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It was a moment that would go down in history, and everyone wanted to witness it. From the lowliest street corners and seedy bars to the high chambers of the most powerful men in the world, people found themselves inexplicably holding their breath as Lucian, strongest of the Sinnoh Elite Four, regarded his newest adversary in a League-sanctioned battle for the title of Sinnoh Champion. His book lay forgotten, for once, on the ground, and his usually pristine suit was tattered in many places, while his left arm bled from a large, sword-like metal feather that pierced it.
His opponent was faring no better. A shock of straight silver hair framed a face with pale blue eyes that stared warily back into Lucian’s own. Though the boy bore no physical wounds, the haggard face, uneven breathing, and the cold sweat that glistened over his pale skin betrayed his frayed mental condition from the continuous psychic attacks Lucian had mounted against him.
After two hours of battle, they were down to their last Pokemon, and both knew that one shot would decide it all. Hands on their last Pokeballs, the two could only stare at each other intently, trying to figure out what would finish this long-fought battle between them.
Then, without warning, it happened. Sudden movement from both ends – it seemed Lucian was faster – a flash, an explosion, and then – quiet.
The world held its breath and waited for the dust to settle…Some people clutched bets, others clutched their Pokemon as they waited for the next reigning trainer of Sinnoh to appear before them. And, slowly, little by little, the dust cleared, and figures came into view.
Lucian had fallen, face-first into the ground, his last and most powerful Pokemon, his Alakazam, a limp doll behind him. Before him, his opponent stood, unsteadily, having already called his last Pokemon back into its ball as the dust cleared.
He raised his fist in the air, and the world exulted. The new Sinnoh Champion had been crowned.
But elsewhere in Sinnoh, a man was not watching the battle, nor was joining the starting festivities. He was running as hard as he could through the back alleys of Veilstone City, his old, wrinkled face ashen with fear as he heard voices and steps following behind him. He stumbled, and crashed into the floor, dropping something he had been clutching to his chest. He did not stop to acknowledge his bleeding knees or hands and grabbed his parcel, and stood up to begin running again.
He made it out of the alleys to find the streets in filling with people who were starting parties with the crowning of their new Champion. The man immediately slowed down, kept his head bowed, and tried to lose himself in the crowd. He glanced at the entryway to the alley and saw two pursuers emerge, both dressed in red and black, but giving away no explicit detail of their true employer.
It did not register in his mind until too late that there had been three men pursuing him. He fell to the floor as he was roughly tripped and pushed to the road. People began to murmur as his last pursuer grabbed the parcel he had been clutching to his chest. The older man could only groan in pain as he felt the air crushed from his lungs. He looked up to see a masked man with a steady, cold, green-eyed gaze staring down at him with disgust.
The box was swiftly turned around and around in the pursuer’s hands, searching for a crevice or a switch. When the hands could find none, they grabbed the older man’s head and slammed it into the ground again. Ignoring the shocked murmurs of the crowd, the pursuer leaned over. He snarled into the man’s ear, muffled by the cloth he was wearing around his face, “Open it.”
The older man could only groan again in pain, and struggle.
“Open it,” snarled the pursuer again. “I will kill every single person here if you do not open this box.”
The man’s eyes opened wider, this time in fear, but he still refused to say anything. Sirens could be heard coming in the distance as the pursuer made a swift movement and had his two fellows come over to keep the older man down on the ground. Standing up, the pursuer rearranged himself slightly before turning towards the cars police cars. A swift, sudden movement, and something was thrown high into the air. He turned to face the older man once again, making sure the man watched as the ball released its contents in the air and something huge fell upon one of the cars. A tyranitar roared as the car was crushed into scrap metal beneath its weight, its passengers killed instantly. The other two cars stopped, confused, giving the tyranitar all the time it needed to stomp its foot into the ground and fling rocks the size of motorcycles at the remaining police cars. There was no explosion but the screams of terror that erupted as the crowd rushed to disperse itself. The tyranitar ignored them, and turned to regard its master intently, waiting for its order.
The pursuer had not bothered to turn and snarled, “Every single person will die here if you do not open this box.”
The older man, tears streaming over his face, could not answer.
The pursuer shrugged, and raised his hand. The tyranitar roared once more, and lifted its foot, preparing to bring it down and split the earth beneath and all around it.
_________________ Akaine: And a boner from this? Why not. If guys can walk around all day with boners, why not from slight provocation?
Jay: All day would indicate a health problem. But yes, at the most random times, several times a day for maybe half an hour, once every few hours at least, for absolutely no reason, sounds about right. Redsnow: Stop teaching at preschools, Jay. zenieth wrote: I love you red.
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