Chapter Thirteen: The Regionless

Current Team:

Willow the Grovyle (male) Lv. 18

Geisha the Dustox (female) Lv. 17

Spike the Poochyena (female) Lv. 17

Goonie the Zigzagoon (male) Lv. 17

Apache the Tailow (male) Lv. 18

Vocaloid the Whismur (female) Lv. 17

Entering Dewford Town felt like an escape from the solitude and serenity of the beach to the north. Within the Pokémon Center, there were no sounds of the ocean, all waves and sea-breeze muted by the medical atmosphere. It was more vacant than the other Centers we traveled to. But, I would have bypassed any hustle and bustle anyway.

I was furious.

There were other emotions stirring within me—humiliation and confusion were the silver and bronze medal. But, above anything else, I was angry. Provoked past the point of reasonable thought. Out of nowhere, a Gym Leader stormed up to me, and nearly killed me as a casualty of a battle I had no part in. His target was Steven; I couldn't help but feel like my trust was betrayed, even if I didn't trust him in the first place. Regardless, two people I had no business with left me strewn across the beach, nearly slain by Pokémon I had no interest in battling.

And, after all of their nonsense was settled, that red-faced, blue-haired, broad-shouldered shit actually shoved me off my feet. Accused me of things I knew nothing about. Bullied me past the point of retreat. I had never felt so overwhelmed and dejected; with no experience to draw from, my only idea was to leave.

He had the audacity to challenge me. Me. I'm the one that's supposed to be challenging Gym Leaders.

Brawly had no idea the fire he set. With the door to my room sliding shut behind me, I felt my one-track mind bypassing everything else. Now, I could only think about putting that bastard in his place. One by one, I released my Pokémon into the room, lined up on the bed before me, staring up at my focused stare.

"Game plan time." I told them.

My teammates were having separate reactions to the Gym Leader's provocations. I could tell, even though my Grovyle was faced away from me, arms folded—that he was fuming. Willow and I shared a temper. Some of the others—my Poochyena, my Zigzagoon, my Whismur—were more subdued. They walked away from that exchange with a different reaction than I expected. They were apprehensive. Maybe even fearful.

"We're getting into this fight?" Goonie asked, hesitantly looking upward. "All in the same day of that cave trip?"

"…don't you ever sleep, jade…?" Vocaloid questioned.

"Not really," I answered honestly; my lack of sleep the past few nights probably worsened my mood. "I'm sick of sitting on fights for a couple of weeks—I want to rip this bandage off today, and leave this place."

"Yeah, well, if his Machamp is any indication, I don't want anything to do with fighting that guy…" Goonie's remarks were discouraged in tone, and it felt like he spoke for the rest of the group. His experience being a grunt worker for a Gym Leader must have been weighing on him; he knew how dangerous they could be. Even if they weren't trapped inside their Pokéballs during the fight, it would have been a slaughter. Brawly and Steven both had Pokémon too dangerous for us to face.

As best I could, I tried to ease their concerns.

"Leaders have to use their Minor-League Pokémon against us," I justified. "He hasn't realized it yet, but he's shown us his hand. He uses fighting-types. That's valuable information for us."

"Valuable how?" Spike questioned. "I'm not sure you've noticed this weakness yourself, Jade. But we're short on answers for fighting-types."

She was right. I looked at my lineup of Pokémon atop the bed—normal-type, dark-type, normal-type, et cetera. Just like with Roxanne, we were at a disadvantage. I was lucky to have read up so much about battles, or we would have been walking into a slaughter.

"I know," I said. "But, it's alright—we can only register three Pokémon for this fight anyway. You, Goonie and Vocaloid will be the bench."

Recalling the rules I learned for the Rustboro Gym, I was developing a game plan on-the-fly. Against Roxanne, I was only allowed to use as many Pokémon as she used. She had three; I assume Brawly was no different. Which meant, unless I could decide on three viable options, I didn't have a reliable enough team to face the Leader.

But, I had ideas brewing. First, I addressed the Grovyle sulking in the corner, drawing him into our conversation.

"Willow, you're the anchor," I said, as he peered over at us from the corner of his eye. "You're the only one with any experience fighting Gym Leaders. So, if things get out of hand, it'll be up to you."

"I've got to say—" He spoke up, leaned against the back wall, finally facing us. "You're speaking my language for once, kid. Although, I don't like waiting until things get 'out of hand' to start fighting. Can't I take the lead like always?"

I shook my head, to his disappointment.

"You've gotten stronger after evolving. But we still have better options against fighting-types. Apache can deal more damage to his Pokémon."

My Tailow sat beside the rest of the team silently, perched with his wings huddled closely to his sides. It was much more silent than Willow's outright eager attitude towards revenge—but he was definitely angry, too. All he had to do was offer a nod, and I knew he understood his role in the fight.

But, that was not the full extent of my plans. The rest involved our more sheepish company—my Dustox flinched upon realizing my attention was to her.

"Better yet—Geisha will be the star of this fight."

"I beg your pardon…?" She muttered apprehensively, almost offended that I volunteered her.

"I've been reading up, on our trip at sea," I explained, recounting my studies on our voyage to Dewford. "When you evolved, you became bug and poison-type. Any fighting-type attacks will barely sting."

Truthfully, I was eager to give Geisha a chance in an official League battle. It was the exact confidence boost she needed—she could feel comfortable outside of her Pokéball. Sadly, she did not match my enthusiasm, giving me the most resistance of the team.

"Are you sure…?" She asked, making it clear that she was far from sure herself. "It doesn't sound like you have any science to back that up…"

"It's the type-chart, Geisha."

"W-well, what if I don't believe in your silly human charts…?"

I found my frustration mounting, upon learning that the majority of my team wasn't ready for a fight. Projecting my rage onto them, I pressed the issue with my Dustox further than I normally would have.

"Come on." I goaded her. "Where's the Wurmple that hustled so hard to evolve?"

"That was a phase." She answered, head turned. "I'm all grown up now."

"It's only been a few days!"

"I mature fast, alright?!"

I felt like I passively let Geisha's self-loathing grow with time, only for it to come back and bite me later. It was hard to empathize with her, as something that would never evolve. I couldn't understand why she was upset, and that was the source of my anger. But, before I said something I would later regret, the argument was interrupted. My Tailow spoke up, abruptly volunteering himself.

"Jade. Let me take point in this fight."

"Apache," I turned cautiously. "Are you sure?"

"It's like you said—I can hit the hardest," he justified. "I might not take the hits as well, but that's all the more reason to have me at the front of the fight. Once things get dicey, you can send out the cleanup crew to finish the job."

Admiring his ability to think through his frustration, I found his logic sound. At that moment, I wondered how the hell other trainers braved the world if they didn't listen to their Pokémon's ideas. Beyond that, I was grateful that I shared in studying about battles—if I was ever barging headlong into a fight, I had six others keeping me accountable.

Trusting his judgement fully, I nodded in agreement to Apache's request, fully aware that he spoke up to take the pressure off of Geisha. Out of anyone in the group, he seemed to understand her the best. With my Tailow choosing to brave the first phase of the battle, I could tell Geisha was more subdued, likely feeling outshone.

"Oh, well—now I just feel bad…" she muttered, dripping with guilt.

"Don't." Apache answered her regret with an odd mixture of sternness and delicacy. "You shouldn't volunteer for anything you're not prepared for."

"He's right." I echoed his accommodation, feeling equally guilty for arguing with my own team. "I'm sorry for pushing you so hard. None of you have to fight if you aren't prepared or invested."

With a sudden clench, my fists tightened, gloves strained.

"But," I added, selfishly. "Sometimes, I can't sit still. When someone pushes me down, I want to push back. I know some of you are the same. I don't just want to have fun on this trip. I want to win. I want to prove something."

Eyes trailing across the floor, I saw from the corner of my vision—Willow nodded in agreement. He matched my ambition, however loose my goals felt. Turning up to the rest of the group, I saw the others more unified in expression. I felt a loyal trust from the previously-apprehensive batch of Pokémon. That talk was just another reminder for me. For my team to understand what I want, I just have to express it.

The only Pokémon in the entire batch that still seemed discouraged after our planning session was Geisha. As I was returning my team to their Pokéballs, she spoke softly towards me, like she was admitting some gigantic fault.

"You've got grit, Jade… sorry to say I'm not more of the same."

I wasn't sure what to say, and I was already out the door before I could think of something comforting. Thankfully, Apache picked up the rebound, being as assuring as ever and affirming her decision.

"You don't need to apologize if your heart isn't in it," the Tailow said, confidently adding: "I'll put on a show in your place."

Once I finally managed to calm my temper, at least on the outside, I meandered my way through Dewford, eventually coming upon the town's Gym. Admittedly, I wasn't sure what to expect, since this was only my second one. But, to say the least—it was underwhelming, comparing it to Roxanne's.

The glass doors weren't automatic. The entryway was far from welcoming, closer to ramshackle. There was an aged smell filling the space, like it had been seldom cleaned. There was no welcome wagon, no pomp or circumstance to speak of. With no one to direct my path through the unfamiliar building, I strode with an angry confidence, hoping I would eventually reach my destination.

It was strangely-lit through the main hallway. The bulbs were dimly humming above me, filling the space with a droning, constant buzz. Compared to the bombastic and modern stadium in Rustboro, this Gym felt neglected, like the League could only afford seven. And this was the sad, unfortunate eighth.

The scene was bothersome. All the more reason to earn the badge quickly and get the hell out of town as quickly as can be.

At the end, the room opened up to more familiar territory. There was a wide expanse of a court in the center, and a stadium glass ceiling above. Lining the edges of the arena, there was gym equipment strewn across the floor—benches and weight machines alike. There were bleachers on both edges, which I assumed were meant for spectators. Vacant, they only made the room feel all that more empty. The only spectators were a few lining the wall, standing up, disinterested in my arrival. I wasn't sure if this boded well for my challenge. My guess was people didn't show up because they thought it would be a blowout. In whose favor, I had no idea.

Assuming my spot on one end of the court, I looked across to see Brawly, standing sternly, a glare shot my way. I matched his stare in silence, until he broke eye contact to unroll his sleeve, revealing a Pokétch wrapped around his wrist.

"Right on time." He said. "Not too early. Not too late. It's that kind of punctuality that I've come to expect from Norman. Looks like his kid is just as stern with time."

In that moment, I swore to kill the next person who talked to me about Norman.

"Let me guess," I called over the arena. "You two are the best of friends."

"We're the worst of colleagues." Brawly corrected me. "I hate him."

"It's a shame we have so much in common."

He shook his head, like he was looking through me. With a reminiscent expression, he listed every grievance he had with Norman, like I was invested, like I wanted to listen to a damn word he said.

"Your father placed himself atop a pedestal," Brawly recounted with a seething tone. "The Gym with the best record in Hoenn. He thinks he's so much more hardworking than me, because the numbers back it up. But he's nothing but an asshole with a pampered throne in Petalburg."

A hand waved across the air in front of him. It was dismissive, but clearly driven by anger. Like he was tossing Norman in the trash.

"His hard work is all for nothing. They hate him as much as they fear me."

I felt a pressure mounting in my stomach. But, it wasn't fear or disgust. Unable to prevent the impulse, I let out a laugh. Something about his self-righteous attitude tickled me, and led me to ridicule him. My earlier thought couldn't have been more wrong—we had nothing in common.

"So that's it?" I asked him, calming my guffaw. "You don't really hate Norman—you're jealous of him? You wish you were half the man he was? Take it from his daughter. That's pretty sad. That's a low bar for anyone to fail reaching."

The Gym Leader's eyelids tensed to a squint, like he envisioned me burning alive. It was beyond me, but the bastard wanted me to sympathize with him. After throwing me around and shouting at me. Knowing his temper, it made sense that he was so touchy. He imparted a subdued response, dripping with rage.

"…A numb husk." He hissed. "Just like your father."

I wasn't sure I had a breaking point.

But I'm pretty sure Brawly was nearing it.

Before I knew what I was doing, I reached for one of the Pokéballs at my hip. It was one of the few times I held it like a weapon in my hand. Holding it out towards him, my glare became unblinking. I was done with small talk.

"Don't compare me to him."

Now that I was furious, he seemed much more calm by comparison. Nevertheless, he matched my movement, bringing out a Pokéball of his own.

"I'm going to enjoy this, Jade," he said, uttering my name for the first time. I didn't know how he knew it. I didn't care. "Beating you will prove just how embarrassing Norman's tough-guy act really is."

With a flash of white on both sides of the field, we each released a Pokémon simultaneously. Apache was poised in the arena, ready to scrap from the instant he was called upon. Across the way, there was a gray, humanoid figure with yellow strands strung up its scalp. I felt a faint relief—it was hardly the hulking Machamp we saw earlier. Still, there was a feral nature to the Machop Brawly called upon. The intensity of its expression made it feel like a deathmatch was about to ensue.

Accompanying a point with the command, Brawly made the first move.

"Bulk-Up."

Unfamiliar with the move, I found myself halted in observation, watching the Machop tense up on the field. Parts of its body seemed to redden from strain, as its muscles tightened and pulsed in exertion.

I felt a warning signal ring in my brain. It was like something unlocked within me—an instinct I didn't know I had. Even though the Machop was standing perfectly still, doing nothing but flexing itself, something in the back of my head was screaming at me to stay away. It exuded a deadly aura, and I subconsciously registered that I could be so very, very easily killed by that creature—a Pokémon no taller than my knees.

Because we were dealing with something unfamiliar, and vaguely dangerous—I faltered, unable to give my Pokémon a command.

Apache was not so patient as to wait for a command.

As a navy-blue blur across my vision, I watched my Tailow soar towards his opponent, faster than I'd ever seen him fly. Compared to the joyful soar across the Dewford beach, it was clear my Pokémon was out for blood. A crack rippled across the air, as Apache whipped his wing into the Machop's torso—whether it was from surprise or from pain, Brawly's Pokémon stumbled from the strike, nearly tripping backwards.

"As if." Apache grumbled, striking downward with a second, third, and fourth Wing Attack. "You think you can beef up in my face, and I'll let you get away with it?"

The consecutive strikes were like a storm. Every swipe of Apache's wings, the finesse of a blade—each impact, the bludgeon of a hammer. Suddenly, the Machop that sent a shiver down my spine was helpless before the onslaught, trying to maintain the tension in its muscled through a pained expression. Standing on the sideline, I felt like nothing but a spectator to the fight; turns out, Brawly was in the same boat. With an impatient folding of his arms, the Gym Leader tried his best to advise his Pokémon.

"Hold steady!" He barked. "We're ending this with our next turn—"

His orders were drowned out in my ear by Apache's shout.

"You don't get a turn, you bastard!"

Another strike, and another. Like an endless barrage, my Tailow continued his onslaught, leaving no time for rebound or rest. Bullying the Machop ad infinitum, Brawly's ringer was eventually launched backwards, shoulders slumped into the platform its trainer was perched atop, hopelessly unable to continue the fight.

This level of fury was something I grew to expect with Willow, who was so outwardly confrontational. I never expected such a beast dwelled within Apache. My Tailow was certainly ambitious, but he was far from a bloodthirsty creature. Still, his anger was apparent with each strike, every whip of his wings a relief of frustration that had been pent up on our entire journey.

I tried to pin the source of his anger. It could have been the loss of his home at the hands of Team Aqua. It could have been his lack of involvement in the first Gym battle, or in the cave where Spike almost lost her life.

His shouts made it more clear.

"Don't talk to my trainer like she's a monster!" Apache bellowed; his proclamation was aimed at Brawly, despite falling upon deaf ears. "She saved me from my home and gave me a second chance to fly! The only monster here is YOU!"

That was when it clicked.

He was angry on my behalf.

At every turn, my Pokémon made me grateful we went on this journey.

Brawly's anger was palpable, even across the court. There was no strategy or trickery, like I had against Roxanne. Apache was simply too quick for his Machop to handle, and he reluctantly called the Pokémon back into its ball. Even though he was deep in thought, and clearly distracted by it, my scowl never left him. I stared him down, applying as much pressure as I could manage. While Apache won the fight on the field, I devoted myself to the battle outside the ring—the battle of wits.

Reaching to his side for his second contender, Brawly released another Pokémon onto the field. I knew what a Meditite was; but, I'd never seen one in person. I only heard the stories of their dedicated lifestyle, of their disciplined habitat behavior. It felt all the more real staring down the blue-and-white beast, legs crossed, humming softly above the ground, hovering inches overtop the court.

It was hard to parse what type a Pokémon was, just from the tales in my childhood storybooks. But, I was almost certain it was psychic-type, based off the tales of how dangerous a Meditite's deep meditation was. They were able to kill invaders without even moving—only thinking. To my dismay, they must have also been fighting-type. I feared that this meant Brawly was calling upon an ace.

"We're taking a more metered approach." The Gym Leader told his Pokémon, holding out a hand in demonstration. "Reflect."

The opal hands of the Meditite clasped together, and my body tensed as a faint blue hum of energy emitted off its body, surroundings dimming in contrast. As its palms separated, a transparent surface was visible between them, being stretched the further its arms parted. The Meditite conceived a glass barrier between itself and my Tailow, reflecting an artificial, pinkish light across the surface. Again, I was bearing witness to a move I'd never seen before.

"Your Pokémon relies so heavily on offense," Brawly said, words sharpened towards me. "I'll show you that you'll need more than a reckless attack to do my team in—"

Before I could register the Gym Leader's threats, my senses were assaulted by a sudden shattering noise. I watched as the barrier the Meditite so meticulously constructed broke apart in an instant.

Apache flew straight through, wings crossed and flung to his sides.

"If offense isn't enough, then why can't you stop it?!"

The Tailow continued his dance of bladelike strikes against the Meditite, doing its best to defend from the assault, to no avail. As Apache attacked, and attacked, and attacked, shards of the barrier were raining down upon the pair, scattering as a pink wind in the Gym arena, the sound of countless strikes ringing in our ears.

"Apache—be careful!" I shouted, only able to offer my concern.

"That's exactly what he wants me to do." Apache called back. "I'm stopping him before he pulls off his plans!"

My Pokémon assured me that my worries were moot. He was right; even if he attacked more patiently, it would be no less safe. A bird's bones are brittle, so leaving any opportunity for the enemy to attack would backfire. Apache knew his weaknesses better than anyone, and was doing his best to compensate.

In a similar, speedy fashion to the Machop, Brawly's Meditite was sent tumbling backwards, rolling across the ground in an unconscious slump. Despite my spike in anxiety and constant, expected worry, it was becoming clear that we were winning.

More than that—it was somehow a blowout.

I was watching Brawly's plans crumbling, every bout of disbelief palpable across his face. Temper flared, only furthered by his intense confusion, I heard a desperation creeping into his voice, in a remark made less silently than he was hoping.

"Shit…" he seethed. "What the hell is wrong with that Tailow?"

Behind me, there were whispers. But, they weren't from my Pokémon; I nearly forgot there were any spectators to begin with. The minimal eyes on the match between Brawly and I were enough to give me a slight stage fright. I tried my best to stiffen my posture, and act like I couldn't hear them. But, their gossipy tones were too compelling to ignore, and I felt drawn in by what they were talking about.

"That trainer is making quick work of Brawly…"

"This'll be the third battle he's lost in a row."

"Is this really the guy that's supposed to protect our island?"

"Let's just go. I don't want to be around when he snaps from losing…"

I felt an oddly delicious pride from their comments.

Suddenly, an audience didn't sound too bad, especially since we were making such quick work of Brawly. He made himself sound so tough. He made it seem like the world saw him as Mr. Big-and-Scary. He made it seem like his job was the most important thing in the world. But, the average joes behind me proved him wrong at every turn. They could tell that his Pokémon were outmatched by mine. They knew he wasn't half as scary as the Gym Leader thought he was. They knew he was the Gym with the least wins.

I finally understood why he had so few spectators. Earlier, I worried it was because they didn't believe in my ability to succeed. But, it was the exact opposite. They had no faith in their own Leader to defend their home.

Snapped back to the battle by my Tailow's voice, I felt his exhaustion. Wings held outward, his breathing was ragged. Leaving no room to rest was wearing him down and I felt a secondhand weariness just looking at him.

"Two down…" he uttered under his breath.

"Don't push yourself too hard—" I told him, already jostling my belt and looking for another Pokéball. "Willow is ready to handle the rest."

From his posture, poised for the third round of combat, I could tell that no amount of convincing would bring him back to his Pokéball.

"They haven't even hit me yet, Jade," Apache answered me hurriedly, hiding any apprehension from me. "Don't worry. I can still fly."

When our battle of words led to a dead end, Brawly resorted to solving our dispute on the battlefield. But, now that he was clearly on the backfoot, and the diminishing crowd was emptying further, I could see the Gym Leader looking for a target to impose his swelling anger. And so, after battling failed to solve his inner disputes, he returned to fighting with words, launching an accusatory point in my direction.

"What the hell is this…" He grumbled sorely, volume rising with his rage. "You're not even ordering your Pokémon! It's just winning the battle on its own while you're its fucking cheer squad!"

"Don't listen to him, Jade."

To every end, my Pokémon defended me, both on and off the field.

"We trained for this," Apache followed up. "You taught me how to fight."

"This is bullshit—" Brawly's complaints were reaching a fever pitch. "How am I losing to a kid that doesn't even know how to train a proper team?!"

Slowly, my opinion of the Gym Leader was changing. But not improving. I thought hating him would be permanent. But, the more I watched him flounder in our scrap, the greater the divide between him and Roxanne grew within my mind. Before I understood how it happened, I no longer hated Brawly.

I pitied him.

"You thought I'd be a pushover."

The revelation came out before it could be filtered. I watched Brawly's attention snap back to me, no longer sulking in aimless rage. I looked at him blankly, matching the cold feeling I felt every time I stared Norman in the eyes. It was a serene hatred. The boiling anger within me stilled, and there was nothing but an emotionless glare for him to look back at. The darkest mirror I could be.

"All this time," I said. "In your head, you've been fighting Norman. But right here, right now, you're losing to me."

Through grit teeth and a reddening face, Brawly was unable to match my serenity, every nerve on his forehead tensed, distinctly visible from the valley of an arena between us. He clutched a third Pokéball in his hands, and from the intensity, I nearly worried that it would be crushed beneath his grip.

"You little shit…" He seethed.

Upon releasing his final contender, I was all the more certain that the battle was won. I was convinced there was no ace in the hole, after laying eyes on the familiarly plump yellow warrior facing my Tailow. It was a Makuhita—buff, but laughably pampered compared to the war-torn, cave-dwelling fighter we rescued in Granite Cave.

"Bulk-Up!"

The Pokémon clasped its two fists together, tightening the grip of its skin over its form, muscles straining across its entire body until the details became distinct and define beneath its pudgy exterior. I practically scoffed.

"You're recycling old tricks!"

With that decree, I sent Apache towards the enemy, my Tailow descending upon the Makuhita with its usual dance of wings, striking every side he could find purchase. Though the Makuhita was trained enough to brave the storm of blows, it was on the defensive, feet skidding backwards with each strike upon its guard.

More and more whips of the wings ensued. Apache's endless offense was working, leading us on the most straight and direct path to victory. Before long, the Makuhita was off one of its feet, struggling to hold back against the onslaught.

In desperation, Brawly's stern orders slowly became unabashed shouts. Putting everything into his screams towards his Pokémon, he was inches away from storming the field and finishing the job himself. His voice had grown guttural, more akin to a feral beast than a human, as a roar from the throat bellowed through the stadium:

"No… NO!"

As Leader Brawly, the man without a region, shouted at the apex of his battle against Jade, the lights of the Dewford Gym flickered.

Nothing significant.

The lights just flickered.

It was a normal occurrence in the Gym. Electricity was a depleting resource in Hoenn. Only the major cities ran off reliable energy—and Dewford was too far from the mainland to power reliably. Everyone's home on the island dealt with flickering lights, from time to time.

To Brawly, every time the lights flickered, he was reminded of his mistakes.

He was the person in charge of a town on the brink of collapse, unable to earn any extra funding from the Pokémon League. The performance of his Gym was too low to ask for any more of the region's depleting resources. He, and Dewford, were forsaken as a result.

The people's judgmental looks.

Their scathing whispers.

It was all because he would lose. And lose. And lose.

So, as the lights flickered, sending the sparking dregs of a blown-out bulb scattering in the space in front of him, Brawly was taken aback. He was sent into disarray, paralyzed with thought, his rage momentarily extinguished by a crushing question.

How did I get here?

The bulb's sparks, like embers fizzling out in thin air, were all that lit the space in that instant where the room's lights went dark. With nothing else to see, the Gym Leader looked within. He was brought back in time.

Wading on the waves helplessly.

The sea going still.

A bright flash on the horizon.

Blinding, deafening terror.

Loss of life.

A wasteland ablaze: Cinnabar.

Politics, war, bombs. A tempest of forces outside of the young man's control sent his life into complete chaos, launching his future path across the map, in a land that hated him. Despite the relief efforts, Brawly felt no less relieved all these years later. He fought tooth-and-nail for a region that rejected him. He defended a Gym he couldn't hope to protect. He looked down on everyone, being the bottom of the barrel already. A man without a region is a man without identity. Without self.

Again, the burning question.

How did I get here?

The answer was not as far back as his childhood; he abandoned that long ago. Searching, in that fraction of a second when the lights flickered, he was brought back to a different memory. One in the backlogs of his thoughts, yet at the front of his mind. In the time between his arrival to Hoenn and his rise through the League's ranks as a Gym Leader.

In the period where he was just a trainer. Nothing more and nothing less.

He climbed desperately, fighting everything in sight. His Pokémon were his soldiers, and he waged war on Hoenn's countless routes. To wild Pokémon, and trainers alike, he was a scourge, satisfied with nothing short of absolute victory. Even though Brawly was actualizing his dream of becoming a trainer, he wasn't any closer to fulfilment.

Five badges in. His goal was to obtain all eight and challenge the League. But, that plan changed when he failed to earn his sixth. His path led him to Petalburg City, where he would fight one of the League's up-and-coming Gym Leaders.

Brawly would lose the fight against Norman six consecutive times.

It was the first plateau he ever reached in Hoenn. The other Gym Leaders offered intense challenges, but their ultimate goal was to improve every trainer that entered their stadium. Norman was different. There was no lesson to the defeat. There was no chance to grow. Norman simply beat every trainer that came into his Gym, calmly asking them to leave afterward. Brawly was no closer to success on each attempt—no amount of knowledge, experience or strategy would save his Pokémon from being wiped out by the Gym Leader's ferocious, hardened beasts.

A festering hatred, for all others and himself, brewed within Brawly. It was accompanied with a drive to win. So, for the seventh attempt, the youth made a whole slew of preparations.

Although he had no way of knowing this, Norman would become the reason Brawly will specialize in fighting-type Pokémon.

He spent weeks building up a team of six, searching for any and all fighting-types the region had to offer. Brawly couldn't hope to have an edge in his fights against Norman using conventional planning; he needed to target the Gym Leader's weakness. On his seventh attempt on the Petalburg Gym, the battle was tooth-and-nail, each combatant brought down to their final Pokémon.

And, miraculously, Norman was defeated.

Brawly's frustration suddenly turned to excitement, as he approached the Gym Leader to exchange a handshake and officiate the win. He was on a victory high, and was thinking about all his future plans. Challenging the Elite Four. Taking the Champion's spot. Spitting all over the rules. Telling Hoenn, "fuck you—a foreigner is the strongest trainer in this godforsaken region".

His plans would change drastically once he reached Norman. Instead of taking his hand, the Gym Leader passed along the badge, with a stern tone to accompany it:

"You're the boy from Kanto, aren't you?"

Brawly looked up, only to see the Leader's disappointed expression.

"This is the seventh time you've challenged me…" Norman said. "You had to stack your team with fighting-types just to stand a chance. You have a bad habit of cutting corners."

Beside himself in the face of disrespect, Brawly went blind with rage. To this day, he doesn't remember what profanities, what scathing hatred, he shouted at the Gym Leader for belittling his accomplishment. Norman knew he was from Kanto. He knew what he had seen, what he had been through. And, despite it all, he was still willing to add an asterisk to the victory Brawly achieved.

In truth, Norman did not expect to awaken such a monster within the youth. Calmly, and coldly, he shook his head, offering the only tidbit of advice he could think to give:

"Battling with heart is fine. But your temper is a weakness on the field. There are consequences to getting so angry."

In the flickering lights, Brawly received his answer.

How did I get here?

That fuck Norman, that's how.

The Petalburg Gym Leader was the one that put the nail in the coffin for Brawly's dream of becoming the strongest trainer in Hoenn. In all the turmoil felt in his life, Norman's stern lecture was the last straw, the slightest push he needed to be shoved into a deep despair.

Upon discovering that Norman had a daughter, Brawly was excited for her to challenge his Gym. Because, now that he knew Norman was a father, he was certain that fighting-types were no longer his only weakness.

Sadly, Jade seemed to know all of HIS weaknesses.

Brawly, the man without a region.

Kanto was ashes beneath his feet.

Sinnoh broke him.

Hoenn forsook him.

So, when it seemed that defeat at Jade's hands was inevitable, something snapped. He entered a frenzy, a sentiment that his Pokémon echoed.

And, as Norman warned him:

Losing his temper would have grave consequences.

The damn lights to the Gym were going out.

I was intent on watching the battle closely, my Tailow unleashing a flurry of blows on the Gym Leader's Makuhita. Unfortunately, the Gym was as run-down as it looked on first impression. And, before I knew what was happening, a light bulb burned out.

As the lights flickered, I heard Brawly roar out another order, voice cracking from the angry desperation dripping outward.

"Arm Thrust!"

The lights fizzled back on, dimly, for a brief moment. I felt my eyes dilating, trying to adjust to the sudden changes in brightness of the dingy stadium. I saw Apache, dispatching and endless wave of Wing Attacks against his opponent. Through the exchange, the Makuhita was losing its foothold, overwhelmed by the onslaught.

But, Apache's exhaustion was catching up to him, and his strikes slowed.

In the midst of attacks, there was a brief opening. If an untrained eye like mine could see it, there was plenty of time for the Makuhita to—

Lights out.

I heard a snap, like rope breaking in two. In the darkness, my heart sunk to my feet, and I felt goosebumps dotting my skin, the Gym suddenly feeling cold. My eyes darted everywhere, unable to see anything.

No—

Lights on.

Vision blurred, all I can see is a parade of feathers, fluttering loosely in the arena air, like leaves departing from a tree dying in the winter. Desperately, I search.

Lights out.

No, no, no, no—

For the instant that there was darkness, it felt like I lived years of my life, waiting helplessly for sight to return to me. Already, I could feel my body passing over the arena's threshold, stepping off the trainer platform and onto the sleek Gym floor.

It's okay, I told myself through quivering breaths.

My team's been hit by moves all the time.

Yeah, you're right. This is no different from training on-route.

Last time this happened… Willow turned out to be just fine.

Apache is strong. Taking on Team Aqua all on his own.

He told me he was fine.

He was spotless this entire fight.

I must have just been seeing things.

I bet Apache already won—

Lights on.

All I saw was a huddled mass, wings snapped, body flung across the Gym floor, feathers dancing daintily to the ground around him. The blood was difficult to see through the dimming lights. Even more impossible to detect were signs of movement. I stared, paralyzed in time, trapped in the moment I discovered Apache, a victim to a critical hit.

Through the fifth flicker, I was held hostage, at the mercy of the deafening shriek escaping my lungs.

"APACHE!"

In my panic, there was no more Gym battle. There was no Gym Leader, no Gym Leader's Pokémon. There was me, and my Pokémon in danger. I stormed onward, through the stadium arena with my Running Shoes squeaking violently along the floor. I dove onto my knees, skidding towards my Pokémon, reaching for him. I wanted to rip him from the floor and sprint full-speed towards the Center. But, I froze up in fear, unable to touch him, from worry of making his injuries worse.

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do.

"I… can still…"

The weak voice reached my ears, an echo of his earlier, confident self.

"…fly… I can…"

With the departure of those words, there was a stillness in the creature between my hands. The ringing in my ears was making my surroundings more silent than they appeared, as I fixated upon Apache, unmoving. All of a sudden, I was not being so patient and gentle, jostling the Tailow in my arms.

"Apache!" I pleaded. "Apache, wake up!"

My mind was working a few moments after my body. Finally, I registered what had happened to Apache—and who the target of my fury would be upon. My vision shot up towards Brawly, mortified. His expression was equally aghast.

"What…" I could only manage to whisper. "Have you done…?"

The Gym Leader whipped an arm out in front of him urgently. Somewhere along in the crisis, I lost all bearings of my surroundings—they were slowly returning to me. Though Brawly was sobered by the sudden turn of events, his Makuhita was still in battle mode, as feral as when he struck my Tailow down. It was trained to be a killing machine, like its trainer wanted from it. It was headed right for me.

"Get the fuck out of the arena!" He shouted at me.

I didn't care what was headed for me.

Apache was all I could afford to worry about.

All I could manage was a shout back.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

I suppose this could have been where my story ended. At the hands of a Gym Leader's Pokémon, accidentally slaughtering a challenger breaking every League rule. If the Makuhita could do such a number on Apache, I stood no chance of surviving its barrage. It wasn't the first time I feared for my life on this journey. I could have been eaten alive by wild Zigzagoon on Route 101. I could have been tortured and beaten by Team Aqua in Petalburg Woods. I could have been torn apart by the Sableye in Granite Cave.

This time was different, though. Clutching Apache in my arms, I was unable to focus on anything but his wellbeing. Even if my life would be the price.

When everything went dark, I thought I died. It took a moment to register that the lights flickered off, yet again. I could only afford a single thought about my own demise: if only I could have met my end in a place a little bit nicer.

Light returned to the stadium. But, it was not from the bulbs on the ceiling.

The initial flash was a familiar release of a Pokéball.

What followed was new.

It was, for all intents and purposes, a shower of purple streaks of light, scraping off the Gym floor and whipping upward in the air, piercing the Makuhita mid-charge. The strange sparkle fizzled out on the ends, twinkling around us and reducing itself to a glowing dust on the floor. Above, the light source glowed, painting streams of energy across the arena, aiming the spray of psychic energy towards the Leader's ace.

There was a crescent-shaped figure amidst the mass of energy, wings extending like a half-moon casting a shadow over Apache and I. In all my desperation and distraction, it was a miracle that I realized what was happening. I was dragged back into the moment, finally able to remember that this was a Gym battle. One that wasn't finished yet.

The instant Apache was out of commission, Geisha took flight, in her first battle as a Dustox. She flew between us and the Makuhita.

"Get away from my trainer!"

Zapping the fighting-type with a mass of psychic energy, Geisha charged with an aggression that was unseen in her until now. She and I had vastly different reactions to the crisis we were facing. I could only imagine what she was thinking—seeing the commotion. Watching Apache fall. A spectator, confined to a Pokéball as her trainer recklessly dove onto the field and put herself next on the chopping block.

Warding the Makuhita with her attack, she was unsatisfied sticking back for the usual long haul her battles were. She soared downward, descending upon the Pokémon with a strike to its sternum, a purple flash accompanying the impact. The Makuhita struggled, trying to rip the Dustox away through the strain her psychic energy was imposing on the fighting-type.

It pummeled Geisha, doing everything it could to escape her psychic grapple. But, just as we planned in the Center, the attacks were null, only glancing off her body, humming brilliantly with a lavender hue.

For as haphazardly as I charged onto the field, I found myself frozen in place, ever since my life was threatened. Even though I didn't have much capacity to appreciate it, and despite the dire circumstances—

I couldn't help but marvel at Geisha's attack.

She lit up the room, casting a moon-like glow on the space, painting the surroundings in a warm purple cover. Sparks flew with each psychic surge, popping and fizzling like fireworks, showering onto the battlefield from the sky. It was undoubtedly deadly, but a gorgeous display regardless.

At the end of it all, there was no room for debate or stigma. It was impossible to believe that Dustox were the ugly counterparts to Beautifly.

Though his voice had already fallen silent, I recounted the words Apache imparted on Geisha, doing his best to light the fire that was blazing in the Gym now:

If you ask me, there's only one thing that makes a Pokémon beautiful.

Strength.

With one final push, Geisha blew the Makuhita out of the ring, blasting it off its feet and ripping it away from us with her newly-awakened psychic power. Its body skidded across the floor, hunched and unmoving—to be honest, I had no idea if it was still alive. it was the least of my worries.

All at once, my surroundings stilled. A silence fell in the stadium. The spectators left long ago, and everyone left were wordless, plagued by endless thoughts of regret, fear, worry, grief, anxiety, anger, frustration. Loss.

It didn't feel like it, but I won my second Gym badge.

What it felt like was the most disgusting, pyrrhic victory of my life.

In the newfound silence, I felt strangely… alone.

It was the same quiet atmosphere I became accompanied to in Littleroot, confined to my bedroom, sitting quietly in solitude, unable to sleep. I was miles and miles away from the prison I used to call home—but, in that instant, I was brought back to that lonely life. My eyes scanned for company. Was there someone, anyone in the room other than me.

I watched Geisha slowly, daintily, descend to the Gym's floor. Next, my eyes went to the same place as my Dustox—the Tailow in my arms.

With one last turn, my eyes were on Brawly.

I wanted to scream, and cry, and beat him until he was as bloody as Apache. I came into the Gym with revenge on my mind, only wanting more upon leaving. Before I could shout a thousand insults at the piece of shit that did this, my skin ran cold. The look on his face was not what I expected. The frustrated, furious look on his face was gone.

A palpable look of regret was its substitute.

He was in disbelief, as lost as I was. A face that had seen countless tragedies appeared on the Gym Leader, suddenly looking like a scared child.

"What the hell…" he stuttered under his breath—far from the intimidating figure I grew to hate. "I… lost…"

I didn't know what to do.

But, having to do something, I did what my instincts forced me to do.

I ran.

Recalling my party back into their Pokéballs, I swept myself up onto my feet and made a mad dash for the exit. I didn't accept a badge. I didn't receive a congratulations. I didn't give a shit. Faster than I ever ran before—even quicker than my escape attempt in Littleroot, I searched for help. I trailblazed past the gossipy, useless bystanders standing outside the Gym. I brushed shoulders with countless people, any and all bodies in my way. I ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, until Dewford was behind me.

It dawned on me that I had no idea where I was running to.

Before I could reason soundly, I was overcome with an unfamiliar feeling, something I never dealt with in the past.

Denial.

Briney. I had to find the old man.

Picking up the pace, I strode across the sandy shore, footsteps in my wake. Not letting the padding of the beach beneath me slow my sprint, I charged past the point of exhaustion, scrambling in panic to reach the dinghy we rode to the island.

Mr. Briney would be able to help. He had medicine on the ship. Surely. Willow can heal, too. We just need to find him a living creature to transfer life from.

I thought, it'll be okay.

I ran further, knowing deep down that it wouldn't be.

Apache the Tailow (male) Lv. 18

Met in Petalburg Woods, Level 5.

Hardy nature. Proud of its power.

Release this Pokémon?

(X) Yes

( ) No