Pokemon Pulp

The sphere of the setting sun left a hazy golden glow on the trainer's face, as the bright buzzing lights turned on in the arena preparing for night.

The great round ape-beast lay low; its embers fading; defeated by the metallic quadruped in front of it. The crowd was roaring, hollering, five of the six beasts the trainer had were now fallen, putting her at a dead heat with her opponent. This last fight could decide the tournament. Or, at least, the pre-tournament elimination. It was a moot point at the moment.

The trainer could hear the announcer saying something as the ape withdrew into her ball in a blaze of light. She looked up to the crowd, heard the sounds of oohs, winces, a few jeers. She turned back and lowered her cap over her eyes, ignoring them. She grabbed a sphere from her belt, pressed the button, and tossed it. And thusly her last resort came out.

A cruel black; humanoid shape; rearing out in a blaze of light. It flashed a vulpine grin from its foxish face as it let out a shrill; trilling cry. The audience roared in approval. The trainer did not look back at them.

The fox-thing stared at the quadruped with sinister eyes, the metal beast gazing back at it through eyes like portholes in a carapace akin to a mix between a tank and some brutish arthropod. Well, not quite the fox's eyes perhaps.

A black, hissing mist was gathering in front of the fox-thing, concealing it beneath the form of the ape thing, seemingly revived from injury. The quadruped let out a low, metallic groan in front of it. The puppeteered ape's illusion snorted flame. The fox thing smiled beneath the fog.

The crowd was murmuring, like the rumble before an earthquake. The lights blared higher in the stadium as the sun set. The silence was howling louder than the noise. They stared at each other, waiting to see which one would strike first.

The opponent made a gesture. With a rumble the quadruped barreled forward like the hammer of a shotgun. A pulse of psionic energy blared up as it rammed into the illusion, and the crowd roared. The weight of the mental focus and metallic bulk cut right into the illusion, leaving a scratch on the fox-thing's skin.

But it was only a thin scratch. But the trainer only smiled, wiping the sweat off her brow. But the vulpine beast only smirked. But only it could see the black energy around itself, crackling; hissing, gathering for something big.

With a wave of her hand the trainer signaled to the creature. The crowd roared, stomped its feet, chanted, as the announcer said something in shock. She couldn't hear a damned thing over the sound, the sound of charging darkness, as the fox thing let out a pulse of energy like a punch from a dark star. The opponent looked aghast as it roared; across the arena; across the sunset light, straight into his metal monster's carapace, pushing it skidding back across the clay, hammering a dent into its steely skin.

He gestured at the quadruped. The beast nodded as the pulse pushed it backwards.

Its four legs sparked to a halt across the floor as it stopped. Then, they began to spark again. It began to move forward. Hot, fat sparks flew as its four legs pushed with mental force, circling and circling as it built up speed, whirling, twirling like a bulkhead across the horizon. Like a meteor.

Suddenly the vulpine-beast's smile was dimmed. Then moreso when the steel  slammed into him, breaking the illusion. Out of the foggy; dissapating image of the round; burning ape thing flew the fox-beast's body as the metal bulk slammed into him like a truck on the highway.

The sweat was beading from the trainer's brow. The crowd was whooping and hollering. The lights were blaring. The announcer was faking surprise as the fox beast flew back; only hanging on to consciousness by a thread. How the trainer wished he would shut up.

There were cheers towards the opponent's side. He signaled the quadruped, and it reared up for another blow, to be the final one. But the fox-creature was smiling. Trilling softly.

It looked at the trainer. The trainer nodded and directed forward. And as the sparks flared and the tail like a comet came forward, the fox grinned. It opened its wide jaws on its theatre-mask face. The thing came towards it. The thing slammed its mass forward. The teeth bit down. Darkness spewed from the bite. It crunched through the metal. There was a rumbling; metallic scream.

The tank-beast flinched and few back, even as the monstrous fox withdrew its jaws. They were both dazed, wounded, barely standing. The crowd was at a fever pitch. The announcer was verbally gesticulating and ballyhooing. The lights blared louder than ever as the first part of night's curtain began to descend.

And then, in a flash, the fox-beast opened its maw. A spray of black flames blasted into metal. The quadruped shuddered and fell to the ground. There was a flash of light as it retreated into the sphere that held it.

It was over.

The crowd roared, some in triumph; some in lamentation. The announcer shouted “AND THE WINNER, AND GOING ON TO THE TOURNAMENT, IS THE CHALLENGER, ARIA ROSE!”

She didn't look up. She walked up to her wobbling, tremulous creature. It was trilling in a low, weak, but triumphant manner. It held her hand as she came over towards it. She gripped tighter.

And then they rose their hands, held together as fists in the air. Clamped, united to the crowd; saying nothing but meaning everything. There was a thunderous applause.

The creature slumped over exhausted. The trainer let it back into its sphere. As two creatures wheeled out strange; humming boxes with six spherical slots, she walked up to her opponent. Her shadowed eyes from her hat brim and his eyes in sunglasses met in the stern; sterling non-stare of competitors.

They shook hands.

“Good game,” the opponent said to Aria, gloved hand gripping, conveying all the bitter-sweet sincerity of one who has fairly lost.

“I just got lucky.” Aria said; callused fingers gripping tremulously as an unsure winner would, “Another year, it might've been different,”

“Well, we'll see in another year maybe.” He turned around to the cart, being carried by a comical white creature in a beret; tails twitching and placing spheres onto the cart as he handed the spheres to it.

He turned back to her as he gave the creature the last one; the one the huge tank-beast had retreated into, “And you know, it takes an awful lot o' skill to get lucky like that.”

He smiled and turned back to the machine. She said nothing, but was blushing a little.

She handed the spheres to the creature holding her cart, a black and red bird that looked a little something like a masked wrestler. Its shiny coat scuffed from age, from a hard life before it'd met her. Its aged fingers were tremulous as it took the spheres from her hand. It placed the spheres into the machine, pressed a few knobs and switches, and a prismatic light flashed through them as a small jingle played.

She never knew why they kept the jingle on the portable healing machines. Wasted power if you asked her. But, the jingle ended, and she picked up the spheres, letting the creatures out one by one.

There was a chrome-colored creature like a bird combined with a jet plane, a huge black cicada in a mask of gold, an ethereal; almost angelic shell of arthropod chitin floating and huddled close to said cicaida, a thing like a spinning top and a sparking ghost all at once, and, of course, the ape-thing and the fox.

They were all healed as if they'd never been in the fight at all, the wear and tear from the battles gone thanks to the machine. The fox-thing was rustling the ape's hair in condescension, much to its annoyance.

The cool demeanor, the stony; concealed face worn as much from nerves as from determination, melted away on the trainer's face.

Genuinely, warmly, Aria cracked a smile.

“We did it!” she said as she moved in for a group hug. The creatures followed. They were fierce creatures, but not unsentimental; though the vulpine creature rolled its eyes before joining in.

But then, there was a sound in the distance.

First, a soft ticking. Then, the sound of thunder, incredibly close. Then a sound of screaming. Then, the sight of fire. Then the sound of running feet, louder as the fire faded.

And then, the sound of running feet towards the fire. Of running feet, paws, talons, sparks, chitinous points, and ether as Amber ran towards the shape emerging from the blaze.

For, as much as she did not know it, this was the beginning of her true adventure; before she knew of the terrorist organization known as Clear Sky; before she knew of the secret of the tournament she had just fought to enter; before she found herself in-between two madmen's schemes and the things they hoped to call from above and below.

For, wherever you think you're on your real journey, that is when the true adventure calls when you least expect it. Such is the way of the world, and such is the way of Pokemon...