0-1 Icy Path
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If Red had known how momentous the Icy Path would later prove to be, he would have bitched slightly less about the cold.
"Keep watch for anyone out of place, sweetheart," he told Espeon, despite knowing the words were pointless. The voyeur needed to be specifically commanded to keep her psychic eyes out of other people's heads, and even then he was sure she only pretended to obey. "That goes for unusual Pokémon, too. There should be nothing but Ice-types and Zubat for kilometers, maybe a few Diglett or an Onix. See anything that looks out of place, you let me know."
Espeon looked at him with too-intelligent eyes, then nodded and slunk into the shadows with an ease better fitting her Dark-type sister. He could feel her through their Aura bond, ten meters away and counting a hand's breadth from the frost-slick wall, but despite locking his eyes on where he knew she was he couldn't see a thing. If Espeon had picked up the stealth aspect of Faint Attack from her sister she would let him know, right? …Of course she would.
Red put it out of his mind. He was in these frigid, subterranean depths for a reason, and there was no use delaying it. Quicker he's done, quicker he can unfreeze his bones in the sunlight above.
He released Venusaur, his immense bulk only barely fitting in the narrow confines of the tunnel, the pleasantly sweet scent emanating from the tree on his back cloying and unpleasant in these humid, murky depths. There was still a feeling of… not quite surprise, but something similar every team he released him; Venusaur had refused to evolve from Ivysaur for months, and he wasn't yet accustomed to the evolution himself. In the darkness of the underground, lit only by the glow from Pikachu's zigzag tail, Venusaur's sheer mass and unfamiliar shape poked at the back of his mind, set alight instincts from the time before humans had learned to bond with Pokémon.
Venusaur stomped a heavy foot, and through the vibrations in the earth – some powerful enough to make Red stumble – a perfect map of the labyrinth formed in his mind. With a grumble deep enough to feel Venusaur led the way deeper and deeper down.
Red couldn't say how long or how far beneath the surface they traveled, the four of them; his Pokégear had lost connection long before they veered off the Ranger-surveilled 'safe path,' and the clock widget's been broken since September. Two hours, maybe three. The temperature dropped as they did, the Ice power in the heart of Mount Whitegrave drawing near, and Red was eventually left with no choice but to summon Charizard.
The red dragon looked at his surroundings with all the contempt of a Clan Head at peasants, breathing a plume of fire at a wall to melt it and scorch them all with steam. If Red wasn't in the Third Realm himself, his skin would've been flash-cooked. He couldn't chastise Charizard for it, though: to imply that the steam was a problem would be to admit weakness, and Charizard hadn't tolerated weakness since his evolution.
Privately, Red was grateful that these twisting tunnels were too small for the most recent member of his team. Still in the Third Realm as he was, he couldn't yet sustain that many bonds in his Aura, and Charizard wouldn't approve.
Venusaur eventually came to a stop with a deep growl of discontent. They had reached the deepest point of Mount Whitegrave's frozen interior.
Red put a hand on Venusaur's back, knowing he would feel his Aura if not the touch. "Good job, buddy. Your part here is done. Take a quick rest and then you'll be able to lead us out and back up to the sunlight, okay?"
Venusaur nuzzled into his hand with enough force to topple Red to the ground. With a laugh and twin flashes of red, Venusaur was gone, and Blastoise stood in his place. Unlike the rest of his team, the armored tortoise seemed anticipatory, almost eager to be here.
"Let's get started."
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Meditation was rarely fun. Meditation while in the heart of an Ice Nexus kilometers under the ground, damp, dirty, and in the dark?
Deeply unpleasant.
They had succeeded, at least, and so in less than a week (hopefully) they were headed back topside, Venusaur leading the way with considerably less temper. Red now had a tiny patch of Ice in his Aura, Blastoise much, much more, and they were excited to see her new super-effective moves in action against the dragons of Blackthorn.
When Venusaur stopped, turning to look in a shadowy corner and growl, deep and dangerous, Red's only thought was:
I was wondering when it would all go wrong.
He could feel Espeon's alarm in his mind- whoever or whatever this was, Espeon had not noticed them before Venusaur's tremorsense had, which meant Dark-type. There was no saying how long their stalker had been following them; they might have been surveilled for mere minutes, hours, or even days. For all Red knows, it could have began before they entered Mount Whitegrave at all, and it wouldn't have been the first time, either.
It could just be a local wilder… but, no. Wild Dark-type (and, indeed, most trained Dark-types too) shrouded their presence in shadows so effectively that a Psychic like Espeon could sense their absence. Their stalker was able to spoof enough Ice-type presence to blend into the ambient Aura. Skill like that was rarely found in wild Pokémon.
Whatever the reality was, Venusaur had given away that he had noticed their presence – something he would have to train out of the Grass-type, he put it on the list – so he was only left with one real course of action. As he often told his rival during their battles, no amount of skill could surmount overwhelming power.
"Earthquake," Red commanded.
Mount Whitegrave shook. Red himself immediately dropped to his knees, the ground vibrating with enough force to rattle his bones, only avoiding injury by channeling Aura into his body. Pikachu had recalled himself into his Pokéball a moment before Red gave the command, Espeon had the foresight to hide behind a Protect barrier, and Charizard stood strong, adamantly pretending the wings on his back protected him from the force of Venusaur's mastery of the Ground-type.
The mysterious Dark-type enjoyed no such protections, nor the strength to withstand it or agility to flee it. There was a shriek and then a yowl of pain, and where before there had been shadows now lay the twitching body of a small, black-furred Pokémon.
"A Sneasel?" Red wondered aloud, then choked back a laugh. Being Ice-type as well as Dark-type, it must blend into the ambient Aura by shrouding only its Dark nature and merely muffling the Ice part: a technique that would work well in Icy Path or a hailstorm but otherwise be worse than useless. That Espeon had been fooled by it was hilarious, and Red was glad this weakness of her technique had been revealed before it could be used against them in a meaningful battle or, gods forbid, by Team Rocket.
Espeon appeared, then, and Red readied himself for a merciless round of teasing, but to his surprise found a second small, dark figure crumpled on the ground, this one being dragged by Espeon's teeth. The figure was so grimy and wild-looking it took him a second to realize it was a human and not a second Sneasel.
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So, it had been a trainer-raised Pokémon after all. Huh.
Red approached the quietly-moaning trainer and nudged them onto their back with the toe of his shoe. All the humor in the situation withered away when he saw the harsh lines and gaunt look to too-young cheeks, and felt an Aura that was barely in the First Realm. Their clothes were torn and dirty, and the stress of far too much time spent trying to survive the harsh climate of Icy Path was engraved onto their body.
No one had ever accused Red of being too sympathetic. Still, it was his duty as a fellow trainer to escort this unfortunate idiot topside, and it cost him nothing to do so, so hero he would be.
"Did you see a Pokéball perchance, sweetheart?" he asked Espeon, who shook her head no. That crossed out several theories as to this trainer's circumstances. Unfortunately, it left only the more problematic ones.
Trainers had to cultivate Aura bonds with Pokémon in order to communicate with and understand them. It was integral to the process. In the ancient days, trainers were limited with the number of Pokémon they could command by the capacity of their soul, but the stasis fields of Pokéballs had changed everything. As a human in the Third Realm, he could manage four bonds at once, five at a stretch – provided none of them were Dragon-type, or something as mighty as his last team member – and that number would double once he finally broke through to the Fourth Realm, which was near the peak of human potential. With Pokéballs, however, even a Trainer in the First Realm could harness the power of six Pokémon, granted they only released one from stasis at a time.
For this trainer to not have a Pokéball meant a few things, and none of them were good. It shouldn't matter to Red, but he was curious, now, and he intended to get to the bottom of this mystery.
If he was lucky, he might get a few enemies out of it.
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The trainer awoke around an hour later.
To their credit, they gave no physical sign of it. The Dark in their Aura hid them from Espeon's gaze and their breathing, slow and laborious, didn't hiccup at all. Red was an old pro, though, and he could feel the faint tremble in their Aura's Ice half, standing less than a meter away as he was.
He didn't let on that he knew. An old adage: knowledge could be shared but not taken. He could always reveal that he knew they were awake later, and for now, he wanted to see how they acted.
The kid didn't act for a long time: thirty, maybe forty-five minutes. Red wondered what this must look like from their perspective. Carried on the hard back of a Venusaur, Psychic, Electric, and Fire-type Aura blazing like suns in a triangle around them, and Red's own amalgam soul two Realms advanced, with their only ally unconscious in the claws of a Charizard- Red had only rarely faced direr straits, and he knew well the despair and terror that came hand-in-hand with such ruinous circumstances. The kid's lack of any tells was impressive, as was their patience in waiting for an opportune moment. The Ice in them, perhaps? Every Ice Specialist he had faced had been cold and calculating in the most aggravating of ways.
Then, they sighed, sat up, and said, "What do you want?"
Red smiled in delight. "How about a name, and then we launch straight into story time?"
"Tch. Fine." The kid looked adorably put out. Red decided he rather liked dealing with Ice trainers when their cool logic tells them the solution is 'total and unconditional surrender.' "I'll spill, but I want Razor back. Not like he's a threat to your Charizard, anyways."
Red hummed in thought. He was tempted to deny them just because he could, but it wasn't a bargain, not really. He knew and they knew that Red had all the power, here. Realizing with their Sneasel back in their arms they would feel more comfortable and thus would be more likely to hold nothing back, Red gave his assent.
Charizard's claws drew long scratches on the Sneasel's flesh as he was let go, Red noticed disapprovingly. He had been much kinder as a Charmeleon, but the infusion of Dragon-type power with his evolution had made him into a petty tyrant, cruel and capricious. They would need to work on that. Circumstances had demanded Red focus all their training on power and skill and leave good behavior to the wayside.
They were far enough from the Ice Nexus that the temperature was merely freezing, so he recalled Charizard without warning. The implied chastisement would do for now. There was no exposing vulnerabilities in front of a stranger, even ones as green and weak as these.
Red saw much of the tension in the kid's spine melt away as fingers corded through dark fur. Not all of it, they were still surrounded by Fifth Realm Pokémon, but enough that Red imagined a traumatic backstory was incoming.
"I was born heiress of the Fantasia branch of the Blackthorn Clan," they- she said, and Red listened with interest.
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We Blackthorns are the most powerful clan in Indigo, but we aren't as monolithic as we appear to outsiders. Our strength was not grown or forged, but rather seized through conquest, as the ruling branch – the true Blackthorns – subjugated every clan they did not burn to ashes.
My own clan was no exception. The records were destroyed by the ancient Blackthorns, but enough has been preserved through oral tradition that I know our founder came from distant Unova, and had been exiled from a Dark Specialist clan there. This was a time before international commerce, so this was highly unusual. Even more uncommon was her bonded Pokémon: a Hydreigon, a very powerful Dark and Dragon-type. Within a year of arriving in Johto, our founder bent the knee to Blackthorn.
Seven hundred years of faithful service means little to the tyrants who rule the clan in these modern times. One of our number – a Second Realm trainer of little renown and no place of leadership – attempted to unlawfully sell a Dratini egg to Team Rocket in exchange for favors and influence within the organization. Our only failure was in not discovering the transgression before the Blackthorns did.
My father, Head of the Clan, offered up his life in penance for the misdeeds of our cousin, despite my arguments. In the end, it made no difference. The Council of Elders declared that endangering the Blackthorns' iron grip on the Dragonite line was a crime far in excess of the value our centuries of service had earned. A single Dratini egg was more valuable than the entirety of our clan.
They struck at night. Elder Anders was there, I saw his face, but Lance commanded the assault. It was like a scene out of our histories: a dragonflight breathing fire in a strafing run, and in moments our entire compound was aflame. Most of us perished in the razing. They only descended when our spirit was well and truly broken. To call it a fight would be dishonest praise: what happened was pest control, my clan the scurrying vermin.
My father commanded me to flee, and with my Dragonair in her ball and a Deino egg in my arms, I did. The Blackthorns would call it cowardice and shameful, but my clan has a saying: Pride is in the past. If, by fleeing, I could later return and the histories would declare me the victor, then the pride of the Fantasia clan would be unbroken.
This saying is what I used to comfort myself, up until Lance found me.
I am ashamed to say his presence – and that of his Dragonite – put me on my knees. He defeated my Dragonair with a single move, then took her ball from my belt and the egg from my hands. I awaited certain death.
I'm not sure if it was insult or mercy, but he hesitated. Instead, he shattered my cultivation and left me broken on the mountainside. He urged me to hide, lest the Blackthorns scouts find me and do what Lance thought himself too good to do.
I eventually made my way into Mount Whitegrave, then deeper within, knowing the Blackthorns branch could pass through the Ranger-patrolled areas at any time. My soul had been far into the Second Realm before it was destroyed, cultivating equally the Dragon and Dark-types, so I knew enough theory and was familiar enough with the process that I could begin cultivating Icy Path's Ice and Dark-type Aura.
My survival was tenuous for a long time. I owe my life to a little-known fact of Ice-type cultivation: I can slow my bodily processes enough to go days without food or rest, though my reflexes were shot and my thoughts came sluggish and blunted. Yet, I was able to complete Soul Consolidation for a second time, then force a bond with the only Dark-type Pokémon I could find. A Sneasel makes for a talented sneak thief, and Razor has kept me fed ever since. Water, at least, is never in short supply, here.
… No, I haven't tried to leave Mount Whitegrave. There is an Indigo outpost on every exit, and the Blackthorn clan would know of my survival within hours of the report being made. Where would I even go? I will make no obfuscations: I intend to bring vengeance upon my enemies, and to the last they specialize in Dragon and Flying-types. Within this mountain lies the only Ice Nexus in Indigo. It will take years, but I will eventually reach the Third Realm, and can bond with three more Ice-types. Only then I will consider leaving, and only to search for one of Kanto's elusive Fairies, and then return.
You have my gratitude for offering rescue, but I am not in need of it, nor am I affiliated with your enemies, whoever they may be. If that is all, I will be on my way. Should we ever meet again, consider me in your debt, if you wish.
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Red gave the girl's story his full attention, nodding at all the right times, making little sad noises when she described the razing, and wondered how much of the story was bullshit.
At least twenty five percent, he concluded. If nothing else, the story was certainly slanted to make the girl and her branch clan out to be utterly blameless. He wouldn't be surprised if the Fantasias had a more meaningful connection to Team Rocket than just that, or if this was but one of many such offenses, but there was more to the story, there had to be. He was dying to find out.
He could also see the conclusion she was leading him to make: help her, and the Blackthorn will hurt you. He privately thought the Blackthorn clan wouldn't do more than apply a little legal pressure, make him uncomfortable, but if he bought into the story of an extra-judicial wholesale slaughter of her clan, then knocking off a lone trainer in the Third Realm is nothing.
There was just one problem with that conclusion: Red was, as his rival would put it, a reckless lunatic.
"That's terrible," Red said, voice full of totally real sorrow. "Don't worry, little girl. I'll help you avenge your clan. In fact, I was just headed to Blackthorn City right now!"
Her eyes widened. "You will?" Her voice was heavy with dread.
Red smiled at her, containing the entirely inappropriate giggle when she shuddered. "I was moved to tears by your tale. What kind of trainer – no, what kind of person – would I be if I left you to your quest for justice alone? No! It is my duty – nay, my honor – to help you in your noble fight against the wicked Blackthorn clan."
"Did you just say 'nay…'" the girl said, entirely bewildered.
Red got that reaction a lot. He made sure to look off in the middle distance, one hand clenched in a fist in front of him, as he imagined all the amazing, glorious battles he would get into, as he made himself an enemy of the most powerful clan of Indigo.
Really, Red considered himself to be oh-so-very lucky to meet the wayward Fantasia heiress. It had taken him months of tireless effort to be put on Team Rocket's Most Wanted list, and even now only Admin Archer puts any real effort into attempting to crush him. If antagonizing the Blackthorn clan only requires helping someone he was going to help anyway, then he was just saved a lot of time and effort.
Red has always been a follower of the ancient axiom that a trainer's worth is measured by the worth of his enemies. It's why he sought out the honored grandson of the Indigo Champion and made an honest and concerted effort to make Gary Oak hate him. It's why he stormed Team Rocket's Celadon Base himself instead of reporting it to the League.
If he remembers correctly, Lance is the name of Blackthorn City's Gym Leader. He's being groomed for Elite Four membership.
A most worthy enemy, Red thought, and plotted the best way to antagonize him.
"Hey. Think we can steal your Deino egg back, little girl?"
She sucked in a breath, and like that, Red found himself a conspirator.