Ascension

ACT TWO - DUST OF DREAMS

Chapter 7 - The Tragic Life of Brock Pebblemann

"Old man?"

"Hmm?"

"I need your help."

Oak looked up from his desk, a small frown on his face. The huge stack of forms sitting on his desk probably had something to do with it.

Maybe.

"Can it wait?" Oak replied, throwing a distasteful look at the paperwork in front of him." I need to finish this first."

"It won't take too long." Red pleaded, "Besides, don't you want some time off from… well, that." He pointed to the stack of papers.

The old professor arched an eyebrow before leveling a flat stare at him.

"What?"

"You realize," The old man began, his eye twitching madly. "That all of this is your fault?"

"Huh? Wait you mean all of this is from the Viridian Forest incident?"

"Yup," the old man drawled, making sure to roll the 'p'. "The repercussions of that incident as well as dealing with the growlithe, Mia's problems, and a couple of other things. I'm swamped at the moment."

"Ah," Red felt himself blush. Looking at the professor now drove home just how much he was doing for him.

Oak burst out laughing. "Fine, fine. What is it ?"

Red bit his lip. "Well, it's kinda..."

"Now is when you choose to be embarrassed?" Oak rolled his eyes. "What do you want to know?"

"I was wondering if you could help me with Mia's powers."

"Well, you didn't interact too much with fairies or psychics on the ranch." The old man nodded. "Why don't you ask your mother though. She is an expert on psychic typing and she has spent several years working with fairies as well."

Red frowned. While it was true that his relationship with his mother had definitely taken a turn for the better, he was still unsure about the limits of their new relationship. Besides, when in doubt, asking the old man was his to-go for situations beyond his control.

"Well," Red flustered for a moment, "you're Samuel Oak. Surely you know enough to teach me about it?"

Red figured he looked close enough to a sad growlithe when Oak started to chortle at his expense. "Fine I suppose I can, but you should ask your mother about it later. She will probably be even more helpful than me when it comes to this."

"I know," Red began, "I just— I just feel a little uncomfortable about it."

"The first step is always the hardest," The professor said sympathetically, "but believe me she does feel badly about what happened, and she'd love to help you. Not to meddle too much, but I think you should give it a shot. At worst, you get a lecture with a psychic researcher. What do you have to lose?"

Red frowned. " I'll… think about it."

"Good," Oak nodded before shifting into a position Red had mentally dubbed 'teacher-mode'. "Have a seat. Since you want to train Mia, I presume you want to know more about psychic and fairy energy." Oak frowned a moment before continuing. "Well psychic energy is largely understood so it's more probable that you're trying to figure out how fairy energy works. Correct?"

"Well between Mawile and Mia, I think I have some ideas about the fairy-typing. From what I gather it's some kind of emotional manipulation and—"

"And you have already walked into the pit most scientists fell into when they started studying fairy energy."

"... huh?"

"Tell me, Red. If Fairy energy is emotional manipulation, how does Fairy Wind work? Or Moonblast. In fact, how does fairy energy ever cause any kind of physical effect."

Red was stumped. He had never thought about it that way. "So… emotional manipulation is… a byproduct of fairy energy? Or an extra effect?"

"Fairy energy," The old man began, "can actually have vastly different effects based on how it's manipulated. Emotional manipulation is just a part of a larger number of such effects."

"How does that work?" Red frowned.

"Alright," Oak laughed. "I'll try to explain it more simply. Essentially, the 'Fairy' typing was used to classify a type of energy that consists of three different types of particles, each with their own unique properties."

"Which are?"

"Gravitons, anti-gravitons, and a third one that is still being studied."

Red frowned. This was beginning to get complicated.

Oak let out a long-suffering sigh. "Between Gravitons and anti-gravitons— The former can be considered to be a tiny little piece of gravity itself. "

"So it attracts things? Like the planet?"

"Exactly. But it can do a lot more depending on how it is manipulated."

"Like what?"

"Consider this…. Say you have a balloon inflated with helium. Helium is lighter than air, and therefore it will cause the balloon to float."

Red bobbed his head.

"Now, what if we add some heavy-weights to the balloon?"

"It will sink," Red answered. "The moment it gets heavier than air it will get pulled down."

Oak nodded. "That is one of the most common applications of fairy energy. You can think of a graviton as adding weight to the object. The reverse is true for anti-gravitons. You add them to an object and it becomes lighter."

"So it's like adding and removing mass to an object?" Red asked, surprised.

Oak made a funny face. "Not exactly. After the gravitons or anti-gravitons are… disconnected from the object, it regains its original weight. Since mass cannot be added or removed like that, the only plausible explanation is that the particles themselves increase or decrease the effect of gravity on said objects to make them heavier or lighter."

Red felt his mind going into overdrive. "Particles that manipulate gravity…. That's… incredible."

Oak chuckled at his antics. "To be candid, Fairy energy has several more properties, but a significant amount of it comes down to two basic concepts— attraction and repulsion. Push and Pull."

'But psychics do that all the time!" Red retorted.

"They do, and while the result is similar, the mechanisms couldn't be more different if they tried. Say if you want to lift a rock. How do you think a fairy would accomplish that?"

Red cupped his chin. "I'm guessing it would add anti-gravitons to make it lighter. Eventually, if you can make it light enough, it will float."

"Top marks!" Oak patted his shoulder. "A psychic on the other hand, would expend psychic energy to firmly grasp the rock, and then lift it using more energy."

"Seems wasteful."

"It is. In terms of lifting and moving objects, fairy-types tend to get twice the results with half the effort. Think of it like this. Both a bird and a balloon can fly. But the bird needs to flap its wings every second to stay afloat, catch the winds to glide, and in general, constantly expend energy. On the other hand, a balloon floats simply because helium is lighter than air. There is no needless expenditure of energy. Similarly, fairy types do not need to use large amounts of power. Manipulating weight is simply an intrinsic part of the energy itself."

"That makes it sound like psychics really got the short end of the straw."

Oak chortled at that. "I can see why you might say that, but consider. While it is more wasteful, their degree of control is far, far superior. Even the most average psychics can perform complex maneuvers, far beyond what most fairies can ever aspire to."

"I— I suppose that makes sense," Red muttered thoughtfully. "And the last unstudied particle in fairy energy. That manipulates… emotions?"

"That," Oak drew his breath, "is something you will have to ask your mother. Now scram. This should be more than enough for you to work with now.

The hour-long intermission felt far shorter than it was.

Scyther had been admitted to the medical wing of the Gym and Red had stayed behind there the entire time, watching the doctors treat Scyther from the opposite side of the glass wall. He couldn't hear a sound but from the bug's constant attempts to escape the table, it was obvious that he was in a great deal of pain. The doctors had been forced to use some sort of sedative to knock him out.

He'll be okay. Red told himself. It didn't help but it did make him feel better.

He then stepped up to the podium, feeling a little better at seeing Brock already standing there on the other side. He wasn't sure if intermissions between matches were a common thing or simply a courtesy from the gym-leader, but he was grateful for it.

No amount of badges were worth putting his team through unnecessary suffering.

"Is this your first time seeing your pokémon get this injured?" Brock offered.

Red bobbed his head. While he and his team had been through hell back in the forest, that had been a do or die scenario. Seeing things get this critical despite being in such a controlled setting was difficult in itself and watching his pokémon perform something so inherently dangerous for the sake of a gym badge left a bitter taste in his mouth.

When he started his journey he had wanted nothing more to be Champion. To challenge Lance and stand at the top. That was before he truly got to know his pokémon.

Now? Watching his pokémon get hurt just to win the fight made the gym badge feel significantly less meaningful. It was much easier to imagine victory and ignore the potential damage to the team when you had no emotional attachment to them.

"Are you ready to continue?" Brock asked from the other end of the chamber.

Red nodded his head. He had come too far to step back now. Mawile had done her best, and Scyther had bet everything to secure his victory. Turning back now would be spitting on their efforts, and despite his misgivings, he knew that his team enjoyed the fight.

At least Mawile did. Red tried not to think about why something so small was something so bloodthirsty. Besides, he told himself, Brock was down to two while he still had four members left that could still fight.

Well, three members and Shellder but that was beside the point.

"You have demonstrated a great deal of ingenuity in this fight, and if your pokémon are any indication, you have probably worked a great deal to get them to this point. Rest assured that I will not insult you by taking things easy."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." Red fired back. For some reason, Brock's words stung.

Brock nodded before lifting up a pokéball and tossing it into the arena. It hit the floor and released the monster inside.

And Red felt everything freeze.

The creature in front of him had the appearance of a large boulder, with four muscular hands— the muscles being nothing but layers of super-compressed rock —and two smaller feet from the posterior end. The frontage had something two distinct etchings spread across the rock-surface.

He was pretty sure they were supposed to be eyes.

"Graveler," Red muttered in surprise and fear, automatically taking a step back as the not-so-distant memories of a creature slightly larger than itself came to mind. The creature standing in front of him was no behemoth, but even so, it stood on a respectable five feet, a rather good height for a second-stage pokémon. Its shell had begun to develop polygonal etchings, a signal of its approaching evolution.

This was graveler. A creature that promised death should anyone encounter one on a mountain. Most avalanches could be blamed upon this creature and its proclivity to roll off surfaces. Despite being a rock-type its speed was not to be underestimated— its entire physiology was literally built for rollout.

Red paused. What could he choose? Momentarily he flashed back to the events of the forest when he had witnessed Mawile's helpless expression at seeing the golem's rollout All because of his stupidity. Growlithe would be trampled before he could even perform a single attack and Shellder wasn't even worth considering here. Skarmory… she would be able to avoid its attacks and he was equally confident in her ability to rip through it— mass of compressed rock or no.

Just as he was about to ask her to battle, someone stepped in front of him.

"...Mia?" Red croaked.

He felt a sudden influx of emotion flood his mind. A promise of support. An assurance of victory. An all-encompassing feeling of being safe, that everything would be right.

That she would make him feel safe again.

And then the lingering emotion flickered out.

Mia stepped forward.

Growlithe was living a dream.

While he had agreed to join up with Red and his merry gang, it was with no small amount of trepidation. Part of his decision had been influenced by his wish to live a life free of shackles and experiments, while another part of him had all but demanded that he stay and follow Red out of an over-exaggerated sense of honor and loyalty.

He blamed his accursed growlithe genes for that.

There was a third part too, one that whispered about the possibilities of power and growth, of how being with Red would allow him to reach his fullest potential. He was still somewhat confused at how being with a human would accelerate his own growth but had decided to give the entire thing a try.

From what he had seen, Red could come up with some really inventive ways of torture. Well, the human did call it training but Growlithe was sure that if he managed to outplay Red's sadism, he'd grow a lot stronger.

So yes, staying with humans did confer some benefit. In a sick and twisted sort of way.

And then came the final— and main— reason for him to stay as part of the madhouse.

Mia.

The ravishingly beautiful gardevoir with a melodious voice. She would keep talking about things worthy of her interest— mostly Red— with an incredibly passionate tone, and her behavior was kind and gentle beyond belief. Even her most casual movements had more grace than anything Growlithe had displayed in his entire life.

And she was part of the team.

It would take an army to keep Growlithe from staying close to the love of his life.

And now said love was proving to be even more charming as she stepped forward, ready to face the rock-based monstrosity that lay ahead of her.

To be honest, he really didn't want to fight that thing. This whole 'gym battle' thing reminded him too much of his life at the Rocket base. And so he had kept his head down and tried to seem inconspicuous. Perhaps pretending that he didn't exist would keep Red from throwing him into the deathmatch.

But now?

Seeing his adorable Mia stepping into a warrior's shoes had pushed an entirely different set of thoughts into his troubled mind. His own wish to impress her, to protect her. was tugging at his very self. To go ahead and fight in the deathmatch in her stead, and demonstrate how powerful and capable he was.

He considered the graveler standing on the battlefield.

Okay, well maybe not so much as powerful and capable but at the very least he'd demonstrate his ability to endure against overwhelming odds.

He glanced at the graveler again.

Endure against overwhelming odds until he was kicked out? Or perhaps before he was beaten into a bloody pulp? Truth be told, that mass of rock didn't seem like a very agreeable individual.

But wait— don't go—

Before he could speak, Mia had gracefully levitated herself into the air before daintily stepping into the field, murmuring something under her breath. Growlithe wasn't sure what it was but it did sound like she was almost apologetic for taking her time and didn't want her opponent— the absolutely graceless barbarian of a graveler— to take offense at that.

"A gardevoir," Growlithe heard the man Red called Brock speak, "You really are going to use a gardevoir in a fight."

Red nodded, making Growlithe wonder what was going on in the human's mind.

"Very well," Brock continued to talk, "Graveler, use Rollout. Finish it in one strike."

The monstrosity let out a guttural roar before tucking its tiny feet inwards and proceeding to spin incredibly fast, with the four hands now acting like four spikes coming out of the powerful boulder as it accelerated towards Mia. So fast was its rotation that even the very ground seemed to crack under its pressure, leaving a storm of broken rock fragments and debris behind.

There was no way a delicate thing like Mia would stand a chance. A part of him wanted to rush out to save her, but even if he did try, he wouldn't be able to reach her in time.

Graveler was just that fast.

The constant whirring noise deepened as the deformed rock creature spun into the air, its hands bent ahead to form a spike-like protrusion and slammed towards Mia—

Not wanting to hear her screams of agony, Growlithe shut his eyes and covered his ears.

…

…

…

There was no sound.

His ears perked, trying to catch any sounds of groaning.

There were none.

Had she managed to escape the rock creature?

He opened one eye, ready to shut it as soon as the tiniest bit of red caught his eye. He doubted he could take seeing his love muddled in blood. A great sense of injustice welled up within him. What the hell was Red thinking? This was a terrible idea to begin with. What if something really terrible had…

Growlithe felt his jaw drop as he gaped at the incomprehensible scene in front of him. The rest of his thoughts had vanished leaving but a single overwhelming conviction threatening to overturn his mind.

My life is a lie.

Mia preferred to keep things simple.

As a creature that survived on emotions, her mental constitution was not truly compatible with the innumerable permutations and combinations of feelings that the human mind was capable of generating. As such, trying to understand another's thoughts was incredibly taxing for one such as herself.

Emotions, however, were much simpler. Positive and negative. It didn't matter how many forms they came in. Positives were good and thus tasty. Negatives were bad, and every kirlia naturally drew away from a source of negativity. But with her shift and the events that had followed after that, her entire constitution had been altered. The fact that she had comprehended the impossible had only sped up that metamorphosis.

As far as humans were concerned, she had evolved into a Gardevoir.

As far as she was concerned, she had stopped being a Kirlia.

Now, she was Mia. Just Mia.

A creature that was anchored to reality itself by one single entity. Her Red.

It didn't matter what he felt. What anyone— human, pokémon, whatsoever— felt.

Good, bad, happiness, or scorn, they were all the same now.

They were all food.

Sustenance. Nourishment. Power.

And fortunately, she knew exactly how to use this power to suit her purposes.

The moment Red recognized the rock creature in front of him, she felt a plethora of negative emotions swirling inside him. He had tried to bundle it and drive it deep within his heart— Red was prone to such foolishness from time to time — but it was of no concern.

Mia had very efficiently dragged it all out and consumed it.

And she knew exactly what she had to do. She'd protect Red. She'd dispose of every single thing that affected him negatively. As long as she was present, she'd do everything in her power to ensure that Red was happy.

And if it wasn't in her power, well then… well, then she'd make it be in her power.

She levitated into the battle arena, feeling a little out of place. The rock creature looked rather stingy and excited for battle. She'd know… she could feel it.

A part of her wanted to dig into the creature's rudimentary cesspool of a mind to see what she could find inside but she feared she'd be disappointed. Furthermore, Red had told her to avoid tearing into minds in general, unless she had no choice. Either way, she needed to end the problem swiftly and without further complications.

Simplicity was best.

The graveler tucked its feet and came rolling towards her, ready to crush her beneath its weight.

A ghost of a smile floated on her lips. How interesting! Was this excitement she was feeling?

….Probably not.

The graveler shot up from the ground, using its momentum to push itself into the air, before folding its hands into spokes. Now it looked like a sandslash.

A large, rocky sandslash.

Mia decided that she didn't like it.

Not. One. Bit.

She raised her hand.

PUSH!

And then it happened.

The moment that simple thought had crossed her mind, a wave of force materialized into the space in front of her. She had been practicing this with Red. It made things lighter. Easier to move around.

To toy with.

Mia smiled playfully as she surrounded the creature with her power. And then she started to push.

And her power answered.

A crushing, oppressive force materialized before her, pulverizing all the debris that lay before her before slamming into the graveler. The creature roared in agony as its body began to fracture, as the rock fragments— once part of its own shell— were shattered and thrown was lifted and tossed around, almost like it was a stuffed toy and not a creature that weighed nearly half a ton.

And then the force sent it flying high up— ten feet, twenty feet, thirty feet—

Forty feet —

And then the force vanished as if it was never there.

And the graveler fell.

Down into the arena. Deep into the earth, creating a large crater at the site of the impact.

Mia frowned. All of that energy for just this?

How… disappointing. Perhaps she should try again?

Her feet lifted off the ground, obeying her very thoughts as she levitated all the way to the center of the battle arena, right above the spot where the graveler had fallen.

There were several cracks running across its form.

And several tiny orifices that looked like they had been created recently.

But despite all of that, she could only hear it groaning.

That wasn't right.

It should have been screaming.

Her lips twisted into something that was almost but not quite a smile as she looked down at the fallen creature beneath her.

PUSH!

This… This is…

Brock stared wide-eyed at the sight ahead of him. Nothing seemed to make sense any longer.

He was no expert on psychics or fairies, but his work with the Hoenn government and Devon Corp had exposed him to knowledge outside his sphere of work. And anyone that had ever opened a Pokédex entry on gardevoir would have noticed 'pacifist' tagged onto it in big, bold letters. You had a better chance at making a chansey battle another than witnessing a gardevoir staring at anything with so much as a hostile gaze.

And yet here it was, this oddity of a gardevoir— if it could be called a gardevoir in the first place— not just actively fight but ruthlessly decimate its opponent. What was worse was the nonchalant expression that remained affixed on its face as it put the fear of a god in his graveler.

And then there was the sheer power displayed.

As a tribe-leader, Brock was no stranger to the use of pure power as a tool to dominate the lesser folk. People like the Champion and the Elite Four were literally powerhouses by themselves— each one of them being a veritable army even when compared to Kanto's finest.

But this? This was different. This was… discomforting.

He glanced at Ketchum. If the boy's personal history was to be believed, this creature had apparently been an ordinary kirlia growing up as a pet in the Ketchum household. How did something like that turn into the beast that stood before him?

It even looked different.

At first, he thought it was a mere color divergence. Now though…

Now he wasn't so sure.

He glanced at the conspicuous teen again, mentally running through what he knew about the teen and what he was seeing in front of him.

He had a mawile for a starter. A creature so frail that a single hit would be enough to cause grievous injury. And yet it had managed to overwhelm his carkol. Sure, Ketchum had returned the mawile during the match but it wasn't on account of injury. And then that Scyther had ended the battle with a single strike.

Had he been more paranoid, he'd have thought that Ketchum did it just to make a point.

Speaking of the scyther, Brock couldn't help but be impressed with the sheer ingenuity of it all. Between the combination of Steel Wing and some kind of vibration, the scyther had managed to create a terrifying move. He hadn't been able to fully grasp the underlying mechanics behind it, but any attack that could phase through rock like a hot knife through butter was a force to be reckoned with.

And from what he had read in the report, this was a wild scyther that Ketchum had overpowered with sheer ingenuity and bug repel. What kind of a newbie did that?

And more importantly, how did he get the scyther to be so obedient? It had barely been a few weeks since the capture and Ketchum spent a significant amount of the time in the hospital.

Something didn't add up.

And that was without taking into account the skarmory, or worse, the shellder. What if that thing magically turned into some kind of savant or something? It was ludicrous but Brock had had a long day and he didn't want to make it worse.

To be honest, he didn't believe Ketchum's words one bit. Making his team fight independently? Creating moves mid-battle? And that too, on his first gym battle?

It was ridiculous.

A much more plausible theory was that Red Ketchum had been training from an earlier age, probably under the excuse of working at a ranch. Why else would the son of a top-researcher at Parthenon work at a ranch of all places?

Samuel Oak was grooming his protege under the guise of a helper boy.

And it made a frightening amount of sense.

The boy had been trained to such an extent that despite using something as weak as a mawile, he had managed to defeat a Conference-level trainer. His taking down of a Team Rocket Executive and then systematically disabling a ferocious scyther spoke volumes about his training before his official journey had even started.

But if that was so, then why the need for this elaborate charade? Who were Samuel Oak and his prodigious protege trying to fool through this ordeal? And why?

It was all conjecture, but Brock couldn't help but feel there was some truth in it. Was it possible that this entire trainer journey was a farce? Why else would a rookie feel so comfortable in trying for a mid-intermediate certification? And that too, from a rock-type gym?

Brock swallowed, before glancing at the team that Ketchum still had available. While the mawile and scyther were now out of the game, Ketchum had three more pokémon. Four if you included that shellder.

Brock stared at it suspiciously. It looked harmless enough, but Brock was sure it had some kind of secret. Why else would the kid be confident enough to bring it to a gym fight?

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Brock considered the gardevoir in the field.

As long as that thing stays in the field, the other pokémon don't even matter. There's not a single pokémon at the mid-intermediate level that can face it. I have half a mind to hand over the badge right now.

"Uhm, Gym Leader Brock?"

"..."

Ketchum's words broke past his mental tangents, bringing the battleground back into focus. He glanced at the gardevoir that had slowly levitated back to Ketchum. He glanced at the fifteen-feet deep trench in the middle of his battle-arena, with the graveler buried deep inside it.

"...Yes?"

"Won't you continue the battle?" Ketchum asked, obviously feigning confusion.

"Yes, Yes of course. My apologies." Brock hastily returned the graveler back into its pokéball. He was grateful that rock-types were so resilient. Still, Graveler's injuries would take weeks to recover. And even so, chances of its evolution to a golem could have been pushed back by several months.

Brock swallowed, feeling perturbed about the entire situation as he brought forth his next pokéball.

This was probably a bad idea.

After his brief period of tutelage from the old man on the subject of fairy energy, he had taken Mia to a reclusive location to help her hone her powers. It was there that he had realized what it was that he was training.

From what the old man told him, Mia had roughly six times the reserves of the average Gardevoir— and they were pokémon that already had ridiculously high amounts of fairy-energy. In fact, if not for their reluctance with anything to do with combat, they would be the ideal battlers.

He had thought the professor had been exaggerating at first but seeing his innocent little sister pulverize a boulder twice as large as himself simply by placing her hand on its surface had left no room for misunderstanding.

The worst part?

Mia wasn't even using a move.

In essence, all she had done was mold her fairy energy into a brick and throw it at the opponent. At least seventy percent of the energy had missed the graveler completely.

And yet…

Red stared at the ruined gym battle and swallowed hard.

He had called Mia back. Brock had but a single pokémon left, and he had Skarmory and Growlithe to pick up the slack.

Assuming Skarmory leaves anything for Growlithe.

He glanced at the battlefield, or what remained of it anyway.

Not an ideal one for the puppy.

Mia had done a very good job of it, or a very bad job, depending on your perspective. There was a large, deep trench in the middle— a clear result of one of Mia's pushes. Seeing her let loose like this made him feel scared and exhilarated at the same time.

Now only if he could keep her from being wasteful and tame all that power. But that was for later. For now—

"Good job, Mia."

He felt her heart soar in happiness at his praise. It was contagious, and soon Red found himself grinning back with equal glee. "Now we just have one more battle and then we're done. I'll get you pastries when we get back to the hotel."

Mia levitated as her hands snaked their way to his neck from behind and grabbed him into a tight hug. Red got the feeling that she wanted a piggy-back ride similar to when she was a kirlia. Unfortunately with her new height, that was going to be a problem.

"I doubt I can pick you up any more Mia," He chuckled, seeing her adorable pout. "You're too big for that now."

Her pout only grew more adorable.

Red laughed.

"Ahem!" Brock cleared his throat.

"Ah... sorry," Red answered sheepishly, "let's begin."

"If you are ready," Brock replied, firmly ignoring Red's antics. The gym leader lifted his last ball and held it before him. "This is the last pokémon I'm going to use for this battle. While it is powerful, it is still within the limits of a mid-intermediate battle. Let's see what you make of this. Go, Rhydon!"

And then a massive screech threatened to rip apart his eardrums.

Skarmory was a wise and benevolent king. Sure, she had been exiled from the kingdom that was rightfully hers and sure, she had been unable to keep up with her grandfather's legacy but that did not mean she was no longer a ruler. She had lost the battle on that day in Vortigern but she'd be damned before she lost any of her pride.

The realization that bowing down to humans did indeed help in gaining strength, followed by the association of a wonderful trainer and custodian such as Red had only proved her long-deserted father's claims to be true. Skarmory had never been the most skilled, but she had always been powerful.

Red had helped her hone that power and she could see herself reaching incredible heights with him.

Sure she was far away from what she could achieve, but progress was steady and certain. After regaining consciousness at the hospital, Skarmory had cursed herself for being an impulsive fool back in the forest. She had lost almost two-thirds of her steel armor in that suicidal move against the pinsir. Had her grandfather been present, he'd have been utterly disappointed in her. The fact that the thinness of her residual armor brought in a feeling of utter vulnerability didn't help either.

It was maddening.

Truth be told, Skarmory had resigned herself to months of wasted time as she hunted steel-types to help regenerate her armor.

But like always, her trainer came through for her.

She had been treated to a buffet of steel— as any king should. Skarmory didn't know who procured it for her or why but she had ended up assuming that it was either Red or her own glory that had made thee lesser creatures do their best to please her.

As was expected of them.

After a week of constant feeding and rest, along with those medicines the medics had given her, Skarmory had seen the impossible happen.

Her armor had begun to grow. Faster than imagination.

Her armor was thicker now. It shone. She could feel her invincibility return, and all because of those strange little potions that humans made for the sick and the diseased. That and a constantly provided diet of steel.

Ever since then, she had run herself ragged, making doubly sure that her armor just as good if not better at protecting her from attacks. She had gotten a wonderful little training partner in the scyther. Being on the teaching side had been… interesting. It reminded her of her sessions with her grandfather back when she had been an enthusiastic child.

Of course, Scyther had much to learn. He was limited, both in mental fortitude and physical strength, but for all his shortcomings, the bug had all the makings of a wonderful retainer.

And any self-respecting king knew just how difficult it was to get good retainers, much less keep them alive. And while Scyther didn't have the invincible majesty of steel he did have good regeneration facilities.

Skarmory considered the current situation.

A Gym Battle. From what Skarmory understood, it was a trial. A worthy test that tested the mettle of the human and pokémon alike. Victory would result in an increase of status while failure would show your inadequacy. That being said, the test itself took the form of a spar— one which Red had stressed upon multiple times was to be not-lethal.

"No killing," she remembered him begging the Mawile. "And once you take the opponent down you come back. And absolutely no trying to eat your enemy." Mawile had argued for quite a bit but Red had put his foot down— surprising because Red usually tended to yield to the little one's desires. Still, the fact that Red could take command when necessary gratified her— practically proof of his innate qualities of a leader. Skarmory would most definitely be encouraging such behavior in the future.

Scyther on the other hand, clearly missed the conversation. Those vibrating wings were overkill, even for her.

At the very least, she told herself, she could be glad at finding a competent battler.

The fairy, on the other hand, had been… strange. As a physical fighter, Skarmory was well-aware of her vulnerability against ranged energy-based attacks, especially those of the esoteric kind. Fighting an all-knowing-one or worse, an otherworldly one was not something she'd enjoy— though she would not flee from such a battle — and this strange gardevoir ticked all the wrong boxes for her. She doubted if even Red himself understood what exactly it was that he called and treated like a sibling.

While Red had his heart in the right place, Skarmory desperately hoped that he wouldn't end up like her beloved grandfather. Betrayed and killed by the ones he held dear.

And then Skarmory's thoughts came to a screeching halt. All of her musings flew out of the proverbial window the moment the other human released his next fighter.

She stared as the energy condensed, seemingly forming into the eerily familiar shape of the one thing she hated the most. Two large stump-like legs formed, with a steel body armor covering the entire underbelly. The hands came next, with the sharpened claws moving out and retracting. A large tail, laden with rock spikes and steel armor, and finally a large head with a powerful steel horn at the apex, giving shape to one of the most formidable rock-types in existence.

Rhydon.

And just like that, the battle arena in front of her vanished.

For Skarmory, the world, nay, reality itself had changed. No longer was she inside the Pewter City Gym. Instead, she was perched on the precipice, holding vigil over her grandfather's cave, ready to defend against any and all invaders. And there, in the valley beneath were a herd of traitors. The accursed nidoking had probably learned its lesson in death, as had those humanoid, vain, muscular beasts. But that one in the center, that rhydon that led the herd—

That was the one that irked her beyond anything.

And with due reason.

Invasion and conquest were part and parcel of a king's life. Power attracted more power, but in the process, it also attracted both rivals and thieves. Skarmory understood the former but utterly loathed the latter. This rhydon, it was a quintessential example of a sneaky thief— someone who had taken advantage of her inability to fight against the rhyperior and claimed the entire mountain for himself and his kin.

And he had done so not because he was stronger or more competent, but because Skarmory had gotten injured by the monstrous rhyperior and by the time she had healed enough to fight for her territory, the war had been over.

The Lord of Vortigern was dead.

The Vortigern had a new leader.

She, the real successor, had been outed and exiled.

The usurper Rhydon had looked up, right at her, and bellowed. Inferior it may be, but under the protection of the behemoth— the rhyperior that killed her grandfather —she was powerless to resist.

And so she left.

Despite their strength, they had no way to hold her if she chose to flee— the gift of flight far beyond them. Still, she told herself. It was not fleeing. No she was simply stepping back for now— letting them bask in a false sense of superiority.

She would join the humans.

She would grow stronger.

And then she would come back and crush them underfoot.

Skarmory grinned malevolently as the rhydon in front of her superimposed with the image of the rhydon that pushed her off her mountain.

This time she would not be found lacking.

Raising her wings to answer the brute, Skarmory raised her head and screeched.

For Rhydon, battling at the gym was more than often a troublesome affair.

Not because he was afraid of being hurt or any such inane reasons, but because of an acute fear of disappointment. As his trainer's strongest Mid-intermediate fighter, he'd usually be brought in at the very last moment, usually, after every other member of his group had their chance at the opponent first, leaving only but the strongest for the last. One would think that it would allow him to fight against the strongest of opponents.

And yet, it made no difference.

Rhydon's body armor was strong— stronger than anything he had ever encountered in his life since his evolution from a rhyhorn. Even the greatest metal claw would only scratch his impenetrable hide. Even the mightiest of Water Gun would fail to damage the impermeable surface.

One would think that defeating strong pokémon would feel different when compared to defeating weak ones.

Well, Rhydon knew better.

They fought him, he won.

They didn't fight and he still won.

All it took was one attack and it was always the same.

Disappointing.

Nowadays, he barely even looked forward to battles. Rock-types were slow to grow. But till then, it was a boring life— showing up, feeling disappointed as mighty pokémon came in with their strongest blows, witnessing their disappointment as their skills failed to penetrate his armor, and when they were all but drowning in desperation, he finished them off with a single attack.

Rhydon thought of it as an act of mercy. It was the least he could do when faced with such… inferior beings.

And now he had been called upon once again.

He sighed. He really needed something else to do with his life than deal with such annoyances.

He glanced at the steel avian as it took flight and began circling above him, almost in some desperate attempt at intimidation before it glided in the air and balanced itself a fair distance away from his imposing presence.

Rhydon rumbled in amusement. Birds were annoying but he knew how to deal with them. Something as useless as distance had never stopped him from teaching those punks a lesson.

Well, no point in procrastinating. Might as well finish the job he had been given. Then he could get back to his comfortable siesta.

And then he heard his trainer speak out in the background.

"Bring the bird down. Rock Throw."

Ah, the same drill then.

Very well.

Rhydon snorted, raising his right leg as high as he could before stomping down on the floor.

Hard.

The entire battle-arena shook in presence of his awesome power, as large chunks of rock were pushed out of the field itself. To be honest, it was much easier than it looked. The field was built to mimic a mountainous terrain and while the boulders on the surface had been blown away— probably in previous battles —the entire field was quite literally made up of his element.

Well, regardless of its difficulty, a job was a job and Rhydon didn't want to deny his trainer of another victory, no matter how irrelevant. With a noble grunt, he slammed his almighty tail against the raised rock protrusions, rupturing them instantly at the point of contact, sending several dozen broken shards of rock flying towards the avian.

Rhydon rumbled again. He knew what would happen next. If the human ordering the avian wasn't quick enough, the avian would suffer miserably against the barrage of stone. If the human ordered an evasion attempt, then Rhydon's next attack would bring the avian to greater ruin.

Really, he'd think they'd know better than to face him. Why just gazing upon his form should be enough for them to fear his awesome power.

The steel avian didn't move.

And the human didn't speak either.

Rhydon snorted. Why his trainer had called upon him to fight such losers in the first place was beyond him.

The barrage of dust and stone slammed into the steel avian with crushing force.

...

...

Nothing happened.

The avian didn't even move. Neither to evade nor to defend.

It just stayed there, gliding in the air.

Rhydon raised an eye before looking at his opponent more closely. He hadn't bothered before— he couldn't even remember how many birds he had crushed in similar gym challenges —but the fact that it took his attack head-on was enough to warrant interest.

It was… covered in metal? Was this fool for real? Did it honestly think that the flimsy layer of metal it called its body armor was capable of taking his attacks head-on?

Well, he couldn't let it arrive at such a foolish notion now, could he?

He'd have to teach it some respect.

Carve it into its very body.

"Magnitude, then Rock Throw," Brock commanded in the background.

With another nonchalant grunt, Rhydon stomped his leg upon the ground, feeling for the reverberations that were just waiting for him to push..

And again.

And again.

Hundreds— nay thousands of rock fragments rose up, shooting out of the earth's surface as if paying obeisance to his enormous strength.

And then Rhydon roared.

The fragments were sent whizzing away, zooming in the direction of the bird pokémon, moving in as a veritable army of rock missiles aimed at the general direction, ready to pierce through anything that was unfortunate enough to stray into their path.

The avian met them face-first.

And it still didn't move.

Bright light reflected off the bird, shining all over its scales and talons. Its entire body was spotless and radiant.

As if nothing had happened.

As if Rhydon's devastating attack had meant nothing.

That was unacceptable.

Brock had made it a point to make Rhydon understand that hitting his opponents with his entire power was an absolute no-no. After all, the other weaklings were fragile and a little too much of his power could damage them for life, if not outright kill them. But this upstart flying above him needed to be taught a lesson.

For once, Rhydon inched towards using some of his more… interesting moves.

The avian seemed content to stay in that particular position in the air. Well then, Rhydon would mercifully take her out in that position.

"Spear Field."

Rhydon snorted. Trust his trainer to think along the same lines as himself.

Raising sharp rocks from beneath the earth to skewer its enemy, or as Brock called it— spikes. Rhydon didn't really understand very much about it and frankly, he didn't care. He could feel it— the right kind of stomping in the right place would send a spike flying out from the right point.

Simplicity was best.

But Brock was Brock and that meant making things complicated so his human had come up with something even more complex.

And hard.

And nasty.

Spear Field, he called it. This time, just pushing those pointy rocks wouldn't do it for him. Rhydon had to shape them into thin pointy things that his trainer called spears, and then use a build-up similar to when Brock asked him to use magnitude to shoot them out of the ground. Brock had told him that if done properly, it could make the entire field start shooting these spears upwards at the foe, hence the name— Spear Field.

Rhydon lifted his leg, feeling the crust beneath him shake, mold beneath his fearsome might—

And stomped with a fearsome roar.

And then, right beneath the skarmory, the earth's crust tore open, as a thin, cylindrical spear of encrusted rock shot out from the ground, ready to impale the bird through its underbelly.

Personally, Rhydon wasn't too fond of using the move.

Perhaps it was because of the entire 'stabbing-at-a-distance' thing. It was impersonal and left him feeling like he should have done more. Prey killed by spikes tended to leave a bitter taste in the mouth, almost like the meat itself was lacking. Afterall, Rhydon had not personally involved himself in killing the prey.

No, crushing them with his own body made the meal far more palatable.

Far more juicy.

Far more satisfying.

And that was what would happen to that poor skarmory. Brock instructed Rhydon to allow his opponents to live. Something about 'following rules' or some equally ludicrous human nonsense.

The spears rose higher— Rhydon could practically see the bird get skewered through its underbelly.

And then the bird moved.

In one swerve that was apparently faster than what Rhydon's eyes could follow, it slashed through the spike midway with a single wing, cutting it into two neat halves that dropped onto the floor with a blaring crash. And then it stared down.

At Rhydon.

Smirking.

At him.

As if he was nothing.

This…. This despicable little…

Rhydon opened his maw to roar—

A slash of wind, faster than he had thought possible slammed into his face, slicing his tongue, injuring the tissues inside his mouth. His roar left forgotten, Rhydon embraced a different feeling as it cried out for the first time.

Pain.

The bird— the damnable bird, smirked again, and for the first time, it spoke.

"Know your place!"

Rhydon was torn between raging anger at the bird's transgression, and groaning as he felt pain in what was probably the first time since his evolution. The vulnerable feeling fractured through his mindset of utter invincibility, making him subconsciously take a step back out of reflex.

"Rhydon?"

Was that his trainer? And why was he sounding… afraid?

Rhydon had never heard him speak in that tone.

It felt offensive and Rhydon decided he didn't like it.

"Ketchum?" His trainer went on, "are you planning to attack at all?"

The other human opened his mouth. Perhaps he could speak after all? Rhydon would have snorted if not for the fact that his mind was currently overwhelmed. Who knew that his tongue could hurt that much?

"Skarmory, finish it." The other human spoke simply. The very idea was ridiculous, almost as if finishing off Rhydon was something comprehensible in the first place. He was no common geodude eating up dirt, or one of those moles digging in the crust.

No. He was Rhydon.

Shutting out the pain for a moment, he lifted his head proudly to let it know how showing disrespect like that had damned the bird into a hellhole of prolonged suffering and—

Uurkk!

A haze of extreme dizziness hit him, sending him almost reeling back in acute disorientation. His senses seemed to flicker on and off as everything around him began to feel all hazy and—

He could feel something sharp in him. Almost like it had— it had—

Stabbed him.

No, that couldn't be right.

He didn't get stabbed. He was Rhydon, and yet—

The blindingly luminous blade of steel that had impaled into its underbelly revealed a different story.

As did the impossibly violet blood that was slowly oozing out through the very crack made by the blade, slowly crawling out of his rigid exterior using the blade itself as its path.

Rhydon felt his knees weaken as pain more overwhelming than anything he thought possible broke past the dams of his mind and shattered his psyche.

He could only stare at the image of the bird, still gliding in its place in the air.

He could see its beak move.

And then he heard it say words that he would never forget for the rest of his life.

"Pathetic."

And then there was darkness.

Brock stared at the scene in front of him with a certain amount of fascination.

He saw the bird launch an Air Cutter into the Rhydon's mouth— taking advantage of its vulnerability. Smart, but it wouldn't be enough to penetrate its armor. He was proven wrong however, just a moment later.

The skarmory had launched another Air Cutter with one key difference. Riding upon the blade of air was a single one of its metallic feathers, reinforced with steel energy. It had impaled his rhydon's underbelly and the fight had ended immediately after.

An unusual move, albeit one that took advantage of the skarmory's physiology.

He momentarily glanced at Ketchum who seemed to stare at the field with no change of expression, almost like he had expected that move to come out of nowhere.

That alone gave a lot more authenticity to the newer theories Brock had found himself entertaining lately.

Brock shook his head. He had no time for conspiracy theories at the moment.

The resurrection event was days away, and having his mind messed up by this horrible farce of a gym battle was the last thing he needed.

Without delay, he strode forward, quickly returning the rhydon back into the greatball before walking towards the challenger podium.

He does look a lot less intimidating up close.

He blinked.

On second thought, Ketchum didn't look intimidating at all. In fact, he seemed like just another rookie— well, a mid-intermediate now, but a young trainer nevertheless, starting out on his customary year-long journey in which he would achieve some form of control over his battling—

Brock shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. He had been fooled once. He'd not be fooled a second time.

Red Ketchum. Samuel Oak's hidden protege.

"Brock Pebblemann," he offered as he extended a hand out to the kid.

Ketchum's lips broke into an uneasy smile as he accepted his hand. "Red Ketchum."

"Red," Brock repeated internally. He'd not be forgetting the name anytime soon.

"It was a good fight," Brock praised before probing carefully. "Clearly a result of several months of dedicated training?"

Red seemed to consider his question for a moment before answering. "In a way, I suppose."

Brock's lips thinned. It seemed like he wouldn't be getting a straight answer here. No matter, he could keep his training a secret. Brock really couldn't care less.

Not when he had so much to do, and a heavily injured team to take care of.

Shoving his other hand into his trouser's pocket, he pulled out a single metallic object— an octagonal structure carved out of quartz. It was a symbol of acknowledgment from the Pewter City gym and its leader. Winning it meant a passing knowledge of at least some low-level rock-types.

Though considering what just transpired, I wonder if it's even relevant any longer.

"Here, take it." Without another word, he pushed the badge into the boy's hand. "You'll receive your certificate from the reception and your profile will be updated by tonight. Have a good day."

With that said, Brock turned around and left. Seriously, people his age were journeying, vacationing, and enjoying the prime of his life. And him? He was drowning in paperwork. Surely there were wiser, older people with nothing to do who could deal with all this?

He hadn't blinked when he heard about Viridian's forest fire and he had quickly and efficiently dealt with Samuel Oak who had apparently decided that Pewter was an ideal location to get reinvolved with politics.

He had taken Lance's childish antics in stride and spent a great deal of time and effort to arrange the entire resurrection thing.

But now he was literally stuck with a mostly injured team of mid-level fighters and would need to ensure their quick recovery, while also pondering over Oak's new protege and his strange team— especially that gardevoir.

He didn't even want to think about dealing with the delegates that would be pouring in over the next couple of days.

And of course, the elders of the clan were going to go absolutely nuts over it.

And in the middle of it all, Brock would have to stand and suffer.

Such was the life of Brock Pebblemann.

We hope that you enjoyed the chapter. If so, please fav/follow us, and more importantly, do review. Feedback gives us the motivation to write.

If you have something to share with us, or just want to talk to us about our stories, join us at our Discord Server - discord .gg/hqWqhtW (Remove the space)

You can also support us and our work on Patre0n at patre0n.c0m/theBlackStaffAndNightMarE (replace the 0 with o)

Thanks once again, and we hope you continue to enjoy our stories.

~The BlackStaff and NightMarE~