
The failed usurper, the banished one, the fallen prodigal son, the Renegade Pokémon looked upon his parent’s world and seethed .
-The Dragon King-
The world had gone to shit.
You’d think that winning not just one, not just two, but THREE whole ass world wars, would be enough to buy you some Goddamn peace, but apparently fucking not.
For fucks sake, and they had done so well to, that was the worst part.
No one knew what had sparked it all, or who shot the first bullet. I suppose in the end, it didn’t really matter. War never determined who was right or wrong, only who was left.
And when the missiles fell, and the smoke cleared, the United States was one of the ones still standing.
When the time came, documents, older than most people had been alive, were opened for the first time in years. Equipment and plans drafted by generations gone, were pulled out of storage and hurriedly supplemented with any of the latest technology that would fit the bill.
In those crucial moments, the decades that their forefathers had spent endlessly preparing for a Cold War with the Soviets that never went hot, was what saved the USA.
But to live is not the same as to go unharmed. The men had done their best, and the equipment functioned as well as it could for something designed to fight a war half a century ago.
They had done their job. They just hadn’t done it well enough.
Just because you were still alive right after taking a shot to the chest, didn’t mean you were surviving.
If the bombs which had gotten through hadn’t been enough, the complete collapse of international trade, snow-like irradiated ashfall across the nation, and an ill timed drought meant that within months most civilians were beginning to starve in an unprecedented food crisis. And of course the economy was in shambles too. You try solving any national disaster, let alone a nuclear one, when your national unemployment rate is over 50%, and your currency has lost all its value.
Protests and riots rocked the nation, many turning into violent mobs that had to be forcibly put down by police- which only worked on the occasions the police didn’t join with the rioters.
It was in this situation that General Brash, current president of the United States, decided to make an executive order to cancel the upcoming election and forcibly extend his presidential term by a year.
This crisis, he said, needed a stable and secure administration to take care of it. And he would do whatever it took to fix his country, even if it meant ignoring the Supreme Court's direct order to stand down.
It had been seven months since then and Marcus was pretty fucking sure that Brash’s decision had been a monumental fuck up beyond all verbal description.
“Enemy armor spotted on the west side of the city!”
“This is Bravo Company, requesting immediate backup, we are being overrun!”
“We are completely out of ammunition, where the Hell is our resupply!?”
“The anti air batteries have been taken out! Hostile bombers are getting through!”
“WE CAN’T HOLD! FALL BACK! FALL BACK! WE’LL STOP THEM AT THE CITY CENTER! WE CAN’T LET THEM REACH THE WHITE HOUSE!”
Sergeant Marcus Cross huddled in the bombed out ruins of a house, taking shelter against the ongoing barrage of artillery while he listened to the frantic screaming over the radio.
Enemies at the gates, pushing into the heart of Washington DC, overrunning the last remnants of the American military. Seven years ago it would have been unimaginable, yet here he was, caught smack dab in the middle of it.
The Union States, the Pacific Confederation, the Independent Republic of Texas, the Free States of America. Each and every secessionist or self proclaimed “real” America that had popped up in the civil war had troops marching towards Brash’s hidey-hole in the White House basement. They all absolutely hated each other, and some of them were even at war, so it really showed just how much Brash pissed them off if they were willing to work together for this.
Artillery pounded, tanks fired, infantry charged, and relics from as far back as the early first Cold War had been dragged out of museum storage to rip each other apart in the skies above the capital- all in the hope of a last ditch defense.
Suddenly the chatter of the radio forcibly cut off. At first, Marcus thought it was enemy jamming, finally putting down their systems for good, but a short version of the Federalist anthem started playing, and then an infuriatingly familiar voice started speaking.
“Attention all remaining units, this is General Brash, Supreme Commander of all Federalist forces, and rightful President of the United States.”
The president, huh? Had he come to make his farewell speech? This ought to be interesting.
“The situation is dire, I won’t lie to you, but we still have a chance for victory. The New Dawn research project has been developing a new weapon, more game changing than anything except the Atom Bomb! It will turn the tide of this war in our favor! Any units near the Jefferson Memorial are to immediately report to the building directly East of it, and assist in the weapon’s deployment. To every man and woman who is currently serving under the Stars and Stripes, if you are not near the Memorial, then this is a direct order. HOLD YOUR GROUND! NOT ONE STEP BACK! FOR DEMOCRACY! FOR THE UNITED STATES!”
“What kind of weapon could turn this disaster around? He’s gotta be smoking something.” Marcus wondered aloud as he leaned back against the wall and looked out over the skyline. With a start he realized that not only could he see the Jefferson Memorial, he was pretty close to it.
“The fuckers must’ve pushed us back farther than I thought…”
“Think back to the revolution! To the founding fathers! To Washington! How he fought valiantly against a seemingly invincible foe, pushed back again and again suffering defeat after defeat. But he never gave up, and against overwhelming odds, delivered a glorious victory at Trenton! Dashing the royal army and snatching victory from the jaws of defeat!”
The presidential address shut off abruptly, and Marcus let out a long sigh. Slowly he pushed himself to his feet.
“This is what I get for swearing undying loyalty to a flag of all things.” He grumbled as he limped towards the ruins of the Jefferson memorial.
-The Dragon King-
“The building East of the Memorial” were pretty vague directions, but when Marcus did eventually find it, he was greeted to the sight of several dozen Federalist soldiers hastily putting up barricades and defenses.
Across all of them there were maybe four genuine military personnel, the rest were all civilian militia. But one person stood out above all others. An old man, completely bald, with a set of nasty scars that covered the right side of his face and marked over a dull gray eye.
“President Brash!” Marcus saluted. “Sergeant Marcus Cross, reporting for duty.”
“At ease, soldier. We’re at war, there’s no time for formalities.” The general waved him off with a gruff voice. “Where’s the rest of your squad?”
“All dead, sir.” Marcus responded numbly.
Brash snarled, anger burning in his eyes. “These damn traitors! I’ll make them pay for all of this! I’ll have every last one rounded up and shot! Aside from me, you’re the highest ranking man here, now. Follow me. The rest of you hold the ground floor, the Union depends on it!” He turned and shouted to the others who eagerly saluted and returned to prepping defenses with even greater vigor than before.
The President marched into the building, and Marcus followed, but as he passed by through the entrance he caught a glimpse of his reflection. It was in a glass shard that remained stubbornly stuck to a window frame, even though the rest of the glass had been blown away.
To put it bluntly, he looked like crap.
Months of warfare had carved deep bags under his eyes, and weeks without a chance to make camp, let alone take a proper shower, had turned his dark dirty blond hair into a complete mess that was only barely being contained by his helmet.
His officer uniform was torn and tattered, and he had patches of uneven stubble growing all along the lower part of his face. His blue eyes, though he tried to look away before he could stare too long, seemed more lifeless each time he saw them.
“What are you waiting on, Sergeant? A cookie? Get down here!”
The two descended the stairs in a tense silence, each step taking them deeper below the surface.
“I can practically feel your eyes burning a hole in the back of my head, boy.” Brash scoffed. “You got a problem?”
“No sir.”
“Bullshit. At least have the fucking respect to say what you really think, rather than lying right to my damn face.”
Marcus winced. “Look, is it really that surprising that I’m not a fan? Considering you're the one who got us all into this mess?”
“Not really. I don’t have many supporters nowadays, most of them have jumped ship to The Free States, or The Union State, or The United Commonwealth, or any of the other terroristic secessionists with self aggrandizing names.” The President growled, and Marcus could hear his teeth grinding as he listed those names. “What about you, Cross? If you hate my guts, why haven’t you left?”
“I swore an oath. I like to think that means something.”
“Ha! You’re the sentimental type, there’s your first mistake.” Brash laughed and looked over his shoulder at Marcus with a sneer. “Listen well, boy. If there’s anything this war has taught me again and again, it’s that sentiments and nice thoughts don’t do Jack shit when up against a real problem. The next time you want something, or need something done, stand up and take it for yourself!”
Something lurched inside Marcus’s heart, and he had to physically hold himself back from striking his commander in chief.
“Why? Because that’s worked out so well for you?”
“You don’t get it boy, but if you live long enough you will. The reason I’m in this mess is because I’m just like you. Sentimental.” Brash sighed as he looked away, a pained longing in his eye. “Because I swore an oath, and did everything I could to uphold it, even long after I damn well should have just quit.”
The rest of the walk was made in complete silence.
-The Dragon King-
The first thing Marcus noticed when he entered the underground lab was the heat. Multiple military grade cooling units were built all along the walls, but the room was still boiling.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
An old man in a lab coat was hunched over a large terminal of some sorts- the thing looked practically prehistoric, like he’d ripped the control panels out of an old ICBM launch silo and wired them together. The two TV screens he’d somehow hooked up to it just made all the knobs, levers, and baubles look all that more ancient.
But the real show stealer was the thing sitting at the back of the room, bigger than a school buss, and half built into the wall.
It was a machine of some sort. A large black metallic cube with dozens of wires and pipes hooked up to it. The middle of the cube was hollow, you could see all the way through to the wiring on the other side, a set of three metallic rings spun around in the open center of the device- each in different directions. Occasionally electricity would spark between the rings, making loud cracks that would briefly drown out the constant humm of the device’s engine.
Brash loudly cleared his throat and the scientist perked his head up.
“Doctor, this is Sergeant Cross, he’ll be acting as your personal last line of defense. Sergeant Cross, this is Doctor Vernov, the man you’re now in charge of keeping alive. He’s one of the last good scientists we have, and the head of the New Dawn research project.” The president crossed his arms and grinned. “It’s gonna change the fucking world.”
“Ah. More military man.” Vernov spoke in a very heavy and aggressive accent that Marcus had never heard before. It was almost like a strange mix of slavic and asian chiseled every work he spoke into a sharp edge.
“Please make self at home, not like I can say no to man with gun.” The balding scientist looked at Marcus with disdain and turned back to his consol. “Only one rule. No touch button, no touch device, no touch anything unless you want die.” He pointed at the strange cube machine. “That kills you very dead, very fast. Is very good at it!”
“What is it?” Marcus asked in a mix of awe and concern.
“Weapon is, how you say, complicated. Mechanics not explain easy”
“It erases matter from existence.” Brash grinned.
Doctor Vernov winced painfully, as if he had been physically struck. “Not exactly, but close enough understanding for use. Device erases from our dimension. Kicks out. Sends away into the nothing between. Absolute vacuum there will rip apart at atomic level.”
“Same damn thing. Stop trying to confuse people.” Brash rolled his good eye. “It’ll make these limp dick traitors regret ever being born!” He turned to markus. “I’m going to go hold the stairs, get a few final shots at these motherfuckers. You watch the scientist.” He poked Marcus in the chest. “His mind may be off the deep end, but I don’t want to risk him getting cold feet.”
“Sir, yes sir.” Marcus saluted.
“Any final words for your commander in chief?”
“With all due respect, sir, go fuck yourself.”
“Ha!” Brash grinned ferally as he turned and walked off. “Don’t worry soldier, I’ll see you in Hell.”
Marcus watched the battle torn General go with mixed feeling, but forced himself to shake his head and turn his attention to the scientist.
“What’s so game changing about this thingama-doohicky you made? It doesn’t seem all that much different than a normal bomb in terms of military application. They’re both pretty good at making things not exist.”
“Very different! And not ‘Doohickey’ !” Vernov scoffed, offended. “Reaction is cascadable across atomic bonds. Requires only energy for reaction start, no expensive and unstable nuclear fuel to refine and store. Precise, also. Depending on energy input to initial reaction, can adjust radius down by inches. All way from size of apple to size of nation.”
“That sounds… interesting.” Marcus said, somewhat uncomfortable about the idea of a bomb capable of being even bigger than a nuclear weapon. “How do we launch it? We’ve completely lost air superiority over the city, what’s to stop them from just shooting it down?”
“Launch? Ha! Is no launch.”
“Wha-?”
“Was originally to be orbital beam weapon. Put in satellite, shoot from sky. Had to make… sacrifices to design. You understand, yes?”
“Wait-wait-wait, back up. You’re not launching it?”
“No. Use here.”
“We couldn’t hold the city so you’re just going to nuke it?!” Marcus shouted, completely horrified.
“Not nuclear, too small. General clear, wants traitors pay. Nuclear barrage initial plan, only few left but would work. Old cabinet horrified, scrambled launch codes. Shot for treason, but did job well, can’t unscramble. This much bigger. Will do job of entire pre-war nuclear stockpile.”
“You can’t seriously do this! This is insane!”
“Yes! Exactly! Insane! You get it!” Vernov grinned at him, a sadness hidden beneath his features. “Technology too dangerous to let live. Could wipe planet if developed further. Did not realize mistake until too late, but by then Brash already had basic schematic. Now is only chance! Destroy device! Destroy all research! Destroy all evidence of existing! Wipe entire seaboard! Must understand, yes?”
“We’ll all die too, Dipshit! Or did you somehow miss that part!?”
“Is my responsibility for making it in first place. Must destroy it. Can NEVER let fall in hands of warlords outside. Will undo my mistake.”
“No. Not while it’s under my fucking city you won’t.” Marcus grabbed the old man’s arm and forcibly pulled him away from the control panel. “Turn it off. NOW!”
“And President told you to stop me from getting the ‘cold feet’. It is, how English say, ironic.” Vernov laughed and pulled his arm away. “I refuse to give up my chance!”
Vernov shoved Marcus away and turned back towards his device.
“My mistake! My responsibility is to fix! Would have to shoot me to make stop.”
Somehow it was a complete shock to the scientist when Marcus, the battle hardened veteran, who had been fighting a brutal civil war for the past half year, and who he’d just told to shoot him, leveled his rifle and well, you know…
BANG
Vernov’s body fell on the suddenly very bloody control panel, with a clean hole through his head.
Marcus grabbed him and pulled him off, letting the corpse flop to the floor unceremoniously. But with the doctor gone, he was left with a control panel that he had absolutely zero idea how to operate.
Nothing was labeled, nothing was to code, and the screens’ only purpose seemed to be showing the devices readings such as temperature and power consumption.
He hesitated for a moment before wildly doing whatever looked like it might help. Any knobs that were up he turned down, every switch that was on he flipped off, and he blindly pressed every button on the board multiple times in hopes one of them might be an emergency off switch.
The device stopped humming, which was good, but then it started to make a very loud whining noise that continued to get louder and louder, which was not good.
Luckily Marcus was a military man, who knew how to solve things the military way. In this case that meant a consistent spray of bullet fire from left to right, across the control panel, completely ruining the thing and causing all the lights to spark and flicker off.
But the machine didn’t stop. Instead the whining grew even louder, and the rings continued to spin faster and faster. Something was forming at the very center of them, at the point they were all spinning around, a hazy mass of blackness that was slowly expanding.
Marcus then, in that half second, made an ill thought out choice that would affect the lives of countless billions.
He raised his gun, flipped the safety from semi to fully automatic, and emptied his entire magazine into the open core of the machine that was currently ripping a hole in reality.
There was a thunderous CRASH as the largest of the rings shattered, ripping itself apart under the strain of its own velocity, and was launched down into the body of the device like impromptu railgun shot.
The black mass seemed to destabilize, rippling like water, and the outer parts of it started evaporating into a dark fog.
“Holy Shit!” Marccus’ eyes widened in awe. He’d done it! He’d saved the city!
No.
He’d saved AMERICA!
…
Then it exploded.
-The Dragon King-
Thousands of people watched in terror as a great white ball expanded from the bombed out ruins of Washington DC. It enveloped every last soul that had been fighting valiantly inside the city, and disappeared in a bright flash, leaving a massive hole in place of the old capital, 60 miles across, and 60 miles deep at its center.
Everything there, every building, every soldier, all gone. Erased from this existence, and thrown out into the unforgiving nothingness of the veil beyond our reality.
…
Except, the space beyond wasn’t quite as “empty” as Scientist Vernov had theorized.
Countless stories could be told of things and people from America’s final moments being scattered like buckshot across the multiverse.
The statue of Abraham Lincoln landing in a feudal fantasy world and being mistaken as a religious icon. A lone Texas ranger waking up in a nuclear wasteland and trying to make a living as a courier. A squadron of the Union State’s best tank force getting swept up in the summoning of a Hero to fight against a demon lord. A commander of the Pacific Confederation finding herself in the year 40,000 and falling to Chaos. Civilian militias appearing on massive ring in space to find themselves assaulted by aliens. An F35 fighter jet crash landing back in time in an alternate WW2 and inspiring the Germans to go looking for other such “ancient technology”. Federalist propaganda posters filtering down from the sky in some magical “new world”, seen as messages from the gods by locals, and giving a poor human-turned-lich a panic attack.
Or even how General Brash himself landed in a world he could only describe as “the deepest bowels of Hell’s inferno”. Where strange four legged demons frolicked around in colors so bright it hurt his eyes. Where all the food was so sugary it burnt his tongue. Where the laws of reality bent to the whims of the insane. And where a foul purple abomination took sick demented pleasure in torturing him- tying him down to a chair and forcing him to learn about the “magic of friendship”.
But this is not the story of any of them. Not even about General Brash or the dead body of Doctor Vernov which fell from the sky and landed at the feet of an aspiring necromancer.
No. This is the story about the absolute dumbass who thought shooting the doomsday device was a good idea.
“AHHHHHHH!” Marcus screamed as he flipped through the air, plummeting into a seemingly endless abyss. His rifle slipped from his fingers and was flung away as he spun uncontrollably through the darkness, wind howling as it whistled past his ears.
“Device erases from our dimension. Kicks out. Sends away into the nothing between. Absolute vacuum there will rip apart at atomic level.”
Vernov’s heavy accent echoed in his head as gravity seemed to increase in strength and pull at him from every direction.
“No! Fuck! Shit!” Marcus cursed as he flailed his arms, desperately trying to grab ahold of anything. But nothing was there to grab, just an endless black that stretched on to eternity.
There was absolutely nothing.
…
And then, suddenly, there was something.
A pair of deep blood red eyes opened in the abyss and stared down at him, each the size of a car.
Visions flashed in Marcus’ mind.
Eternal darkness spilling out of a tear in reality. A blond woman with black teardrops in her hair, crumpled on the ground. Cities burning. An army on the march. An uprising. A rogue state. Him standing before a bloodthirsty crowd, thousands of people cheering as a crown was lowered upon his head.
And in the back of his mind, a chilling voice made of rusted metal and molten brimstone whispered to him.
“So much regret, so much anger, the perfect forge for the darkest kind of ambition. Your soul is already stained with the blood of so many, and your people have created horrors unthinkable to my father’s realm. I can grant you precious few gifts without alerting my creator, but I suspect you will need none. Do not disappoint me, young Tyrant.”
A force pressed against his chest, searing cold and boiling hot at the same time, it was so intense that it caused Marcus to scream and pass out for a moment before the pain dragged him back into consciousness.
The voice cackled maniacally as it faded from his ear, with all the cruel pride of a cat that had finally caught the mouse. Then suddenly the darkness disappeared, replaced with a blue sky full of glittering stars, and he was crashing through brush and leaves as he skid across the ground, coming to an abrupt stop as he slammed into the trunk of a tree.
He groaned as gravity peeled him off the tree bark and dropped him face first to the wet and muddy ground.
“Mmmhhgph.” Said the heroic survivor, causing an air bubble to pop up from the mud.
His entrance had not been a quiet one, however, and a nearby bush rustled as something came to investigate.
“Bag?”
“Mllghmph.” The Hero said a second time, displaying his mastery of language.
“Bag!”
With great effort Marcus peeled his face up from the mud and looked at where the sound had come from.
Now it may have been literal years since he last played any of the games, much less watched the TV show but, just like any kid who grew up during the early 2000s, Marcus Cross could recognize a Pokemon when he saw one.
”A Bagon?”
“BAG!” The small, blue, and vaguely T-rex looking Dragon type hopped back and growled at him, showing off a mouth full of sharp teeth.
“Ah…” The soldier grunted as he sat up and propped himself up against the tree. “I’m having a near death hallucination. Either from blood loss or whatever that machine was. Great.”
He sighed and took a look around. He was in a beautifully vibrant forest, with the full moon hanging in the starry sky above, its light shining through the leaves like intangible threads of silver.
It was beautiful.
“But why’d my brain have to make it muddy? I hate mud.” He winced as a rib flared in pain after a too big breath. “Fuck- er, uh, I mean fudge ?”
Marcus craned his neck to look around. “Isn’t Jesus supposed to come out about now? I know I’ve got some shit I need to answer for.”
Jesus of Nazareth, fortunately or unfortunately, did not appear. But the Bagon Marcus had almost landed on did. It marched out of the bushes with its head held high, offended that it was being ignored.
“Bagon!”
“Hey I’m kinda busy right now, so fuck off and let me die in peace.”
“Baaa!”
“Get! Shoo!” Marcus kicked at it. “I’m waiting for Jesus to come and smite me.” He paused in thought for a second. “Well, it better be Jesus. I don’t care what the Hindus say, I’m not going to let myself get reincarnated as a fucking cow or some shit.”
“Bagon!”
“And I’m also not spending the last moments of my life dealing with an annoying hallucination.” He frowned. “What the fuck are you even supposed to be, anyway? The manifestation of how much I hated my sister's demon Chihuahua, when we were kids?”
“BAG!”
“Yeah, that’s right, I called you a Chihuahua. You look like a Chihuahua. You act like a Chihuahua. You’re a tiny rodent that’s 50% Anger and 50% Shake, you fit the description perfectly.”
“BAG! ON!” The small Dragon screamed in frustration, as it jumped and stomped its legs with each exclamation. It didn’t know what that word ment, but it clearly recognized an insult.
“Aww, look, the Chihuahua’s mad. What are you gonna do about it, Chihuahua? Oh wait, that’s right, nothing , because you’re a figment of my imagination! Now piss off, and let me have some peace for the first time in seven years.” Marcus yawned and closed his eyes as he slumped back against the tree.
“BAGON!” The Pokemon stomped up to him and Marcus kicked the thing in the head, knocking it away and landing with a splat in the mud.
“BAGON! BAGON! BAG! ON! RAAAAH!” The Dragon raged as it pulled itself to its feet. It turned back to face Marcus, and snarled and pawed at the ground with its clawed feet, before lowering its head, bracing itself, and then launching forward.
Marcus cracked an eye open just in time to see an irate blue lizard hurling towards his face.
Bagon used Headbutt.
It was Super Effective!
Marcus Fainted.
-Chapter End-
This is not going on my main schedule. I refuse. But “Borne of Caution” is soooo good that it kicks my brain gears into motion every time I read it, and fills my head with thought bunnies that won’t go away. Then I tried Palworld and now it’s just a lost cause.
This is my avenue to get those intrusive story thoughts about Pokemon out of my head and onto a page. It’s not going on my story rotation schedule, so chapters will be infrequent, and mostly whenever the need to write grips me.
AKA: Usually whenever a new chapter of “Borne of Caution” comes out. It’s just so good man!
*Sips Hot Chocolate*
If you’re a member of the Pokemans community (which I have had zero interaction ever with) and not someone who wandered here from my other fics, can I suggest joining the Discord?
You can yell at me to make more of this, and reignite the argument if Pokemon are furries or not.
https://discord.gg/YmWYB9uupx
*Sips Hot Chocolate*
Thank you to my supporters who support me and my crippling Hot Chocolate addiction.
The members of the Shadow Government, who funnel taxpayer funds directly into my corrupt wallet! Long may they reign!
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