The Origin of Storms

[Sike_Saner]

Hi again. Sorry to restart the thread like this…long story short, I lost access to my old account and had to get a new one (more details regarding that can be found in the “Help on behalf of a friend” topic in the Community Questions & Feedback forum). Thus, I’ve started a new thread so that I can make little edits to the old chapters if need be (as well as to the table of contents).

Anyway, what follows is my very first piece of Pokémon fanfiction, written between the summers of 2003 and 2004. Now, admittingly, it does show its age—the style used here is quite different from the way I write today. Perhaps someday, I might revise this old thing into a “deluxe” edition (maybe for its 5th anniversary, or at some point in time when my time and mental resources are not demanded by another project). For now, here it is in its original form, standing as a sort of testament of where I started and how far I’ve (hopefully) come since.

This story is rated PG-13 for violence, gore, adult situations, and brief mild language. (However, it does have an M rating on FF.net—if anyone here feels that I should bump this up to an R, let me know.)

DISCLAIMER: The author of this story does not own Pokémon. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, things, or ideas is completely unintentional unless explicitly stated otherwise by the author. Opinions expressed in this story do not necessarily represent those of the author. This story does not adhere strictly and entirely to any aspect of the established Pokémon canon.

Contents
Chapter 1 – The Haven
Chapter 2 – Just a Little Favor
Chapter 3 – In Review
Chapter 4 – The Messenger
Chapter 5 – The Fire and the Air
Chapter 6 – Hope
Chapter 7 – One on One
Chapter 8 – Phasing Forward, Looking Back
Chapter 9 – The Brooding Pokémon
Chapter 10 – Embracing the Predator
Chapter 11 – The Vault
Chapter 12 – Hunter of the Shadows
Chapter 13 – X
Chapter 14 – Artifice Incarnate
Chapter 15 – The Many Are Few
Chapter 16 – Balance
Chapter 17 – Lifeforce

~This story is dedicated to the loving memory of the Blue Fifty~

_________________

Chapter 1 – The Haven


He hated sleep.

He hated sleep because he hated dreams. He hated dreams because, of late, they were always about sleep…

* * *

He lay down upon a cold, wet patch of grass, though it may as well have been a bed fit for a queen. It was soft and enveloping, like the sudden drowse that was pleasantly consuming him. He yawned, covering his mouth with his hand—her hand, ivory-skinned and feminine, branching out into five dextrous, separate digits.

This was not his hand. This was not his point of view.

A sky-blue, spadelike shape superimposed itself over the white hand—his own, much simpler, fused hand. He looked into her eyes, though he knew he didn’t have to do so. He knew that they were closed, that their owner slept. He felt a sense of being asleep, too, yet remained awake. After all, it was only her sleep, which he happened to be experiencing vicariously, not his own (though making that distinction was somewhat difficult when one was so close…). A second-hand sensation.

Her last.

He recoiled from the sudden, stark vacuum where her lifeforce had been and from the nothing-pain in the part of him that had been erased with the entirety of her being. Disarray exploded in his mind like a broken mirror—his cumbersome nervous system had not unsynched in time, and now his brain was overcompensating, essentially trying to be both living and dead simultaneously. He literally staggered in his existential crisis until something caught under one of his pods and nearly tripped him.

His perception, all of his many senses, abruptly froze. For a moment, reality returned. Then he saw the object on which he had just stepped—something round in shape, red and white in color. And there, in his most fragile moment, in the eye of his empathic hurricane, distinction was at last entirely swallowed by chaos, for this Poké Ball was his—but also hers…

The hated thing rattled as it was lifted up in his shaking hands. The vestigial joints at his knuckles constricted around the sphere, and with a final, caterwauling scream tearing its way through his throat, his psyche shattered, as the Poké Ball he clutched did likewise…

* * *

The horrible sound of the Poké Ball’s implosion blasted him once again out of his brain’s unique perversion of the sleeping mind: two dreams, two perspectives—at the same time.

But now, as he reminded himself, they truly were only dreams, no matter how twisted, and nothing more. The pain was not really present, just a shadow of the feeling that was somewhere between remembered and imagined, and it was now confined to those dreams. It no longer besieged his conscious mind, no longer burned and frayed his nerves.

Peace had been hard-won, however, through the efforts of many over years in the Haven. Lazily, still yet to fully awaken, his eyes opened and their inner membranes slid back to reveal a final view of his room there. It was a simple, small space, shut away from the outside world and its rude sun, perpetually shadowed in his preferred darkness. He flexed his spine and his limbs and detached his jaws in a massive yawn. There was a series of faint snaps as his joints relocated, followed by another sound: the trilling of the door alarm.

So, it was time already. In spite of the nightmares, he’d actually managed to oversleep. There went the rest of his doubts, washed away in the wake of such an auspicious omen. Today, he would leave. Today, he could.

Light blossomed gradually in the room around him, a feature of the place for which he was quite grateful. It allowed eyes like his, accustomed to near-total darkness, to more gracefully adjust to the illumination on the other side of the door, which would not open until the light-adjustment process was finished.

He’d rather the lights didn’t come on at all, of course, and perhaps they wouldn’t have to save for the fact that the Haven’s staff were almost exclusively Chansey. Their kind did not possess anything like the night-vision of his own and thus required light to be active and able to perform their sometimes critical work (though he’d often wondered why they didn’t just employ some nocturnal species to tend to the dark-sighted).

Actually, he himself didn’t have a problem with light; it was just his eyes. Their strong sensitivity turned darkness into brilliance and amplified bright light to a searing intensity. Nonetheless, he was able to tolerate light to a degree, for he was used to it—living with humans (and the hours they kept) for part of his life had caused him to develop diurnal habits.

True, he’d probably end up half-blind before his first century, and wholly so halfway through his second, but it would be worth it in his opinion. Those years spent with humans had been his best, and he could now recall them with more joy than sorrow, excepting only in dreams. But now, he was awake and healed, and soon to be as free a man in the world as he was in his heart.

This fact was confirmed on the form the arriving Chansey nurse brought in with her, written in Unown-script: Wobbuffet, male. Designation: Esaax Evergrey. He’d been denying that name and the history that came with it ever since his new life among the humans had begun. But now, in his “second new life”, he embraced it once more.

After all, once one gets over a thing like a spontaneous extinction, a little adolescent heartbreak is nothing…

He shook his head clear of such thoughts, determined to stay in the present, and returned his attention to the form. His eyes scanned its surface quickly, skimming over several more lines of personal data until he found what he was looking for: 4/15/14…

“Release date today!”

The perky little voice chimed in almost verbatim with his mind’s confirming observation. Esaax brought his gaze up from the paper to the Chansey herself as she entered. Good, it’s Teresa, he thought. He liked her, for she was everything a caretaker should be in his eyes: kind, patient, reassuring, but most importantly, genuine in all those aspects—unlike some of the other nurses, whom he found intolerably artificial in that they either wore an egregiously phoney air of professional detachment or else oozed enough sap to gag a Heracross.

“Are you ready for your final tests?” the Chansey asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Esaax answered, careful as always to prevent the automatic door from closing on his tail on the way out.

“Now, you do realize this means you’ll have to go see Adn, just one last time.”

“I’m not scared of Adn,” the Wobbuffet said, and he wasn’t, really. Nonetheless, his tone did suggest some sort of dread.

“Never said you were, but still, I know his method isn’t the most comfortable…”

“…But it’s what it takes and you’re gonna do it anyway, so…” Esaax shrugged in mock surrender.

“Right. Anyway,” Teresa said as she led Esaax down the hall, “we’ll be saving him for last, which is fine since we have other things to take care of anyway. We’ll just get you in when he’s finished; he’s with another patient at the moment.”

“Is he, now.”

“Yes, a Relicanth.”

“Ouch.”

“Oh, yes, he’s been at it for three days. But he is almost done with him; I made sure.”

Another door opened to admit the two of them. Therein were all the necessary resources for a basic physical exam, including a living resource, a Pokémon who served as Teresa’s assistant—or, more precisely, as her hands. Specifically, this was a Mr. Mime—though not a Mr. at all. Her name was Madeline, and her large and agile hands were well-suited for tools and equipment made for the very similar hands of humans, the sort of things for which the tiny, featureless paws of a Chansey were simply inadequate.

“Why, look at you!” Madeline said. “We don’t really need to look him over, do we, Terry? He’s the very incarnation of health right here, I’d say.”

She came up to stand before him and studied him with an eyebrow raised and a finger resting on her lips in a way that one might gaze at a work of art. Then, she smiled slyly and said, “Still working out, I see. Bet we’ll fill this place twice over after you get out with the women you’ll drive crazy, you sexy blue devil.”

Flirting and teasing from Madeline—that wasn’t new. She had not given him a break even once since she’d first met him. Every time she’d seen him, she’d made sure to inform him that he was “hot”, “stunning”, or “awe-inspiring” (he had come within inches of vomiting the last time she’d used that one). She had also reminded him at every turn that no female had the power to resist him, least of all herself.

Esaax strongly and sincerely hoped that she was just joking around. She has to be, right? he reasoned. Seriously, whoever heard of a Mr. Mime falling for a Wobbuffet?

But if Madeline wasn’t joking… Esaax tried very, very hard not to think about that.

Anyway, her observation was correct—the part about working out; never mind what else she’d said. Esaax had indeed been on a devout physical training regimen for quite some time now. Of course, Madeline was making him out to be some kind of beefcake, which was not at all the case. The effects of his training, though visible, were not dramatic. Esaax was no bodybuilder—he was a Wobbuffet, after all, not a Machoke. The point of his training was simply to help him harness and become aware of strength that he already possessed.

The idea to start him on such a program had originally arisen from the Poké Ball incident—that had actually happened, not just in his dreams. Esaax was cursed as all Wobbuffet are to not know the magnitude of his own physical strength on account of being unable to bring it to bear against another living creature; as such, it had been suggested to Esaax that it might do him good to become conscious of his “idle power” lest anything else fall victim to it.

Naturally, he’d agreed to it instantly. All his life, he’d broken things by accident; the chance to learn how to leave his klutzy side in the past was irresistible. He’d soon discovered that the exercise also had the benefit of keeping his mind as well as his body busy and strong and had thus come to appreciate it all the more. While he no longer needed it in the therapeutic sense, he still enjoyed it as a hobby. He’d often wondered where he might train once he was released, and had decided on the old human gym down the street, which Fighting-types frequented.

He imagined that if he did go there, some Machamp or maybe a Hitmon of some kind would likely pick a fight with him, unable to resist the allure of a Psychic they can whale on without fear of eating Psybeam. Some jock oaf or another would just let loose with the Mega Punches and Seismic Tosses, only to have them magically go POW!, doublefold right back in their face…

The thought of such a thing was just too funny to Esaax. He might never have stopped laughing if his internal comedy weren’t interrupted then by the cold thing that attached itself to his chest, and the bizarre Psychic-type who’d put it there.

“Aw, come on, Teresa. That’s just lazy. You’ve never had to have her do this part before,” Esaax said.

“She insisted,” said the Chansey.

The clown-faced Pokémon with the stethescope just stood there with a smirk that suggested she had far more on her mind than anything Esaax’s heart was doing.

“In fact,” Teresa went on, “Madeline asked if she could handle the entire examination herself. And I told her she could.”

Esaax could do nothing but groan.

* * *

Minutes later, Esaax left that room and the pseudo-amorous torture within alongside Teresa, who was failing miserably to stifle her laughter.

“I’m sorry,” she giggled, nearly breathless and on the verge of tears, “but you should have seen your face!”

Esaax just scowled, his face flushed in the deep blue shade of his humiliation.

“She just wanted to give you something to remember her by, that’s all,” Teresa said.

“How very thoughtful of her.” Esaax’s voice hinted at a desire to vomit. “So, now what?”

“Well, you could have your CE test now, or would you rather have something to eat first?”

“That is such a stupid question.”

“I know,” Teresa said with a chuckle.

The two stopped in their tracks as another Chansey stepped into their path from around the corner. “He’s here,” the newcomer said.

“Oh, good,” Teresa responded. “Tell him to wait in the cafeteria, okay?” She turned to Esaax. “I forgot to tell you, Esaax. A friend of yours has come to pick you up. You can chat with him over breakfast.”

“A friend? Who?” Esaax inquired.

“Go and find out for yourself! I’m going to check up on Adn again and see if he’s anywhere near ready. See you later!”

Esaax watched the ovoid creature waddle off, then made his way to the cafeteria, feeling awfully puzzled for someone who was supposed to have achieved clarity at last.

_________________________

Next time: Just who is this “friend” who’s come to pay Esaax a visit? Find out in the next chapter! See you then!

- Sike Saner

[Sike_Saner]

Chapter 2 – Just a Little Favor


With a huge amount of food in tow, Esaax scanned the cafeteria for the mystery visitor, but found no sign of him. So, he opted to stop at a table, set his tray down, and let this “friend” come to him. It wasn’t long before his eyes picked out the rather large, purple form of an Arbok who was just making his entrance. The serpent spotted Esaax in the same instant and rushed to greet him without hesitation, failing to notice both the Skiploom whom he ran over in the process and the sound of her cursing him out in her squeaky voice immediately afterward.

“Syr?! What in the world are you doing way out here?” Esaax opened his arms and embraced his old friend in a massive bear hug. A bowl of oatmeal seemed to fall out of thin air, spilling all over the snake’s chest. Esaax had been balancing it on his head and had forgotten about it. “Oops…”

“That’s okay,” Syr said through gritted teeth, shaking off the burning-hot gruel (which thankfully didn’t land on anyone else).

“Oh, man, I haven’t seen you in years,” Esaax said before devouring an entire Watmel berry in one bite. “Thought I’d never see you again—what are you even doing all the way out here?” he asked again.

“I live here now,” the Arbok replied. “I found a pretty decent place. In fact, you can stay there for a while if you’d like. Would you?”

“Don’t really have anywhere else to go, so yeah, sure. Hey, I’ll move in with you, even. Wouldn’t want you to be all alone, after all…”

“But I’m not alone. I adopted a son.”

Esaax hadn’t seen that one coming. He nearly choked on a brownie. “Okay… so, I’m going to be sharing a house with a giant, venomous serpent, and his bitey little snakeling?” he said jokingly, an eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face.

Syr gave him an odd look. “He’s not a snakeling, he’s a Snorunt. His name is Jeneth, but we just call him Jen. And yes, he knows Bite, but he doesn’t just randomly use that on people.”

“Snorunt? This is the wrong climate for those.”

“Tell his kind that. Supposedly, a whole clan of Glalie decided to settle in these parts, though I can’t imagine why they would’ve wanted to, and most of the people I know say that they’ve seen at least one around. I still haven’t, and I hope I never do.” He shuddered. “Brrr. I get the creeps just thinking about them...”

“Huh. So, where is this Jen?”

“Waiting in the car.”

“You left a baby outside in a car?!”

“He’s not a baby, he’s a young man,” Syr said.

“Whatever. You still shouldn’t have left an Ice-type out there under the sun.”

“He’s in the shade, Esaax. It’s his car; he drives it, and he gets to decide where to park it.”

A Snorunt driving a car. No, nothing weird about that… Esaax decided to turn away from the topic of Jen and back to his gluttony.

“You still haven’t explained how someone your size could possibly need to eat a third of his own weight every day,” Syr commented teasingly.

“You still haven’t explained how someone your size can only need to eat once a month,” Esaax retorted. “But who cares? What I really wanna know about is—” Esaax saw Teresa heading their way. “Whoops, looks like we’ll talk about it later.” He shoved the remainder of his breakfast down his throat at once and waved at the Chansey.

“What’s going on?” Syr asked.

“CE test. It’s just this exercise to make sure that some of my more... uh, complicated systems are working all right. It’s kind of neat—wanna watch?”

“You can do more than just watch,” came a bright, feminine voice.

Syr had not seen Teresa coming, and her unexpected voice nearly spooked him out of his skin. “Waaugh!” he exclaimed.

“Daria could seriously use a break,” Teresa went on, unfazed by the serpent’s outburst. “You could participate in her place,” she added to Syr.

Syr gained a somewhat worried expression, still unsure of just what the Chansey and Wobbuffet were talking about, let alone if it was anything of which he should want to have any part.

“Please?” Esaax pleaded in his cheesiest mock-begging tone. “It’ll be fun, I promise. Please?”

Syr sighed. “Well…”

* * *

Next thing Syr knew, they’d brought him into a very large and entirely empty room. It didn’t look at all equipped for any sort of medical testing. “I still don’t get it,” he admitted to Teresa. “What is it that we’re going to be doing here, exactly?”

“We need to make sure his counterempathic reflexes are in good shape. To do this, they must be triggered. That’s where you’ll come in,” the Chansey said.

Syr was now almost certain that he knew what was being asked of him and strongly hoped that he was wrong. Reluctantly, he reached for confirmation. “Esaax, what do I have to do to trigger these… reflexes?”

“Attack me.”

Syr had dearly wished to be wrong about that… “Oh, no, no, no, no, no. No. Come on, you honestly can’t expect me to… I mean, seriously…” The Arbok began looking frantically about for an escape route. He nearly tied himself into a knot doing so. “Please, don’t make me do this. Please!”

Snapping the snake out of it with a good, hard Pound to his head, Teresa lowered her voice to a very serious tone for his “ears” only. “It will smart, yes. But it’s crucial that we do this. It’s to make sure his tail’s all right. He’s sustained some kind of trauma to it before, and very serious complications can arise from a tail injury in his species—and has once before, in his case. We do not want him going into crisis again—do you know what that is?”

Syr shook his head.

“Autoempathic crisis is a vicious cycle caused by damage to the pseudobrain in a Wobbuffet’s tail that generates the Counter mechanism,” Teresa began to explain. “The pseudobrain fails to distinguish pain with an internal culprit from pain caused by an attacking enemy. It retaliates, involuntarily, by inflicting twice the pain on its source as usual—but with the source being the Wobbuffet itself, it only creates a new, greater pain that it then must also counter. The cycle continues repeating, doubling the pain again and again, until the agony reaches a level the Wobbuffet’s body just can’t bear any longer.

“I was there when he suffered his last crisis—it was awful. The convulsions, the screaming… God, how he screamed…” she whispered, sounding lost in the memory for a moment. “He was almost too far gone by the time we managed to stabilize him, and the dosage of painkillers it took to break the cycle nearly killed him in and of itself.”

“My God…” Syr breathed, both amazed and alarmed. “You know, just for the record, I think the ‘trauma’ to his tail you mentioned was someone stomping on it,” he said, not naming that someone out of respect for the dearly departed. “On more than one occasion, actually.”

“Yikes,” Teresa said, grimacing. “Well, anyway, the damage to his CE centers can never be fully repaired. He’ll never be entirely out of the woods. We may be forced to… well, to remove his poor tail if it gets out of hand again. So hopefully you see why it’s important that we be made aware of any continuing problems he might have—we need to be able take care of them before they get a chance to blow up in his face again. Will you help us?”

“Of course,” Syr said. “Still, I don’t really want to hurt him...”

“Just one Bite and one Poison Sting,” Teresa said. “One special attack, one physical, so that we can gauge both responses.”

“You’re not testing Destiny Bond?”

“Luckily for you, no.”

“Okay… okay, I can do that.” Syr turned towards Esaax and slithered somewhat closer to him, still nervous but knowing that he had to go through with this for Esaax’s sake. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth widely, and summoned his Poison Sting technique.

Esaax was ready. His tail rose, its oculons collecting a vast spectrum of data about his opponent and any incoming attacks. Focusing hard, he opened the pathways to his CE reflex centers. Doing this so consciously and deliberately was difficult for any Wobbuffet, but years of practice had finally allowed him to master this ability. His aura flared as Syr’s poisonous needles connected, sending an amplified echo of the pain they caused back unto their maker.

Syr shouted in pain and recoiled as he suffered the impact of the counterempathic shock, surprised by its force—he had genuinely tried to go easy on Esaax, yet had still received an unreasonably hard smacking as thanks.

“Very good,” Teresa said to Esaax. “Now, this time, try to suppress it. Hit him a little harder, Syr,” she added, earning a rather dirty look from the Arbok.

This time, Esaax braced himself. His efforts to develop his abilities had enhanced them to a point where it took very little to set them off. As he took the full force of the Poison Sting square in the chest, he had to fight hard to suppress his body’s urge to counter it. Luckily for Syr, Esaax succeeded.

“Excellent! Syr, change attacks,” Teresa commanded.

Syr lunged forward in a Bite attack, his fangs taking on the violet-black glow of Dark-type energy as they connected with the side of Esaax’s head—he made a very conscious effort not to let his teeth sink in too deeply, however, intent on causing both Esaax and himself as little pain as possible. A neon pink flash heralded what was nonetheless a terrifically strong Mirror Coat response, and the serpent was sent reeling back with a scream.

“What the…" Syr’s voice faltered as he struggled somewhat to pick himself back up off the ground, panting slightly. “What was that all about?!” he demanded once he caught his breath, looking quite shaken.

“You just hit a Psychic Pokémon with a Dark attack. Figure it out,” Teresa replied. “Now, bite him again.”

Syr made a sound very much like that of a scared baby Growlithe, with the puppy eyes to match.

“He’ll hold that back this time. You ought to be fine,” Teresa assured him.

Trembling pitifully, Syr approached the Wobbuffet again, stopped in front of him, and gave one of his arms a very weak little nibble, with a negligible amount of Dark energy accompanying the attack.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Esaax said.

Syr bit him harder—barely harder.

“Come on, that one didn’t count, either!”

“Do it, Syr,” Teresa said sternly.

“I don’t want to!” Syr cried.

“Do it!” Teresa ordered.

“Okay, okay!” This time, Syr’s jaws snapped so hard that the sound of the strike, as well as the cry of pain that the Bite attack elicited from Esaax, echoed in the room for several seconds. The Arbok let go of Esaax quickly and cringed, but there was no pink flash and no painful retaliation.

There was, however, an irregular semicircle of deep punctures around Esaax’s chest and left shoulder. The Wobbuffet panted as he stared, quite astonished, at the wounds.

Teresa smiled proudly at Esaax. “Congratulations,” she said. “If your tail can resist that, it can probably resist anything.” She then frowned at the rivulets of cobalt-colored blood as they streamed from Esaax’s wounds. “Looks like the prize you’ve just won for passing your test is a healthy dose of Hyper Potion…”

_________________________

Bite, special? Well, of course it was there—this was, after all, written years ago, well before Diamond and Pearl. X3 I do intend to ultimately edit this to implement the changes to the definitions of “physical” and “special” moves since I feel that the new definitions make more sense (biting something is a physical act, after all, even if the impact does carry an elemental charge), though.

Next time: Before Esaax can step out into his future, he must first take a little trip back into his past courtesy of a regression therapist with a most unusual method. See you then!

- Sike Saner

[Saffire Persian]

Just an odd comment, but I've (as I have told you) been re-reading this story. And oddly enough I can tell the difference in writing style between this story and that of Communication. Found that pretty cool. :D

The Arbok, for that’s what he was, spotted Esaax in the same instant. The great reptile did not hesitate to slither his way towards him, failing to notice the Skiploom whom he ran over in the process (and the sound that followed, of her cursing him out in her goofy little voice).

*wonders how Syr could not notice...slithering over a Skiploom.*

“But I’m not alone. I adopted a son.”

I remember thinking:" Aww, he adopted a cute little Ekans... wait... Pokémon can adopt? XD"

“He’s not a snakeling, he’s a Snorunt. His name is Jeneth, but we just call him Jen. Oh...he does occasionally use Bite, though.”

Again, I ask you, any relation to Jen in Communication? XD.. And why did he chose to adopt a Snorunt I wonder.

“He’s in the shade, Esaax. It’s his car; he drives it, and he gets to decide where to park it.”

*giggles*

A Snorunt driving a car. Nothing strange about that.

XDXDXD

“I was there when he suffered his last crisis—it was awful. He spasmed violently as if being electrocuted. All the while, he was accompanied by that orange Counter aura, which flashed as it shocked him in intervals that grew tighter as the pain grew worse. He screamed like mad until his voice gave out. He was almost too far gone by the time we managed to stabilize him, and the dosage of painkillers it took to break the cycle nearly killed him in and of itself.”

Oouch.

“Just one Bite and one Poison Sting,” Teresa said. “One special attack, one physical, so that we can gauge both responses.”

“You’re not testing Destiny Bond?”

“Luckily for you, no.”

XDXDXD

She frowned at the rivulets of cobalt-colored blood as they streamed from Esaax’s wounds. “Looks like the prize you’ve just won for passing your test is a healthy dose of Hyper Potion…”

Heck yes! Hyper Potions make an excellent prize. :D

Second chapter 'twas as good as I remember it. 'til next time.

[Sike_Saner]

Saffire Persian: Just an odd comment, but I've (as I have told you) been re-reading this story. And oddly enough I can tell the difference in writing style between this story and that of Communication.

Oh man, yes. *nods in agreement* There really is quite a difference; I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I wasn't quite such the cruel taskmistress unto myself back during the days of writing TOoS as I am today. XDD

*wonders how Syr could not notice...slithering over a Skiploom.*

*shrugs* Well, sometimes, he gets kind of single-minded when he's excited or riled up. Plus...maybe Skiploom are all squishy and plushy, like bean-bags! XPP

I remember thinking:" Aww, he adopted a cute little Ekans... wait... Pokémon can adopt? XD"

Why, of course, they can! After all this is Consti... err, Convergence. Pokémon can do whatever they want there! Though, there are limits; sometimes the Skitty and Delcatty there do have difficulty in opening bottles. (And if any of you got that joke there, you officially kick butt. ^^)

Again, I ask you, any relation to Jen in Communication? XD..

To which, again, I must reply with an infuriating little "Mebbe". X3

And why did he chose to adopt a Snorunt I wonder.

Three possibilities come to my mind:


He saw Jen's ability to drive as useful.
He has a weakness for Nomel Cookies.
The only other kid available for adoption at the time was a Snubbull, and Syr values the structural integrity of his tail.


And now, with this installment, we hereby catch up to the point at which we left off in the old thread. After this, updates will slow down a bit to make it easier to follow. Now, let us proceed with Chapter 3!

_________________

Chapter 3 – In Review


Esaax’s wounds were cleaned and repaired, and an Antidote was given on the chance that Syr had accidentally envenomized him. His snakebite was thereby reduced to nothing more than a vague scar, and the nicks caused by the Poison Stings were erased altogether.

Just as his healing was completed, he was given the message that Adn was ready for him. Esaax told Syr to find someplace comfortable to wait. Then, taking a deep, steadying breath, he stepped into Adn’s office of his own accord where once he would have had to be pushed.

Behind that door stood the Haven’s Psychic regression therapist, the resurrector of memories. His method was to make patients relive various moments in their pasts and gauge their present states of mind by their conscious and subconscious emotional reactions to their induced recollections.

Adn was a Gardevoir, a slender wisp like all his kind. However, his ivory form was accented with shades of blue rather than green. He was also unusually tall, which made him appear even more delicate and fragile. In truth, however, he was not frail in the slightest—despite the marathon session he was reported to have just endured, he still looked clear, fresh, and as far from exhaustion as one could possibly be.

As always, not a word was spoken, and no signal made, as Adn and his patient took their places. The scene of the office blurred and warped, then was swiftly replaced by very different surroundings. Once again, Esaax found himself thrust into a perfectly vivid replica of a scene from his memory. Now standing in this bygone time and place like a tourist in his own past, his regression began…

* * *

Esaax was born fifty-four years ago, to the Evergrey clan of the caves south of Blackthorn. His childhood was quiet and uneventful; nothing changed from night to night until Esaax reached his mid-thirties. It was there and then, at the dawn of his adult life, that one evening brought something new—something that would alter the course of his life forever.

From faraway Hoenn, a nomadic branch of a clan called The Fade somehow journeyed across the sea and into Evergrey territory. The foreigners were readily welcomed and allowed to stay as honorary members of the community while in the area.

Among the visitors was a female by the name of Ntairow. She was several years older than Esaax, but aside from the difference in age, the two were uncannily alike. It was as if they were the divided halves of the same individual. Esaax and Ntairow spent every moment each could afford together, and quickly bonded on every level.

Then, barely more than a month after arriving, The Fade moved on. Though Ntairow begged to stay, and Esaax pleaded even harder, the elders of The Fade would not allow it. Ntairow was forced to depart with the rest of her clan, leaving Esaax behind.

Esaax refused to accept this. He left the caves and tried to follow The Fade through the mountains, but he failed to catch up with them. The nomads were swift, hardy, and used to traveling, whereas Esaax was out of shape. Thus it was that he collapsed there on the mountain trail under his very first sunrise.

He lay there for hours, breathless, heartsick, hungry, sunburned, and alone. Then some very strange creatures came up the mountain trail and discovered him. They were humans, and they had come in search of unusual and uncommon Pokémon, which were to be given away as prizes at the Goldenrod Game Corner. Drained of life as he was, Esaax could do nothing to resist the red beam that pulled him into a very strange state of unbeing.

Week after week went by as Esaax remained in that prison of nothingness that the humans called a “Poké Ball”. He was let out only to be fed (and the portions given to him were furthermore much too small and too infrequent for his liking). As time passed, he lost all hope of ever finding Ntairow again. When he learned that since he was the first and only Wobbuffet acquired thus far by the Game Corner, he had a price in game tokens that virtually no one would be able to afford, he also lost all hope of ever escaping the empty rut into which his life had fallen.

Then one day, quite literally “against the odds”, he was afforded. Esaax’s acquisitor was a man from Palmpona, who brought the Wobbuffet home as a birthday present for his son, Benny.

Now in the hands of very different humans, Esaax lived a very different life. Benny liked his new Pokémon a great deal, and a strong friendship between the two was quick in forming. Wherever the human boy went, Esaax was taken along with him. And Esaax was never made to go into the Poké Ball once he’d made it clear how much he hated it.

Esaax lived this way for three years, and he loved it. He wanted things to remain just as they were forever. But in Palmpona, it was inevitable for every Pokémon to ultimately become fodder for the town’s trading obsession. Though Esaax did not understand Benny’s desire to trade him, he agreed to respect the young human’s wishes and allow himself to be put up for trade out of gratitude for the kindness that Benny had shown him.

As it so happened, the year in which Esaax was involved in the trade expo was the first year in its history in which things would go awry. Thus it was that he accidentally became a member of Team Rocket’s most incompetent faction. His partners consisted of two humans and three Pokémon, as well as a sixth creature who apparently couldn’t decide which he was: a Meowth consumed by humania. Though the Team Rocket way of existence seemed to be a cursed one, it was also sometimes quite amusing in a strange way—fun, even. Sort of a tragic comedy.

Esaax’s new mistress, Jessie, didn’t really understand anything about him, though—not his language, not his needs, not his proper use in battle. Worst of all, she failed to understand that when it comes to Poké Balls, no means no. (Of course, by that time, Esaax had learned how to break out of a Poké Ball, much to Jessie’s vexation.) In fact, Esaax had to nearly die for Jessie to come to appreciate him. After that, she became the best human friend he’d ever had.

Unfortunately, just when they had finally connected, the world changed for Pokémon—and ended for humans. A plague of fatal sleep mysteriously struck the entire human population all over the globe, bringing extinction to the species—in just a matter of hours.

With the Rocket lost in death, and something of himself gone along with her, Esaax fled the scene of her demise to wander for days in shock. Later, in his soul’s attempt to coagulate once more, he sought after familiarities and acquaintances to use as a foundation on which to rebuild his life. In particular, he sought after his Pokémon partners from Team Rocket. However, his quest yielded six no-shows, one rejection, and one successful reunion. That reunion was very promising in the beginning, but ultimately led to tragedy.

That was the last straw—Esaax’s sanity was dealt the killing blow. Once again, he tried to run from his sorrow and misfortune. Eventually, his desperate egress led him to the city of Convergence. It was a place which had once held the honor of being the world’s first fully-integrated community, in which Pokémon and humans had lived, worked, and learned as equals. In fact, many Pokémon here continued to live the lifestyles the humans had taught them, perhaps as an act of remembrance of the fallen race.

But Esaax had no more luck in finding serenity here than he’d had in any of the other places in which he’d searched. He fell into a spiral of sickness and despair that finally culminated with Esaax trying to provoke a Houndoom into killing him. Instead, the canid took pity on him. She delivered Esaax to the Haven (which had been the world’s first joint human/Pokémon hospital and research center), and thus, to salvation…

* * *

With a gentle but nonetheless abrupt severing of mental contacts, the session ended. It was still hard for Esaax to believe that over half of a century could be compressed into less than five minutes. As far as he was concerned, though, how it was possible was not important. It was what it determined that mattered.

Usually, Adn would dismiss Esaax with a simple, subliminal signal, not saying a single word. This time, however, much to Esaax’s surprise, Adn spoke to him for the very first time.

“I see that the sorrows of your history can still evoke pain in you, Esaax,” the Gardevoir intoned.

Esaax pondered that for a moment. Then he sank. “You mean, I failed the test?”

Even more unexpected than Adn’s speaking up was Adn’s suddenly bursting into laughter. “No, no!” he chuckled. “You’ve passed! If you had not felt hurt by the memories of sadness in your life, then you would have failed. You ache where it is appropriate, and you rejoice where that is appropriate. That is healthy. Numbness is not.”

“…So, I can go, then?”

“Yes, you certainly may,” the Gardevoir said, smiling proudly. “Farewell, and good luck to you!”

* * *

The time to return to the world at large had finally come. As Esaax stood before the exit alongside Syr, he bade farewell to the people who had taken such good care of him. Teresa made him smile, Madeline made him sick, and a little green Skiploom whom he didn’t even know just baffled him by doing something very rude with her tiny arms (which Esaax didn’t realize was not intended for him). Adn was not there, apparently already engrossed in another session, but he sent his kind regards with Teresa.

On the verge of tears, yet beaming like the sun, Esaax thanked everyone for their support and waved one last goodbye. Then he passed through the doors as they opened, emerging into the world for what felt like the first time in eons.

_________________________

Next chapter: Esaax and Syr get a summons from a face (or two) from their shared past, but what awaits them if they answer the call? And what, exactly, happened in the past between Esaax and the summoner that’s gotten him in such a perturbed state all of a sudden? See you then!

- Sike Saner

[Sike_Saner]

Just to let you know, this is where the heavier aspects of the story begin to rear their heads. The “adult themes”, as it were—although I don’t think these are quite the things that truly justify the rating of PG-13 or higher. No, those are still to come…

_________________

Chapter 4 – The Messenger


The nearest place to park in the shade was five blocks away from the Haven. Five blocks to walk under the dreadful midday sun, under which Esaax had not been for years. He certainly wasn’t enjoying it, and he continued to wonder how on Earth a Snorunt could tolerate it at all, shade or no shade. He still halfway expected to find a little grey-and-yellow corpse sitting behind the wheel. Or perhaps just a puddle…

An idea came to him then. “Hey, Syr, I think I’d really like to drive. You just tell me where to go, and I’ll go there. Think Jan’ll let me?”

“It’s ‘Jen’, Esaax, not ‘Jon’,” Syr corrected.

“I said ‘Jan’.”

“Well, whatever you said, it was wrong. And no, you can’t drive this car.”

“You know I know perfectly well how to drive a car, Syr,” Esaax said a bit crossly.

“Not this car. Besides, I haven’t forgotten your record with motor vehicles. Every time you’d try to drive something, anything, you’d break it, or wreck it, or else you’d just—”

“But they fixed that at the Haven,” Esaax interrupted. “They made me stronger, so that I could be more careful and less likely to break things.”

“Doesn’t it seem like more strength should make someone less careful and more likely to break things?”

“I’m not gonna wreck it! Just let me drive the stupid thing!”

“I’ll only say this one more time. Listen very carefully. You can’t drive this car,” Syr said firmly.

Esaax was about to argue some more, but then he actually saw the car for himself. It was a convertible of a brilliant copper shade. And at first sight, he knew that Syr was absolutely right: Esaax couldn’t drive it, no matter how much he wanted to or how carefully he thought he could. The driver’s seat had been modified, reshaped expressly for small species to put everything within their reach. The space was so small, and everything in it crammed so closely together, that it would have been awkward to the point of impossibility for someone Esaax’s size to occupy and use.

And yes, there was indeed a Snorunt behind the wheel. Despite Esaax’s concerns, the Ice-type was very much alive and well. He scrutinized Esaax through beady little eyes, nibbling every few seconds at a tropical snow cone as he stared. “That’s him?” the Snorunt queried.

“Yes, that’s Esaax… Where did you get that snow cone?” Syr asked.

“An ice cream truck went by not long ago,” Jen answered, continuing to stare at Esaax. Then, he smiled at the Wobbuffet, with teeth that looked more than capable of taking off an arm. “I’m very delighted to meet you, Esaax. You can ride up front with me—if you want.”

That kid gave Esaax shivers that had nothing to do with ice. Esaax saw, however, that he didn’t really have much choice with regards to the seating arrangements since Syr was really too big to ride anywhere but in the back. So, Esaax took his place next to the creepy Snorunt (and his creepy face). The Arbok entered the vehicle after him, coiling loosely across the back seats. With everyone on board, they were on their way.

“So, tell me,” Esaax inquired of Jen, chatting more out of nervousness than actual interest, “how do you plan to drive this thing once you evolve and don’t have hands anymore?”

“He’s not evolving,” Syr said.

“Now, that’s not fair,” said Esaax. “You can’t forbid him to evolve just because you’re scared of—”

“No, it’s all right,” said Jen. “I don’t want to evolve. If he said ‘do it’, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t do it for anyone.”

“I always thought it’d be kind of neat to evolve,” said Esaax.

“You never have?” Jen queried.

“Well, yeah, I have, before I was born. But that doesn’t really count.”

“Huh… Anyway, it isn’t ‘kind of neat’—it’s major. It isn’t just your shape that changes—your whole life changes. Especially for my kind…”

Jen gave a small shudder and went dead silent, apparently not wanting to proceed any further with that topic. Luckily, they arrived at their destination just then, preventing things from getting awkward. The three of them disembarked, and Jen unlocked the front door.

The three of them entered, and a place quite far from Esaax’s expectations opened up before him. This had once been a home for humans, and outwardly, it appeared as though it still was. But on the inside, only a scattered few furnishings, such as a television and a huge, grey sofa, still spoke of its former residents. In the place of human decor, the home had largely taken on a more natural appearance. It had been fashioned into a curious amalgam of a woodland burrow and an arctic cave.

Esaax tossed himself onto the sofa like a bean bag and stared up into the ceiling. Artificial stalactites hung over his head like daggers. “How long did it take to put all this together?” he asked.

“Couple of months,” Syr answered. “It was started right after I got Jen. We actually had a pretty small team working together on it; I’m surprised the work went by so fast.”

“I think it’s cool. You guys did a good job.”

“Nomel cookie?”

Esaax looked over to his right. Jen was offering him some dainty-looking little cookies on a tray. There was that disturbing smile again—was that a smile? Man, that kid’s creepy, Esaax thought. He took two of the cookies and said thanks, so as not to offend the Snorunt’s feelings (or invoke his potential wrath).

As Esaax sampled the sour cookies, a weird twinge prickling across the back of his mind distracted him from their flavor. Someone—and something—was coming his way. And he was given no time at all to figure out how or why he knew this, for just as soon as the notion had hit him, that someone was knocking at the door.

“I’ll get it.” Syr answered the door. Standing on the other side was a Xatu.

“Misters Esaax Evergrey and Syr. Someone wishes to speak with you,” the bird said, his voice a buzzing monotone.

“How did you find us?” asked Esaax.

“Who wants to speak with us?” demanded Syr.

“I was sent to find you. I desired to locate you, and thus, I was simply able to do so.” The Xatu gave no indication that he didn’t honestly believe that that statement would have made sense to even the dumbest person. Answering the second question with a bit more clarity, he said, “You are summoned by one Faurur ursh Nanku. Shall I take you there, then?”

The two who’d just been summoned stood petrified in bewilderment, just like Stantler in the headlights. They seemed utterly deaf to the “Who?”s, “Huh?”s, and “What?”s of the Snorunt skittering in circles around them.

“I already know your reply,” the Xatu said. “I shall wait for you outside.” Without even touching it, he closed the door on the bewildered recipients of his message.

Esaax and Syr looked at each other for a few moments, neither saying a word. Finally, “Jen? Esaax and I need to have a talk in private,” Syr said. Jen nodded in acquiescence.

Syr led Esaax into the bathroom and shut the door. Esaax noticed that, unlike the rest he’d seen of the house, the bathroom was almost completely unchanged from the way humans had intended it. All the fixtures were still intact—including the toilet. Unbidden curiosities made it to the surface of his mind, even in spite of the far more magnitudinous thoughts already there.

Fortunately, Syr brought Esaax back into focus before he couldn’t help asking as well as wondering. “I’m not so sure about this,” the snake said. “You’re the Psychic. Tell me, can we really be so sure about this guy?”

“I’m Psychic, but I’m no mind-reader. Still, I’m pretty sure he’s for real. I got this feeling about him just before he showed up. I knew he was coming, and that his arrival was very significant somehow.”

“A premonition?”

“I guess so. I can still feel the weight of that, plus something else. I’ve just got this instinct about him, and it just feels really, really big. It’s enough for me to vouch for him, anyway.”

The Wobbuffet realized that he’d been pacing ever since he’d entered the bathroom. He’d overestimated his poor nerves yet again. He managed to stop the motion of his legs, but his tail kept on anxiously switching back and forth. Though he tried, he could not calm it.

Sighing in surrender to his unrest, Esaax said, “You know, that’s actually what I wanted to discuss with you back at the Haven—not the Xatu, obviously. I mean, you know, what all you two did after you left T—” He felt his voice catch in his throat. “What you guys did after you left us, and how Faurur’s been lately…”

“I actually haven’t talked with him in a long time,” Syr said, sounding a bit troubled.

“Her,” Esaax corrected.

“…What?”

“You really haven’t seen Faurur in a long time…” Esaax remarked. “What’s been keeping you guys out of touch? I always thought you were like the ultimate best friends and all…”

“Hey, it wasn’t like it was my fault!” Syr suddenly blurted. The outburst surprised even himself. He took a moment to stop and breathe. “Sorry… sorry, it’s not like it was really Faurur’s fault, either. Something happened, you see—something weird. It happened almost right after Faurur and I parted ways with you. These lights that were like nothing I’d ever seen before appeared and moved across the sky one night. The next day, the Koffing were all saying that their ‘gods’ had arrived. They demanded that my people swear loyalty to these gods, too.

“We had no clue what they were talking about, and we weren’t about to just give ourselves and our faith to total strangers. So, the Koffing drove us all away—you wouldn’t believe how strong they can be in a group. I never did find out if Faurur was on their side… Anyway, since you obviously have seen him—her—more recently than I have, tell me: when you were with her then, how was she?”

“Well, first of all,” Esaax tended first to Syr’s unspoken but obvious question, “they’re able to do that by just deciding to do that. Change sexes, I mean. How they’re able to do that, I don’t know at all, but they are. The reason Faurur did was because the Koffing had chosen him to be their new colony leader. But the thing is, the colony leader always has to be female. So, ‘he’ became ‘she’ out of duty.”

Esaax hesitated then. He didn’t really want to go on and tell of what had happened between himself and Faurur, for the memory pained him to no small degree. But at the same time, he couldn’t help feeling like he owed it to Syr, since the Arbok and Weezing had known each other and had been close friends long before he’d come into the picture.

As Esaax began to tell his story, his voice underwent a marked transformation. The words were choked and strained, as if they were being bodily evicted.

“After the Extinction,” Esaax began, “I tried to get back together with some of the old crew. No luck finding anybody other than Basath, but… well, she hates me… Furthermore, you wouldn’t know who she is, would you? So, never mind her. But then, I managed to track down Faurur.

“Now, as for these ‘gods’ you were talking about, she made no mention of any such thing. And when I asked her where you were, the answer she gave me was really ambiguous. She told me that you and the Ekans just decided to go off on your own somewhere, and that you gave no explanation as to why.

“What she said didn’t seem suspicious to me at the time. I don’t remember that anything about the situation did. But I’m not surprised that I missed the signs. I was… kind of in another mind at the time…

“Anyway,” Esaax’s voice began to tremble and crack. “…Anyway, something went wrong—nothing to do with gods or sky-lights or any such crap. Faurur wanted to know, of course, whatever had become of her poor, precious ‘Master’. She actually, honestly didn’t know, that’s how far-removed her life had become. I had to break that news to her. I had to deliver that message—it was awful.

“You can just imagine her reaction, right?” But before Syr could answer, “Wrong. You have no idea. The level of adoration there… it’s much worse than we ever thought. I told her, and it was like I’d just ripped her right open…”

Esaax, having begun to pace again as he spoke, stopped again. But this time, rather than standing, he sank. He slid down the wall until he was slouched against it on the floor, with his spine bent perpendicular in a poor facsimile of a seated position.

“It was awful,” he repeated. “I just felt like a monster for making her feel that way. I swore that, no matter what, I would do anything to heal her soul. I gave her that pain, so I had to be the one to take it away. I had to be there for her so she could recover.”

His voice changed yet again, becoming brittle and skeletal. It was now barely more than an exhalation. “We became very, very close…”

Syr had had his head lowered in the solemnity that his friend was casting over the room. He looked up at Esaax then and found the Wobbuffet staring into a fathomless nothing, his abyss-black eyes wide. And unless Syr was mistaken, they were glowing, lit from within by a dull, violet-black light.

His unnatural trance unbreaking, Esaax continued. “We became very close, and then… and then we…” He swallowed very hard. “We had an egg.”

For a moment, Syr was too stupefied to say anything. When he found his voice and his wits again, he asked, “So… was it a boy, or a girl?”

Esaax actually smiled. It only made his disturbing expression look even more wrong. “It was a girl,” he answered. “A Koffing, of course, but a little more blue than purple because of me. When she hatched, she was so tiny that I could hold her in one hand…”

His smile widened, but became very shaky. “She was named Drasigon, and I really liked that name. Faurur told me that it means ‘Never Ignored’, and I agreed on it instantly.”

Startlingly, his gaze locked into laserlike focus in a single moment. With a stare like a homing missile straight into Syr’s eyes, Esaax said, “Guess how long she lasted.”

“What?”

“Come on, guess.”

What kind of a thing is that to say? Syr wondered. It seemed awfully strange… “How long?” he finally asked.

There was no response.

“How long?” Syr asked again gingerly.

“Four days,” Esaax answered abruptly, harshly. “Four days. That’s all. Four days, and then she just burst into flames, fast as lightning. And then she was gone, Syr, like some evil magic hit her. For no reason!”

Esaax was shaking so hard at this point that it looked like he could just fall apart. As Syr stared at him in shock and sorrow, he saw an alarming phenomenon overtake the Wobbuffet. For just a second, a blazing aura of the most vicious red was visible around Esaax, as if a part of his soul had just exploded.

“And Faurur was there when it happened, too,” Esaax went on. “We were just frozen there for a little while. I looked her right in the eyes, and… and I just didn’t know what to do, so I… so I just ran…”

Silently weeping, Syr embraced the hysterical Psychic-type tightly against his body as if trying to hold the poor creature together with his coils. Though he certainly wanted to reunite with Faurur, he wasn’t sure it was such a good idea for Esaax to revisit that aspect of his past face-to-face (or faces, as it were). Regardless of whether or not the Wobbuffet wished to do so. In fact, Syr began to wonder if maybe the only place Esaax ought to be going was right back to the Haven…

But just then, Esaax’s trance ceased as spontaneously as the life of his daughter. His eyes shut completely, overflowing with tears. But he brushed away the deluge, and removed himself from the Arbok’s coils with total ease.

Recognizing that this was not the strength of body alone, Syr knew that he could do or say nothing to the contrary when Esaax said, “I have to go back to her. Right now.”

_________________________

Feel free to guess on who and what Basath happens to be. ^^

Next chapter: Syr and Esaax reunite with Faurur at last. What news and events could she possibly bear that would have warranted reaching out to them after so many years, and in such an unusual manner? See you then!

- Sike Saner

[Ichaste Pekoni]

......I kind of lost track with this after Chapter 1...

Whoa......

...Are you going to delve more into what happened to all the trainers, and more importantly, what happened to Ash & co.'s Pokemon (especially Pikachu)?

[Sike_Saner]

Ichapokemr: ...Are you going to delve more into what happened to all the trainers, and more importantly, what happened to Ash & co.'s Pokemon (especially Pikachu)?

Ah, yes. The matter of the Extinction. There will be a time and a place at which that topic will be addressed directly, yes. In fact, since the matter of what actually caused it is such an important aspect of the sort of alternate universe in which this series takes place, it will virtually have an entire story to itself.

That's quite some distance from here, however; I am currently at work on another story, one that deals with a character who appears later in this one. Only after that one is completed (since I'm terrible at managing more than one project at once XD) will work begin on the third and final installment in this series, in which this series' greatest secrets will be revealed.

So yeah, this story's pretty much fully focused on Esaax as a character and what's happening to him and those around him - there's basically not a lot of exposition beyond those background elements that are directly relevant to the events this story follows as they unfold.

As for Ash and co., I'm afraid that they really have no part in this story, or in this series as a whole. There's a very small, passing reference to Pikachu a little later on, but that's pretty much it. ^^; That, along with the fact that this story does revolve around some of what were once TR's Pokémon, are pretty much the only ties this series has to the anime.

[Sike_Saner]

Chapter 5 – The Fire and the Air


A golden light swelled around Syr, Esaax, and the Xatu. When it faded, the Xatu bowed and bade them farewell, saying he knew when to return for them. Again, he apparently did not feel obliged to explain anything. And with that, he Teleported away, leaving Esaax and Syr alone and somewhat confused.

Where the bird deposited them was not where either had expected to go. They were in an alleyway, very long and very narrow. Two tall, rather plain buildings loomed up on either side, and a huge cement wall created a dead end. The structures cast dreary, grey shadows into the alley that belied the earliness still left in the day.

“Look at this place,” Esaax said. “This could be any city… there’s no telling where we are.” He kicked at a long-discarded soda can. “You know, I think it’s a little odd that Faurur had us brought to meet her here, when she could have had that Xatu bring her to us. You know, seeing as how he obviously knew exactly where we were. You think so, too?”

“Not necessarily. Poison-folk don’t tolerate being exposed to Psychic energy very well. I know I didn’t particularly enjoy the trip, but I don’t think we really went very far. Otherwise, I’d really be feeling it. Faurur, however, doesn’t live anywhere near my house. It wouldn’t have been good for her to Teleport that whole distance,” Syr explained.

“That makes sense.”

Syr nodded. “So, where is she?”

“She’s here. I can totally feel it.”

“Oh, I know. I’m aware of her, too; she’s got to be closeby. I’ll just keep looking over here, and you can—” He fell silent.

“Syr?”

“Esaax, come here,” the reptile said softly.

Esaax heeded the Arbok, feeling an awful, compelling sort of dread that pulled him achingly forward like a fish hook. He had a sickening suspicion about what he was about to see. What did he find? he wondered. Dear Night… she’s not dead, is she?

No, she wasn’t dead. But for what was left of her, Faurur ursh Nanku may as well have been. At the very least, her dignity had perished. She was reduced to lying deflated on the asphalt, pale and shapeless. Nothing remaining in her countenance spoke of the former glory of her colonial rule.

Esaax leaned forward as close to her as he could, but he couldn’t have reached eye level with her at this point without melting into the earth. Tears stung his eyes as they registered the almost intolerable sight. He could barely breathe. There was a definite feeling that he could just cave in on himself at any moment, just as she had done.

But why had she? What had happened to her? Esaax had only seen Faurur this way once before: one time (out of countless many), when their poor, silly Meowth balloon had been shot down by that particular Pikachu (what was so important about him, anyway?...), she had landed very ungracefully onto the rocks below. Her mantle had torn, and she had been deflated. It had left her lying crippled until she could be repaired.

Esaax could see no sign of a breach this time, but still… “What did this to you?” he asked hoarsely.

“Nothing,” came the horribly weak, double-voiced reply. “Nothing but the seasons. One hundred and thirteen seasons… too many…”

“What? Oh, no, that’s right,” Esaax remembered. It was a statistic Faurur had mentioned to him while they had been waiting for their egg to hatch. About one hundred seasons, or twenty-five years, was generally as long as any Weezing could expect to live. Most didn’t make it anywhere near that far. And yet, Faurur had managed to surpass that mark.

Thus, Faurur was very, very old. Esaax explained these details to Syr, while the Weezing remained silently gathering her strength for more crucial words. It became terribly clear to both Esaax and Syr that they were witnessing the end of Faurur’s life.

“Listen,” Faurur spoke up then. “I came here to warn you. Beware the strangers from the sky!”

“From the sky… Do you mean the sky-lights? I thought those were your gods,” Syr said.

Faurur emitted a sound of loathing, a bass groan that was alarmingly strong given her condition. “Gods?” she huffed. “Deranics aren’t gods. Worms, maybe. But not gods. They tricked us. They promised us happiness. But they brought only slavery. My whole colony—my family, all of them, never to be free again. And after we fought so hard for them!” She stared up at Syr with anguish in all four of her eyes.

“I know,” the Arbok said, his voice constrained. “It’s okay. Your people didn’t really mean to drive mine away, did they?”

“No. The Deranics controlled us, with their lies.” Her obvious hatred for these “Deranics” seemed more venomous than anything she’d ever produced before. “But listen, they won’t stop with us. More will come and spread their worm-lies through all lands. They’ll seem so nice at first, but don’t trust them—that’s how they started with us. Then, they said, ‘Obey us, or die.’ And someday they’ll say this to everyone if they can.”

Faurur lowered her voices even more then, as if afraid of someone overhearing. “This is very important. Pay attention and never forget: Their plan to control has already begun. Already, something huge has been done to the world by them. I know, because I heard it from them myself. They think we’re too stupid to remember what they say… Anyway, they call it…”

She had to stop to catch her breath, but she was also working through a minor frustration. Finally, she forced herself to continue. “They call it ‘Seterhath Zulo-Denvenda’.” And then, she literally spat. “Filthy worm-language! We all know some of their words, but these…”

Faurur winced, revealing her pain for the first time. “I have no time,” she panted. “You must figure it out. Don’t forget: beware the Deranics. And don’t forget ‘Seterhath Zulo-Denvenda’. Figure it out and warn the world, please!”

“We will. Don’t worry,” Syr said. Esaax nodded in agreement.

Faurur smiled at them. But then, she cried out in agony.

Esaax cringed at the horrid noise. And just as it erupted from the dying Weezing, a shard of burning pain sliced deep into his chest. In that moment, suspicions he’d had about himself for a long time were reified like never before.

“Faurur… I can help you,” he said then, his voice sounding very fragile. “I can help take your pain away. I can make it easier for you…” He laid his hand upon her as he spoke.

Just as he had done once before…

Her body was utterly still, save for the vague rise and fall of her mantle as she breathed. The fading life was passing through her body with but the weight of a rumor. Esaax, however, was trembling like an earthquake and weeping like a waterfall.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Faurur no longer howled or screamed. She seemed to have moved beyond pain. She only made a small, puzzled noise at Esaax, seeming not to understand what he was talking about.

“For running away,” Esaax elaborated. “For abandoning you all those years ago. First… first, Drasigon leaves you, and then I…”

Faurur actually gave a little chuckle of surprise. “Is that all? It’s fine! Don’t cry, I’m not mad at you. You just didn’t understand. Drasigon never left. She just changed into the air! You see? You just didn’t understand then, so you ran away. But now, maybe you do understand.”

She must be delirious, Esaax thought. “I still shouldn’t have just taken off on you like that.”

“It’s fine,” Faurur repeated, with emphasis this time. “Why do you fret? You’re here now, right? Now is all that matters. Drasigon is here, too, in the air. Can’t you feel her?”

So that’s what she’s saying. Esaax kept his hand upon Faurur, despite how unnervingly warm she suddenly became. “I was always told that we become part of the earth after we die.”

“Maybe,” Faurur said softly. “All I know is the fire, and the air…”

And then, right on cue, flames blossomed magically from within her. She gazed up at her old friends with eyes that were filled with nothing but pure and serene adoration, even as the fire consumed her completely.

Of far greater importance than the fact that the fire caused Esaax to involuntarily pull his hand away before it could cinder along with her was the fact that the combustion came before his Psychic link could fully form. His hand would not have burned nearly as badly as his mind.

As Esaax watched Faurur’s glowing ashes float away, he felt Syr rest his tail-tip upon his shoulder in the way some friends might do with an arm or a hand.

“Esaax, I think there’s someplace you really ought to be,” the Arbok said quietly.

Then, just as the Xatu had said would happen, the golden light of Teleportation bloomed once again to bring them home.

_________________________

Next chapter: Jen thinks he knows just the thing to ease Esaax’s grief in the wake of Faurur’s passing—and he is quite insistent that Esaax gives it a try. See you then!

- Sike Saner

[Sike_Saner]

Chapter 6 – Hope


The door opened for Syr and Esaax, thanks to the dutiful Snorunt standing right inside. Jen had been waiting on full alert for the slightest sign of anyone approaching since the two had left.

“There was no one to Bite while you were away,” he said.

“That’s good,” Syr said in a low, tired voice. He slithered into the house with the liveliness of a zombie. He was practically carrying Esaax, who was even less animate in his bereavement.

Syr placed the listless Psychic on the sofa and made his way into the kitchen, fully aware that Jen was following him. Without turning, he said, “I’m about to need you and your car. Esaax is going right back to the Haven.”

“Going back?” There was a constant clicking as Jen’s tiny, grey feet hopped and skittered across the linoleum. He was apparently having a very hard time holding still.

Syr sighed. “We’ve just experienced… something difficult. I’m worried that Esaax might not be well enough to handle it.”

Syr told Jen about what had happened in the alley with Faurur. He also told him about the anomalous aura that had revealed itself around Esaax before they had gone to see her. “They must have made some kind of mistake at the Haven. I think he’s still suffering some kind of Psychic disturbances,” he said.

“I see… Maybe what he needs can’t be found in any hospital,” Jen suggested.

Though the weight of Syr’s account of Faurur’s passing had forced the Snorunt to grow still, it was still obvious that he was distressed by something. “Are you all right?” Syr asked of him.

Jen gave Syr a quick glance with preoccupied eyes and swallowed hard. “I’m fine,” he answered. “I think I am, anyway.”

“I hope you are; I’d hate for you to get sick, too. Now, what were you saying?”

“About the Haven? I said, maybe they can’t help him there. He might do better to come to Hope with me tonight. Maybe he just needs the support of a commiserating audience.”

“I’m not quite sure you really understand the nature of the situation, Jen,” Syr said.

“Yes, I do,” Jen said. “Everyone at the Hope Institute does. People go there because they’ve experienced loss. They go there to find inner peace. That’s what it was built for. I know they’ve done a world of good for me. Especially before you came along—they were a family for me. They were always there for me.

“Look, the Haven has obviously failed Esaax, right? I know he’s a major friend of yours. So, if you respect him so much, why give him back to that place and those people and allow them another chance to fail him when there might just be a better way?”

Jen’s words hit their mark. Syr couldn’t help but believe that if there was any chance that something could still be awry within Esaax—and Syr had seen things first hand that were strange enough to convince him that something was—then the Haven should have recognized it and not released him. It seemed there was a degree of incompetence, or something, at work within the Haven, and Syr found himself wanting to give them a piece of his mind (if not his fangs) about it.

“I think you’re right, Jen,” Syr said finally. “Maybe it is about time someone took a different approach to this. For his sake.”

Jen nodded, insofar as he could. “Maybe you should go, too. I couldn’t help noticing your tears…”

Syr hadn’t noticed them, and quickly turned his head. “I can’t go to that place, Jen, and you know why.” He forced himself to meet Jen’s gaze once more. “Don’t worry. I think all I need is some quiet time alone, to remember. Then I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’m going to try and talk to him, if that’s all right.”

“Go ahead.”

Jen fetched a tall glass of water and those Nomel cookies, and he carried them to the living room and the spiritless Wobbuffet therein.

Esaax was still lying on the sofa. Mentally, however, he was quite absent. His mind was drifting obliviously through space and time. He seemed not to notice or care that his head and arms had come to dangle over the armrest, his face steadily turning a deep sapphire shade.

Jen placed the cookies and water on the little coffee table in front of Esaax. Esaax paid no mind.

“I brought you some refreshments,” the Snorunt said brightly, but he may as well have spoken to a big, blue brick. He frowned concernedly at the Wobbuffet. “You shouldn’t be hanging upside-down like that. You’re going to get a head rush.”

He tried pushing Esaax’s head back up over the armrest, but it was too large and heavy for him to hoist up. So, Jen took a different approach. He hopped up onto the other end of the sofa and grabbed Esaax by the pods. With a tremendous effort that probably took years off of his life, Jen managed to pull the Wobbuffet back up into a proper and healthy resting position.

Jen sat himself down on the armrest opposite Esaax, panting in dry, staccato hisses. “Phew… you may not be quite as heavy as you look, but still!” As soon as he caught his breath, he made his move. “I heard all about what happened today, Esaax,” he said in a warm and kind voice. “I understand what you’re going through. That’s why I offer the best thing in the world for you right now.”

If Esaax was listening, if he was even hearing Jen’s words, he gave no indication of it. He was still enveloped in his reverie, feeling as though he was disembodied and drifting.

Drifting, just like ashes on the wind…

Jen went on in spite of Esaax’s lack of responsiveness. “I invite… I request your presence at the Hope Institute tonight. We’ll all be there for you, Esaax. You’ll get whatever you need to ease the sorrow of your loss. If you want to talk about it with others, people who’ve also lost someone they love, you can. If you don’t want to talk about it, well, that’s fine, too. Just being there, I know you can find comfort. They’ll support you, just like they’ve supported me. So, what do you say, Esaax? Would you like to come along with me tonight?”

Jen’s speech seemed to have been in vain. Esaax just continued his zombielike stare into nothingness with glazed eyes and sagging lips, completely unresponsive.

Jen sighed. How on Earth could I—could anyone—possibly get through to this person? he wondered. It was imperative—highly imperative—that the Wobbuffet be brought to the Hope Institute. How, then, to get him to agree to it, when it seemed impossible to get a response of any kind out of him?

“Can’t respond” means “can’t refuse”, the Snorunt considered.

No. Syr would not allow one of his best friends to be taken involuntarily into something which he’d initially doubted himself. At least, not without sticking his purple snout farther into the situation than was affordable. And being just in the next room, he’d have overheard the whole scene, so there was no use lying to him about Esaax’s compliance. What to do, then?

Jen stared like a bird of prey at the untouched glass of water as he mulled over this problem. As he did, the liquid began a curious transformation. It shimmered and gave a slight quiver. With a tiny crack, it froze instantly. It then began sprouting upward, spreading out into intricate, crystalline branches as it rose up from within the glass.

Strangely, this tree made of ice seemed to be just what it took to coax Esaax out of his blank reverie. The moment it caught his eye, he was enthralled with it. The elegant and fragile shapes the enchanted ice was forming were strangely soothing and mesmerizing. Esaax noticed the Snorunt out of the corner of his eye—was he creating this? Wait… was he glowing? Esaax turned his full sight to Jen… but it seemed there was no glow about him after all.

Huh. Must have imagined that, Esaax thought idly. Back to the tree… pretty… Still spellbound by the ice anomaly, he asked, “Where did you say this was?” in a hypnotized voice.

That utterance snapped Jen out of his own altered state. He saw the cryokinetic manifestation on the coffee table, and he gasped in shock as he realized what had been happening. I almost let it go that time… It was getting harder and harder for him to resist the urges of a body that wanted desperately to evolve.

He was about to revert the ice sculpture to water once more… but then he realized something. “Oh, um, it’s called the Hope Institute. It’s just on the other side of town,” he replied hurriedly. “Are you saying you wish to go?” As he spoke, he melted the ice tree back to normal. The branches curled in on themselves and liquified gracefully and beautifully, but nonetheless quickly.

Esaax was wearing a smile that looked both contented and intoxicated. “Yeah,” he answered, “sure…”

The ice anomaly was soon gone, and Jen was satisfied that it had successfully cast whatever strange, hypnotic spell it had carried—and that he had gotten rid of it before it could be noticed by anyone else.

Sighing with relief, Jen hopped off of the sofa. Before he went to confirm his successful persuasion to Syr, he stopped to clasp one of Esaax’s hands in both of his own. “Good choice, friend,” he said, beaming with a ten-mile-wide grin.

Better than you know, he added silently.

* * *

Mid-evening, Jen’s convertible pulled up to the curb across the street from a sprawling, single-story structure. This, of all buildings, was the Hope Institute. It was ugly and unremarkable apart from its size, with no identifying characteristic other than a wooden sign on which the word “HOPE” was painted in black Unown-characters. The sign was crudely lit from beneath with a single 40-watt bulb.

As Jen led Esaax (who was now once again independently mobile, albeit still seeming a bit spellbound) through the entrance, a Sceptile at the door stopped and bowed in front of them.

“Blessings,” the forest lizard said, her tone exceptionally warm and inviting.

“Blessings to you, too,” Jen replied, bowing in turn.

“Is the Wobbuffet new here?” the Sceptile asked.

“Yes, ma’am. I trust he’ll be welcomed?”

“Of course.” The Sceptile turned to Esaax. “Blessings,” she repeated, bowing to him and offering her clawed hands, which Esaax took as he returned what seemed to be the ritual greeting in this place.

“May your spirit be ever light,” the Sceptile said in farewell, as Jen and Esaax left her behind to proceed further into the Hope Institute.

Esaax found himself led into an assembly space of some sort, a vast, well-lit room whose walls were plastered with posters bearing various uplifting slogans in Unown-script. Looking around, he saw a diverse collection of Pokémon species gathering in this place. A few of the attendees were milling about, while others were conversing with one another in small cliques. Most of them, however, were already forming a nice and orderly audience. Standing, sitting, coiled, grounded, or perched in semi-loose rows, they all had their eyes or equivalent sensory organs trained straight forward at a presently unoccupied, scarlet-curtained stage.

Clearly, something was about to take place upon that stage, and so Esaax turned his attention forward, too. It wasn’t long before the stage was no longer empty.

A Hitmonlee stepped out from behind the curtain, carrying a microphone and a clipboard. He scanned the audience briefly, and looked about ready to speak. But then, he glanced over his clipboard and frowned (which, evidently, doesn’t require one to possess a mouth).

The Hitmonlee turned and shouted something to someone offstage, though Esaax was too far away to hear exactly what was said. At the Fighting-type’s call, a large, glistening, grey-and-white shape drifted across the stage towards him—a Glalie, and quite possibly the largest one in existence, at that.

“Hey, Jen,” Esaax said, continuing to sound only half-present, “that Glalie up there, someone you know?”

“Huh? Oh, you mean him? Not really, no. He works here, that’s all I know. I think most of them in Convergence do—the Glalie, I mean.”

“You’re sure you don’t know him? Cause he’s acting like he knows you. He’s looking this way right now.”

Indeed, he was. As the Glalie was being consulted about whatever-it-was by that Hitmonlee, he was also casting an eye into the audience every other second. He had apparently become fixated on Jen and Esaax’s general location. Then, his gaze locked directly into the Wobbuffet’s, and his already massive blue eyes suddenly grew even wider.

“Why is he staring at me like that?” Esaax asked, nervousness beginning to break through his previously dazed tone.

The Glalie hesitantly broke eye contact, finishing his conversation with the Hitmonlee. Then, he went right back to giving Esaax the laser-eye. His stare unbreaking, the Glalie descended from the stage and started making his way into the audience.

“Why is he coming this way?” Esaax asked in a small, slightly panicked voice.

“Relax,” Jen said. “I’m sure he’s just curious because he’s never seen you here before. He probably just wants to say hello.”

Esaax strongly hoped that Jen was right as the oversized Ice demon came to a halt before him.

“Blessings,” the Glalie said. His voice was deep and sonorous, but also possessed a hissing, aspirate edge.

“Blessings,” Esaax and Jen returned in unison.

“Pardon me, but I can’t help noticing an unfamiliar face,” said the Glalie.

“Yeah… I’m new here,” Esaax said awkwardly. “Uh… nice to meet you…”

The Glalie responded with what he considered to be his friendliest and most pleasant smile. It did nothing whatsoever to soften his appearance. “Could you come with me, please?”

“…What for?” Esaax asked uneasily. He found himself starting to shiver and wished that he could stop, but the close proximity of the massive Ice-type forbade it. His own steadily developing nervousness was not helping, either. He was beginning to realize that he didn’t really have any idea what was going on here, and the current face of his uncertainty was just too large and too close for comfort.

“I’m sorry, but this is the youth assembly,” the Glalie answered. “You’ll want our adult group.”

Esaax took another look around and saw that, indeed, the audience was comprised of children and adolescents. He looked to Jen, but the Snorunt made no move to contradict the Glalie. So, Esaax agreed to follow the stranger to this “adult group”.

But just as they were about to leave, the Glalie hesitated and turned back around. He was staring again, but at Jen this time. However, it wasn’t the same kind of stare he’d used on Esaax. Rather than looking intrigued or compelled, the Glalie instead looked distinctly conflicted.

However, the action terminated without explanation, same as it had begun. The Glalie abandoned whatever that pause might have led to in something of a hurry, leaving Esaax scrambling to catch up.

Esaax followed behind the Glalie for minute after minute, through corridor after corridor. He might have been more fascinated by how swiftly and gracefully such a creature was able to move in spite of having no legs and weighing more than a quarter-ton, were it not for the fact that he was growing more confused and anxious by the second.

What was this place, and why had he been brought here? He honestly could not recall. His mind offered only a stark, white blankness whenever he tried to present it with those questions.

He had other questions, too: Where are we going, exactly? How big is this place, anyway? The youth assembly looked like it was about to start when we left; wouldn’t the adult meeting have started by now, too? Shouldn’t we already be there?

Unless that’s not really where we’re going… That thought was truly unsettling. What if I really am in some kind if trouble… Oh, crap, am I?!

Esaax almost tried seeing if the Glalie would shed some light on things, but found that asking questions to the graphite-grey, geometric patterns on his back wasn’t much easier than asking them to his face.

He couldn’t just stay quiet, though. He could never keep quiet when he was nervous. So, rather than just come out with what he really wanted to say, Esaax opted to start out with small talk. Perhaps small questions with small answers would help to beget more important questions and their answers with greater ease and grace.

“Excuse me, uh, sir?” Esaax began tentatively.

“Yes, I’m a ‘sir’,” the Glalie said playfully. Esaax returned a forced, nervous laugh. “What is it?”

“What’s your name?” Esaax asked.

“Solonn,” the Glalie answered, “and you?”

“I’m Esaax.”

“Ah, all right, then. Pleasure to meet you, Esaax.” In a much lower voice, the Glalie said, “You may not know it yet, Esaax, but I’m the best friend you’ve got in this place.”

Maybe Solonn had meant that to be reassuring. If so, it had failed. Whatever strange, vacant haze had been enveloping Esaax’s mind was continuing to dissolve at an increasing rate. It was being replaced just as quickly by a building, unrelenting feeling that he had forgotten something crucially important, the sort of thing that should be utterly impossible to forget.

“I’m afraid we’re already a little late,” Solonn said, the distraction of his voice foiling yet another of Esaax’s vain attempts at memory retrieval, “but the good news is that I know a shortcut through the building that will keep you from missing too much more of the assembly. We’ll just go right around here, and—”

Solonn halted all of a sudden, neither executing his turn or finishing his sentence. A door to his right had just opened unexpectedly. A second later, there emerged the most peculiar creature…

_________________________

Next chapter: Find out what on Earth just stepped out of that door! Plus, Esaax confesses suspicions about himself, and a solution to the problems they’ve wrought is offered. See you next time!

- Sike Saner

[IceKing]

I really liked how you started this work "mysteriously" (for lack of better term) and into the regular narrative, you don't seem to really have any hardcore exposition. I continue reading because these pokemon are quite interesting and as I already know you love PokeCentricism, so I assume it will be full blown in your own fic. Time to plunge in!

Autoemphathetic crisis sounds so awesome X_X I can just imagine the force doubling over and over again... Well, not for me, but to watch it would. I never thought of a Wobbufett's tail being like a second brain before. I love the humor in this as well, my favorite instance being

“You’re not testing Destiny Bond?”

“Luckily for you, no.”

It's great how you tied the laws of pokemon into your own original invention, I can see why Syr was so afraid to use attacks and such

At this point, I'm curious as to where you are getting these names from. Not just the pokemon names, but all of them including that important phrase later on. The description "divided halves of the same individual" is so awesome it's not even funny. You don't realize the excited realization I got when I was like "Benny sounds so familiar" and then the next line made me realize that....Essax is everyone's favorite Wobbufett! Holy Crap O_O I quietely sobbed at the realization that Jessie was dead. I hope Syr was her Arbok =D The final line with Skiploom was pure gold.

The idea of pokemon driving convertibles is just hilarious. Jen's evolution talk seems to foreshadow some of the issues in Communication. I'm a bit curious as to how an Arbok uses a human toilet, I must admit. I need some clarification with Fauror. So Fauror is a Koffing, and she became the new Koffing leader after the strange lights appeared? It troubles me to imagine a Koffing and Wobbufett becoming "close", but I absolutely fell in love with Drasigon....and then became horrified upon learning her fate. Furthermore, was Fauror still colony leader when Essax delivered the message and became close? I would assume that the colony might have objections or something.

Dear Night…she’s not dead, is she?


Why does he use the word, "Night" That interested me

Judging from the paragraph about the Meowth balloon rupturing, I assume Fauror is both a Weezing and Team Rocket's Weezing. Meaning Syr should be the Arbok =D (Arbok is my favorite Team Rocket pokemon). Now, the thought of a Weezing and a Wobbufet disturbs me even more. The second head reminds me of "Conjoined-Fetus Lady"

The fifth chapter was my favorite by far ;_; It was so tragic and beautiful. It strongly heightened my interest with poor Faurur's dying words. Great emotion, especially on Esaax's part. I couldn't tell as much what Syr was feeling but I assume that's because the focus was not on him at all. I did enjoy the line about Syr placing his tail on Esaax's shoulder. If Faurur was twenty five and very elderly, that raises some questions as to how long Esaax was away from her (if he couldn't consummate with her as an elderly pokemon) as well as how old was Esaax if he is currently fifty-four. Just some observations I made...

I'm at chapter six and I can definitely see Syr's sorrow too. I guess he attempts loosely to mask his feelings or something of that sort as he is obviously troubled but manages to speak with Jen. Speaking of Jen, I'm getting more curious as to the system of pokemon adoption at Convergence since obviously it's not something of the lines of going to an orphanage and picking out the cutest one. Jen came from the Hope Institute so I'm guessing it's more of the lines of Syr taking him in. Jen is quite an interesting character, he's intelligent and witty (Ice Cream Truck line =D) and very insightful.

Also, I noticed this bit of punctuation a bit in your work

You may not be quite as heavy as you look, but still!…”

an exclamation mark followed by an ellipse. It seems to kind of conflict in my eyes because exclamation implies...well...exclamation while the ellipse tends to imply an uneasy/unsure sort of tone and I can't exactly see the two mixing. What do you mean by it?

It seems rather soon to take him to the Hope Institute so soon after the tragedy. I'm was a bit taken back by how Jen got his attention with his beautiful cyrokinetic art, usually in situations like this I read people are so out of it they wouldn't even notice. Which I guess says even more for the art. I wonder who that Glalie is =D YAY! IT IS HIM! Hmm, I thought Solonn was confined to his room at first. Unless this takes place after Communication events.

It appears Solonn is indeed in The Origin of Storms, which will make it all the juicier for Communication. For some reason, I get the vibe that the Hope Institute is connected to....whatever the creatures Faurun was talking about were called (it's a bit more difficult to remember your names XD) judging from the usage of "blessings." I can't help but think it's rather soon for Esaax to be going to Hope Institute, but I may be underestimated his "psychic disturbance" as you describe it.

And so there, it took me quite a while, but I read and commented on all your chapters XD It was quite an enjoyable read, the writing is light but I can tell the meaning is deep. I'm sure we will be exploring some axioms of emotion with Esaax and his complex personality. I'm still shocked at how Esaax is Team Rocket's Wobbufett. I have nothing to criticize or anything like that; the only thing I noticed was there were some places where the italics were a bit funky, such as beingspacedwithotherwords or random words being unitalized that don't appear to be for effect. But of course, this has nothing to do with your writing skills.


Boss work (I finally get to say that to you), I await more

[Sike_Saner]

IceKing: Autoemphathetic crisis sounds so awesome X_X I can just imagine the force doubling over and over again... Well, not for me, but to watch it would. I never thought of a Wobbufett's tail being like a second brain before.

Thanks. ^^ Those ideas were both the result of obsessive theory-making regarding Wobbuffet, an activity I engaged in quite a lot back in the day, when Wobbuffet was my number-one favorite Pokémon. (For the record, Wobbuffet does presently still hold a nice spot as #2 on my list. ^^)

Nearly every one of those theories found its way into theis story—for better or for worse. XD This story does tend to get a bit textbookish at times, admittingly, and should I ever reach a point where I wish to renew and retool this story a bit and there are no other projects demanding focus, that textbook-like aspect of it would probably receive the most alteration.

At this point, I'm curious as to where you are getting these names from. Not just the pokemon names, but all of them including that important phrase later on.

Most of the names really did just come out of the blue, originally. They were just whatever came to mind that seemed to be worn well by the character and/or the character’s species. As for the Deranic language (what exists of it, at least), that’s something that originated quite some time back. I came up with Deranics years ago, including them in this little series of stories I used to write and share with my cousin. I don’t remember whether there was any sort of specific process involved in constructing the few words and phrases of that language that I’ve come up with to date or whether they, like most of my character names, have no specific origin. I suspect that it was the latter, however.

The description "divided halves of the same individual" is so awesome it's not even funny.

Thanks again. ^^

You don't realize the excited realization I got when I was like "Benny sounds so familiar" and then the next line made me realize that....Essax is everyone's favorite Wobbufett! Holy Crap O_O

Words cannot describe how I love that reaction. X3

The final line with Skiploom was pure gold.

After my brain randomly presented me with the image of a Skiploom flipping the arm, I simply couldn’t resist including such. XP

I'm a bit curious as to how an Arbok uses a human toilet, I must admit.

…Very carefully. *is shot*

Well, without getting too graphic, he’s a very limber serpent. XP

I need some clarification with Fauror. So Fauror is a Koffing, and she became the new Koffing leader after the strange lights appeared?

Actually, she was already a Weezing at that point—this was sometime shortly after an episode of the anime in which Syr and Faurur, the Arbok and Weezing belonging to Jessie and James, were released by their owners. But yes, it was after the appearance of the lights that Faurur was chosen as the leader of the Koffing colony.

Furthermore, was Fauror still colony leader when Essax delivered the message and became close? I would assume that the colony might have objections or something.

Indeed she was. As for any objections from the colony… Well, some of them might have raised questions at first, though I imagine that those would likely have been more along the lines of "How does that work?" rather than "Is it right for you to do this?" They might have been curious about it (and if they were, and Faurur actually answered those questions, and Esaax found out that she did… yeah, the thought of his likely reaction amuses me X3), but I don’t think any of them saw anything wrong with it. If any did, I imagine that they either kept their objections to themselves or relented fairly quickly in their objections out of respect for their leader.

Why does he use the word, "Night" That interested me

Like many of his kind, Esaax regards night and darkness as divine. His use of it there is sort of equivalent to saying “Oh, my God”.

Judging from the paragraph about the Meowth balloon rupturing, I assume Fauror is both a Weezing and Team Rocket's Weezing. Meaning Syr should be the Arbok =D

Correct, and correct. ^^

Now, the thought of a Weezing and a Wobbufet disturbs me even more. The second head reminds me of "Conjoined-Fetus Lady"

XDDDD I’ve had the exact same thoughts regarding Weezing’s second “head”.

The fifth chapter was my favorite by far ;_; It was so tragic and beautiful. It strongly heightened my interest with poor Faurur's dying words. Great emotion, especially on Esaax's part.

I’m fond of the fifth chapter as well. ^^ Not only am I just a big fan of reading and writing tragedy in general, but I also smile whenever I think of the actual process of writing that chapter—it was one of the easiest chapters for me to write, ever. I’m glad you liked the emotion involved, too.

If Faurur was twenty five and very elderly, that raises some questions as to how long Esaax was away from her (if he couldn't consummate with her as an elderly pokemon) as well as how old was Esaax if he is currently fifty-four. Just some observations I made...

You just reminded me that I need to go fix some of the dates in this some time—it was determined during the writing of my current fic that the events in this one actually occurred a couple of years earlier than I’d originally had them. XD; According to the correct dates, Esaax would have been around forty when he left Faurur.

I'm at chapter six and I can definitely see Syr's sorrow too. I guess he attempts loosely to mask his feelings or something of that sort as he is obviously troubled but manages to speak with Jen.

Yep. He wants to seem like a good, strong figure, for Jen’s sake.

Speaking of Jen, I'm getting more curious as to the system of pokemon adoption at Convergence since obviously it's not something of the lines of going to an orphanage and picking out the cutest one.

It’s one of the aspects of their society that’s loosened up considerably from the method of mirroring human society since the Extinction. Their process is quite simple and straightforward compared to the way it’s done here, that’s for sure. The exact circumstances surrounding how Jen came to end up in Syr’s custody are something that I’m quite interested in going into detail about, and there is a future installment in this series that’ll offer a rather nice opportunity for me to do just that. I look forward to that. ^^

Jen is quite an interesting character, he's intelligent and witty (Ice Cream Truck line =D) and very insightful.

I’m glad to hear that you like Jen, considering the aforementioned future installments…

an exclamation mark followed by an ellipse. It seems to kind of conflict in my eyes because exclamation implies...well...exclamation while the ellipse tends to imply an uneasy/unsure sort of tone and I can't exactly see the two mixing. What do you mean by it?

…In hindsight, I’m not sure what I actually meant by it. XD; It might have made sense to me at the time, but for the life of me, I can’t make any sense out of it now. XDDDD

It seems rather soon to take him to the Hope Institute so soon after the tragedy. I'm was a bit taken back by how Jen got his attention with his beautiful cyrokinetic art, usually in situations like this I read people are so out of it they wouldn't even notice.

Soon indeed. *nods* But Jen saw some sort of opportunity in the situation, and he pounced on it. As for his cryokinetic art, there was more to it than just a pretty display…

Man, I am getting severely interested in Jen and in writing about him again. *_*

I wonder who that Glalie is =D YAY! IT IS HIM! Hmm, I thought Solonn was confined to his room at first. Unless this takes place after Communication events.

Oh, yes…it takes place well after those events. (Those events that have been written, anyway…)


Thanks for reading, IceKing. ^^ Now, let us proceed with Chapter 7!

_________________

Chapter 7 – One on One


The creature stood upright on two legs at just under six feet tall. He had a single pair of arms, which ended in clawless, five-fingered hands. His head was small, and his face had a sculpted, almost masklike quality. He possessed a wide, thin-lipped mouth, and a chiseled-looking nose. He had lightly tanned skin, and straight, chin-length hair of a dusty reddish-brown. His large, mahogany eyes held a bright, intense gaze.

He was also clothed, oddly enough. He wore a white dress shirt tucked neatly into brown trousers, black leather shoes with a matching belt, and a thin, burgundy tie.

This newcomer was unlike any Pokémon Esaax had ever seen. On the other hand, he looked very much like a… But no, that wasn’t possible. There was no way on Earth that this creature could really be what he appeared to be…

“Sir, what are you doing here? Don’t you have an assembly to address?” Solonn asked.

“No, not this time. I’ve decided to devote tonight to one-on-one sessions,” the peculiar newcomer replied in a perky tenor. There was a strange quality to his speech; it sounded somewhat forced and unnatural, as if he were performing a less-than-perfect impression of another person. “Don’t worry, though. Cain will cover for me. He can run the show this time instead of just playing second fiddle. The experience ought to do him some good.”

Then, the creature noticed Esaax. His face lit up like the sun. “Hey, who’s this?”

“If you’ll excuse us, sir, I must escort this gentleman to the assembly now,” Solonn said quickly. He began to turn away, and gently pushed Esaax in the same direction.

But the mystery man just slipped right past the Ice-type like a liquid shadow. “Don’t trouble yourself with it, Mr. Zgil-Al,” he said smoothly. “It’d be half over before you could make it all the way over there. I have a twenty-minute window; why not offer this newcomer a little of my individual therapy?”

He crouched slightly to make eye level with the Wobbuffet. “Now, then, Mr. Zgil-Al. Are you going to introduce me to this fine, upstanding Psychic, or what?”

Solonn sighed. It had the lonesome sound of a wintry gale, and the effect of robbing all warmth from the corridor for a few moments. “The Wobbuffet is named Esaax. Esaax, this is Sylvester DeLeo, founder and president of the Hope Institute.”

“Esaax, huh?” DeLeo offered his hand to the Wobbuffet. Esaax took it after a moment’s hesitation, and was given a vigorous handshake with a surprisingly strong grip. “Glad to make your acquaintance, Esaax. Say… do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Uh… I guess not,” Esaax responded.

“Okay, then. Tell me, what clan are you from?” DeLeo asked.

Solonn’s eyes flashed with sudden interest. “Yes, Esaax, which one?” he asked, raising an icy eyebrow.

“Evergrey,” Esaax answered.

“Ah.” DeLeo straightened his posture. “All right, Esaax, if you’ll just follow me, I’ll take you to my new private counseling office.”

Solonn, meanwhile, looked as though he’d been carrying something extremely heavy around and was just finally allowed to let it go. “I’ll just be going, then. Excuse me, sirs…”

The Glalie drifted past Esaax and DeLeo and out of sight. DeLeo still waited, looking expectantly at Esaax.

What else is there to do? Esaax figured. “Okay,” he said, allowing DeLeo to lead him away.

* * *

DeLeo’s private counseling office was a room which was probably not as large as it ought to have been in all practicality. For example, a Snorlax might be able to fit in there, or he or she might not. DeLeo probably hoped that something that size or larger would never have to stop in.

The walls were painted a soft blue, and they were almost completely covered with paintings in ornate frames. The paintings had varying subjects: abstracts, landscapes and portraits of assorted Pokémon all surrounded Esaax, along with a few scattered paintings of hot-air balloons. Many of the artworks were truthfully not very good, with the paintings of balloons being of particularly low quality.

DeLeo seemed to have questionable taste in art, but his taste in furniture was fairly decent. His desk looked expensive, made of a richly-colored wood and carved with elaborate patterns. Upon it sat a tiny bronze statuette in the form of yet another hot-air balloon. Behind the desk was a large, matching chair. Along one wall, three other chairs in differing styles and sizes were available for guests to use. All of them looked very comfortable, but Esaax opted to simply stand before the desk.

DeLeo took his position as well, sitting behind the desk in his thronelike chair. He rested his chin in his remarkably well-manicured hands. “There’s nothing I love more than being able to reach out to those in need,” he said. “That I continue to be able to find them amongst the people, even in today’s rapidly-changing world? Even better.”

Esaax didn’t catch what DeLeo had just said. He had now fully emerged from the tranquilizing haze of his strange hypnosis, but his amnesia still remained. His brain was distracted to every direction but forward in his search for his missing time, and that made it very difficult to pay unbroken attention to anything going on externally.

DeLeo seemed to recognize that his client was preoccupied, but nonetheless continued trying to converse with him. “I don’t know if this means anything to you, Esaax, but you’re the first Wobbuffet we’ve ever had here. Come to think of it, you’re also the first Psychic-type we’ve had here, period.”

The Wobbuffet still seemed elsewhere. Maybe he’d be more comfortable if it were a little darker in here, DeLeo thought, and so he dimmed the lights using a switch concealed beneath the desk.

The reduction of light brought everything around Esaax into a clearer and easier focus. Now he could see details that he couldn’t see before, like the vague scar, about an inch long, square in the middle of DeLeo’s forehead. It looked as though DeLeo had tried to conceal it using some sort of makeup.

Esaax became weirdly fixated on that scar. DeLeo misinterpreted this as having the Wobbuffet’s full attention at last, and so he decided it was time to engage him in more direct conversation. “How did you discover us, Esaax?” he asked. “Did a friend tell you about us?”

A friend? Esaax didn’t exactly know Jen, per se, but nonetheless responded with, “Yeah.”

“Well, I’m glad you took your friend’s advice. You did the right thing coming here, Esaax. I promise you, we’ll help you out, no matter what it takes, okay? Now, the first thing you’ve got to do, though, is you need to tell me exactly what’s wrong.”

That’s what I want to know! Esaax thought desperately, still struggling to regain his memory and perhaps thereby also gain some clue as to what he was even doing in this bizarre place. He remained silent, staring at DeLeo with a very troubled look.

“It’s okay, Esaax,” DeLeo assured him. “You can trust me. Anything you tell me will remain strictly confidential. In fact, this room is completely soundproof. That just goes to show you the measures I’m willing to take for those who confide in me. So, you can go right on ahead and let me know what’s troubling you.”

Esaax would have gladly let it all out, if only he’d known what “it” was. Once again, he strained his mind for the answer, doubting that his efforts would yield any success.

But then, DeLeo provided the answer for him. “You’ve lost someone very dear to you, haven’t you?”

Time and space went utterly still. Esaax’s heart skipped several beats and his breath seemed to catch halfway up through his throat as the last mind-blocking remnants of his trance shattered into nothingness. His full memory returned with a brutal suddenness, the sorrows it bore revealed anew. Such stark lucidity following such a thick mental fog was painful, and Esaax couldn’t help crying out.

“That’s right,” DeLeo said soothingly. “Just let it all out.” He noticed that Esaax was beginning to pitch and sway on the spot, as if the Wobbuffet’s spine were turning to rubber. DeLeo stood and managed to pull up a chair for his client just in time for Esaax to collapse into it.

DeLeo returned to his seat. “You have something in common with nearly everyone who has come to this place. They, like you, are also mourning people whom they loved—particularly, their lost human companions. I know you’ll have no problem finding people who can relate to your suffering.”

“No one can do that,” Esaax croaked breathlessly, his eyes overflowing with tears. “They can’t possibly understand how I let her—how I let both of them down. How I failed them.” He turned away in shame. “They died because of me,” he whispered.

“Oh, Esaax, no. You know better than that,” DeLeo said consolingly. “It wasn’t your fault that—”

“But maybe it was!” Esaax interrupted. “I… I don’t know. Look, there’s something you don’t know about me. I know it’s gonna sound crazy, but there’s something strange inside me… this power. It lets me take other people’s pain. But I know it could do more. It could heal people. It could even stop them from dying, I know it could, but I just don’t understand it enough to know how!”

As Esaax spoke, he stared into the “eyes” of his own tail. He scryed into the red-black blankness of their pupils in search of that long-sought understanding of his own internal mysteries. He finally closed both his eyes and his oculons in despair.

“Both times, I didn’t really think much about doing it, if at all,” Esaax said in a low, cracking voice. “I just tried, and I failed. First, poor Jessie, all those years ago. And then Faurur, just today! If I’m still not good enough to save the people I care about after all this time, then I never will be…”

“Hmm,” DeLeo said, nodding thoughtfully. “You know, you shouldn’t give up on your gifts just yet. And that’s not the only thing you shouldn’t give up on, either. For example, you probably believe, as most do, that humankind is totally extinct. Gone from the planet forever. But, what if I were to tell you—” he leaned over the desk towards Esaax for effect “—that we’re not?”

“…‘We’?” The voice of one of Esaax’s grandmothers, with one of her favorite sayings, rang out in his memory: “A fool fears he is wrong—a wise man fears he is right.” Esaax had been regarding what his eyes had been telling him about DeLeo with skepticism, but now all those doubts just had to step aside because DeLeo’s last three words had been spoken in a human language.

Pointing a shaking hand at DeLeo and sounding much more accusatory than he’d intended, he blurted, “You’re—”

“—Human,” DeLeo finished, continuing to use that human language. “Yes, that’s right. But I’ll bet you suspected it right from the start, though, didn’t you?”

Esaax was stupefied. This couldn’t be possible. It simply couldn’t. There had to be some flaw about this creature, something to prove that he was not human, because he couldn’t be… And then, Esaax thought of something. “You can understand me. And the Glalie. Humans can’t do that.” Something else dawned on him. “And you’ve been speaking our languages!” He wondered how on Earth he had not realized it sooner. “How? You can’t…” he spluttered.

“It’s true,” DeLeo confirmed with a smile. “All my life, I’ve been blessed with the ability to communicate with Pokémon just as they do amongst themselves. I now use that precious gift to heal and inspire Pokémon in the wake of their loss.” Even now, speaking in his true tongue, there was a definite, unplaceable wrongness about DeLeo’s voice. “I truly believe that’s the purpose for which I was spared the sleep of death,” he said solemnly, “though I still have no clue as to how I was spared. Still, the mere fact that I was gives me hope—hope that I am not the only one.”

DeLeo opened a drawer in his desk then, and he began rummaging through its contents. “That’s the real reason why I founded the Hope Institute,” he said. “Not only for the Pokémon who were left behind by the tragedy of the plague, but for the human survivors, as well. I know they’re out there, and I believe that if our research team can find them, we can not only discover the way to protect today’s humans and the future generations of humanity—we may also be able to bring back those who were lost. We’re currently investigating those paranormal mysteries of the world which may be the key to achieving this great goal. Hence, I now offer you this.”

DeLeo pulled a small, white box out from the drawer. From within it, he produced a syringe, which he proceeded to fill with a pale blue fluid.

Esaax swallowed against the anxiety that built up in his throat at the sight of the needle. “What is that?” he asked nervously.

“It’s a serum we’ve developed to restore abilities and powers of Pokémon that are compromised or missing due to birth defects, illness, elemental disruption, or any of a number of other detrimental factors.”

Esaax’s eyes widened. “Then… you mean, it could strengthen me… and strengthen my power… so that it’s not too weak anymore? So that it could be there for me when I need it, and… and I could finally, really help people? And never let anyone down again?”

“Perhaps,” DeLeo responded. “Although, I must warn you, the serum is untested…”

“You can test it on me,” Esaax said hoarsely but firmly.

DeLeo nodded and took Esaax’s arm. Seconds later, the serum was coursing through Esaax’s veins, while he himself was swimming through his memories with one single vow repeating again and again on the stream of his consciousness.

Never let anyone down again…

_________________________

Next time: Esaax suddenly falls ill. Meanwhile, the long quest of another finally approaches its end. See you then!

- Sike Saner

[Sike_Saner]

Chapter 8 – Phasing Forward, Looking Back


The door to DeLeo’s office opened, and Esaax was shown out by the impossible human. All of the tragic, bizarre, and unbelievable events of this day added up to more than his poor mind knew quite how to manage. It was threatening to simply shut down in response.

Meanwhile, his body was suffering a most uncomfortable marriage of lethargy and agitation. His muscles were tensed, and his tail was flicking about restlessly. His bones, however, felt as though they could simply come apart and melt away. Esaax suspected that he was starting to fall ill.

“Esaax!”

The voice from down the corridor drew Esaax’s attention. He looked, and there was Jen, bounding towards him with much more energy than he’d seen the Snorunt exhibit thus far. Obviously, Jen was getting something positive out of this place.

“It’s time to go,” Jen said once he came to a stop. “I heard that you got to talk with Mr. DeLeo in private. You’re so lucky! So, tell me, then, did you like it?”

“…It was something.” That was all Esaax could think to say.

DeLeo smiled down at the diminuitive Ice-type. “It was a pleasure meeting your friend, Jen. And I think I was able to make a real breakthrough for his benefit. Thank you very much for bringing him.”

Jen gave an enormous Cheshire grin and even giggled a little, apparently made giddy by the fact that his actions pleased the founder of his beloved Hope Institute. He bade the human farewell and led an increasingly pale Esaax away.

DeLeo watched them leave, working his tie between his fingers and smiling. When Jen and Esaax were out of sight, he turned—and found himself just inches away from the huge mask of Solonn’s face.

“BWAAA!” DeLeo stumbled, having to backpedal in a hurry to avoid colliding with the giant Glalie. “Don’t do that!”

“How is the Wobbuffet?” Solonn asked, completely unfazed by DeLeo’s startled reaction to his presence.

“He’s doing fine,” DeLeo answered. “He’ll likely need a few follow-up sessions, no doubt, but he is on the right path. You don’t need to be concerned.”

“Who said I was concerned?” Solonn responded coolly.

Solonn’s tone was as even and almost disturbingly calm as ever. But there was an extra layer of silk in it this time, which bothered DeLeo. The human had a hard time being very comfortable around something which sounded like peace but looked like murder.

Of course, that unnerving countenance was precisely the reason why DeLeo had hired Solonn and his people as security for his building in the first place. Still, maybe their intimidation factor was a little too effective… “Please stop glaring at me,” DeLeo said.

“I’m not glaring at you, sir.”

Brrr. DeLeo shuddered. I’d sure hate to see what this guy’s like when he’s angry—hope I’m never there to see it when he is…

DeLeo had to do something to lighten the mood before he let himself be disturbed out of his own skin. “Hey, how about one of your impressions?”

“Pardon?”

“Come on now, you shouldn’t reveal talent if you don’t wish to perform,” DeLeo said brightly.

Solonn was an almost supernaturally good mimic. And yes, he wished that he had kept that fact to himself. You’ll never learn, will you? he chided himself internally. “Must I?”

“You know you must,” DeLeo said. A huge grin spread across his face. “Do Clefairy.”

“Oh, no…”

“Do it…”

Solonn rolled his eyes in exasperation, but, nonetheless:

“Oh, the glory of the moon!
Dance beneath her silver shine!
How we love her magic glow!
Praise her beauty for all time!”

He sang the cutesy Moon Prayer song in the Clefairy language, and in a flawless imitation of a Clefairy’s voice that would’ve made it hard for anyone who heard it to believe that he wasn’t a Clefairy himself.

DeLeo laughed and applauded. “That’s all, Mr. Zgil-Al. See you later!”

Solonn stared for a moment at the departing human’s back—and this time, he was gl