Yes, I know. Terribly uncreative title, but I really couldn't think of much better... Anyways, this is a little idea for a oneshot that popped into mind. It's my second FFC. But before you read:
RATED PG-13, if not a couple years higher for blood, violence, death, and... well, there is one swear-word, censored of course. Anyways, here it is...
Together, we are standing in the dark concrete area, near the electric-fence kennels. Out around the sorry excuse for an arena, there is a crowd of onlookers cheering and yelling. The tiny, half-starved and definately beaten Poochyena pup in one of the kennels is watching us with wide, wary eyes. The air is rancid with the ever-familiar stench of blood. I've been here before. You'd been here before. We both know this situation; this feeling of anticipation. But this time, it's different. Very different. We know why as well as we know how it feels to wait for a Fight to start.
You look down at me, and I see the glint of forming tears in your eyes. I don't blame you for crying. Only a cruel, cold, and heartless person could. However, as we know, that is exactly what all those people out there are: Cruel, cold, and heartless. We were forced into this lifestyle. They weren't. We do what we do because if we didn't we'd probably be dead by now. They do it for fun. That is what separates us from them. And yet, we have achieved a popularity amongst those of the dark, twisted world of the Fighters. All they see is a teen and the Pokemon he has trained to fight without mercy nor forgiveness. What they don't see is our loathing for it all.
"I know you can do this," you say in a weak, tear-clogged voice, setting a rough hand on my head. I close my eyes, focusing on all I know about Fighting. This could very well be the last time I do this. The last night I see. The last breaths of air I breathe. And yet, I accept that calmly and silently. There is no use in running from death. Only in fighting for life.
The announcer's voice is our signal. You lift your hand, let out a sigh, and take a step forward. Here we go...
As soon as we appear from the shadows, the crowd bursts into loud cheering and calling. They all chant for me, Frost the Frolteon: Biovolved Jolteon-Froslass. Bievolution. Such a sick practice. Having two evolving Pokemon collide so that a pair of identical half-breeds are created. Then their Fighters have them attack each other until one is killed. I myself barely escaped with my life from that ordeal. Had I lost my life then... Well, you would not be here, now, ready for the toughest Fight of your career.
And they emerge, perfectly in-step with each other, as if they are one. Dominik: Your 'mentor'. The one who is to blame for all we've been through for the past six years. Of course, by now he is your closest friend, aside from me. He's taught you everything you know about fighting, and even more about the dark side of life. Often considered the greatest Fighter in all of Pyrite, or all of Orre for that matter. Tall, lean, and harsh, he stands there. His ice-blue eyes lock with yours.
My ice-blue eyes lock with Grimm's. The dark canine glares back at me. Powerful, fast, muscular, intelligent, tough, mean... He's all the things a Fighter could want in a Pokemon. He even looks intimidating, with one Houndoom-horn broken in half and the other sharp as a surgeon's knife (and just as good for slicing flesh), a couple fangs poking out from his jaw, the forked tail with two arrow-tips, and the scarred flesh, coated in fur the color of a dark indigo midnight. Then there's his one eye, cruel as he himself, and the empty, torn socket where an equally menacing eyes once sat. Grimm is what strikes fear in the hearts of all Fighters. Grimm is what made Dominik famous. Grimm is what would have happened to us if we'd rejected the lives of Fighters. Now it all comes down to this.
"As always," Dominik replies in a cool, smooth tone.
"Yes..." you answer more shakily. The announcer eyes you awkwardly, then shrugs and raises his arms.
"Then may the Fight... Begin!"
The main thing to remember is that a Fight is exactly that: a Fight. Not a battle. In a battle, two Pokemon hurt each other, but intentionally weaken their attacks to make them not-damaging and non-fatal. A Fight means no restrictions whatsoever. The goal is to render the opposing Pokemon literally unable to continue, if not to take their life. Pokemon who lose are usually killed or doomed to death anyways. Every one I've killed in a Fight, I had to remind myself of that before laying in the final death-bite. This time around, though, it might be my neck that ends up at the mercy of fangs.
There is only a split second of thought after the announcer calls out for the Fight to start. In that split second, three things happen: The crowd became louder than ever, Grimm lunged for me, and I lunged for Grimm. And in the next moment, we collide with a harsh connection of strong shoulders. It has begun.
We both fall to the ground in the center of the concrete pit, and both rise immediately. I snarl at Grimm, baring my sharp fangs. Bring it on, my growl says.
With a roar he tenses his muscles as if ready to lunge. I, however, remain still. This is a trick he uses; you and I have seen it in Grimm's Fights. It's a false move, to make the opponent jump back and avoid the lunge. Had I done that, he would have spat a stream of fire to meet me, which could cause the distraction that would end my life. But, instead, I charge my fur with a fury of sparks, then send them flying toward the canine creature within merely a second. He barks, then narrowly dodges the electric attack with a jump. This jump parries into another jump at me. In quick, instinctual defense, misty wisps of ice shoot from my open jaw as I avoid the maneauver.
We both land, unharmed, and unmatched by all but each other. The crowd grows louder, begging for blood and violence. Of course, I nor Grimm cannot afford to listen to them. This isn't about blood. This is about cruelty. About our Fighters. About life and death. I can't give in.
Scared? rasps Grimm between bared fangs.
Never, I reply determinedly.
Then you should be, he spits back, then adding in a low grunt, *****.
I don't let his taunting of my gender get to me. Instead, I close my eyes on focus, trying to find the energy for my next move as quickly as possible. To each side of me, I see myself appear. Or, two duplicates of myself. A pair of illusionary forms, identical to me in every way. Double Team, the technique is called. Perhaps it could confuse him...
Grimm makes a few low grunting noises. Laughter. But before I can attack now, he flicks his head up suddenly, jaw open wide. The attack is too quick. In an instant, an orb of darkness shoots at me, ignoring the duplicates completely. It strikes head-on. My copies disappear into thin air in the loss of my concentration as I fall back on the concrete with a sickening twist of a shoulder.
Is that really your best? growls Grimm, red flames now licking out from his mouth.
My paw is raised up slightly. Slowly, I summon forth power to elongate the black nails embedded into it, filling them with a cold sensation as they grow sharper at the tips. The blazing flame launches from Grimm's jaw with a loud bark. Slightly, with a lucky sidestep, I avoid the fumes and fling myself at the dark canine. My claws penetrate the skin covering his flank, drawing warm blood to the surface and freezing it over with an icy aura. As soon as my free paw hits the ground, all my force pushes upward on it, bringing me back into the air. I whirl around. Both of my hind legs push off against Grimm's chest in a powerful Double-Kick that sends me flying back to the other side of the "arena". Just as I land, however, an immense force weighs down upon one of my back legs, almost crippling it.
"Frolt!" comes my bark of surprise. I twist my neck as far around as I can to see what is going on. My face is met by an intense wave of heat.
Fire. The dispicable stuff. There's always been something about it that got to me more than any other kind of attack. Heat sinking into my skin... Sending my very nerves into a frenzy of displeased fury. I loathe it. And with it licking at my face, I loathe it even more. It burns. Oh, how it burns. My eyes feel as if they are melting in their sockets; my skin being eaten away. Of course, when the flames clear away, I am still there, alive. Perhaps I wish I wasn't.
Hot, rancid, death-scented breath meets my flesh as my stinging eyes come open. Right in front of me, Grimm's single eye glints in amusement. He lunges backward, landing perfectly on all four paws. I stare at him, suddenly finsing myself unable to move, as if my muscles have turned into stone. That red, cracked gem on his forhead... It's glowing. No...
"Esss..." he growls, "Doom!"
Involuntarily, my body rises upward, into the air. Tough my eyes are tightly closed, I know if they were open I would see the crowd, roaring loudly, excited about my fate. And to think I actually considered myself good at Fighting... To think that I actually had a chance... Frost the Frolteon may be a good Fighter-Pokemon. But Grimm is, and always has been, the best. Once again, this is about to be proven. I know it is. And with a sudden, stomach-lurching jerk, I plummet back to earth, pulled by gravity that is enforced with psychic energy and intent on ending my pathetic existence.
The pain is sudden, shattering, and immense. It flashes through every part of my body like a powerful shock wave, all in a split second, and flows further sensations of hurt gradually more. I can't move. It's too much. I'm finished. This is the end. Unmerciful paws secure themselves onto me, pinning my tattered body down like a doll. Once again, the reek of Grimm's breath flares in my nonstrils. It is all so sickening. So wrong. But I deserve it...
Are you ready to die? asks Grimm. Those simple few words are dark and imposing, threatening to take evrything I know away without any alternative or escape.
I say nothing. I can't say anything. But somehow, as death looks me in the face, breathing on my pelt and preparing to take me away, something fills me. Energy, of some sort. Life. The strength to make one final stand.
The human crowd is still yelling louder than ever, but I can barely hear them. My mind races on its own. My heart is beating so hard, and feels as if it is pressed so tightly into my throat... One last chance... This is it. Grimm barks. His head flies for my throat. My eyes remain squeezed shut... and then, I strike.
A familiar energy fills my whole mouth as my fangs skin into his neck. Electricity charges and sizzles and jolts. Only this time, it is not an ordinary Thunder Fang. It is everything I have: all my strength, all my power, all my determination. More powerful than any attack I've ever preformed. And somehow, I sense it all. Static charges burns as hot as fire. Particles disrupt. Atoms fall apart. The flesh that makes up Grimm's neck gives way to tough, trained muscules, as hard as steel. But the electricity seeps in, disentigrating tissues and melting them away. It finds blood vessels and lunges into their currents. Blood flow freezes. Organs are paralyzed. Everything breaks down.
Finally, as my grip on Grimm's neck slips away, my jaw comes open. So do my eyes. There, I see him. Grimm, the legendary Fighter-Pokemon, reduced to a whimpering, pathetic creature on a concrete ground soaked in his own blood.
His body goes limp.
The crowd goes silent, as does everything else. I stand there, bewildered. But... how? It doesn't make sense... It is impossible. I have escaped death... And now Grimm himself is gone. And I, Frost, my mouth, filled and dripping with blood as it quivers with a huge numb sensation, am his killer. Impossible.
"H-Hey..." a voice from the crowd called out nervously, breaking the dramatic moment of silence. "Does anybody hear that...? It's... It's the cops!"
"What?!" someone else shouted. Sure enough, when everybody went quiet again, there it was. The sound that struck fear into the hearts of even the toughest Fighters: A police siren.
Indeed, Pokemon-Fighting was an illegal practice. Any Fighters found would be arrested on the spot. At the mere sound of the siren, everybody scattered in a panic. I looked around, suddenly back to my senses, remembering... you. But there you were, loyal to me as ever, right at my side.
"Come on, Frost," you say simply. I nod. We hurry off, headed for the dark back alley us and Domink had always used to get around here. It was a little-known and reserved alley. Cops wouldn't find it unless they were looking for it. The perfect place to escape now.
As we head back from the way we'd came, we pass the kennel with the Poochyena pup. It watches us, shivering, eyes wide with fear. I stare into those eyes, and find myself filled with sorrow. That pup is doomed to a cruel, horrible life. At least I have you, who unlike most Fighters cares for me and loves me. If the police didn't find the Poochyena, it would likely lose all its sweet innocence and become a vioelnt, heartless beast, knowing only cruelty and violence rather than love and kindness. If the police do find it, they will likely have it eauthanized, as Fighter-Pokemon are usually too aggressive to live any other life from an early age. Either way, the pup is doomed. It is a sad truth, but a truth, all the same.
When I stop reflecting on this, I realize we are already in the alley, walking steadily down its path. I look up at you, wondering what was next for us. Still, to think I had actually defeated Grimm... That would make you the best fighter. Me the best Fighter-Pokemon. ... And Dominik... Without Grimm...
"Stop!" someone behind us cries.
You turn around. So do I. Standing there is Dominik himself, one the most legendary Fighter of all, now without his loyal Pokemon. For once, he does not look like the intelligent, worthy man everybody knew him as. He is defeated; shattered; broken.
"You... Grimm... Y-Your Pokemon killed him!" he shouts emptily.
"It isn't my fault," you reply, "You heard the regulations. One of our Pokemon had to lose. It just so happened that it was yours."
I am silent as you say this, inwardly amazed by your maturity. Dominik, on the other hand, looks prepared to cry, to my surprise. In all the years we've known him, never has he shed a single tear. You, however, do not even look concerned in the slightest manner. You turn back around, and keep walking without a word. I reluctantly follow you. Poor Dominik...
"You can't just go!" he pleads. "My Pokemon is d-dead!"
Neither of us turn back, though. We just keep walking on in silence, ignoring his desperate cries. Therefore, neither of us are able to see what is coming. Not until the ammunition is loaded, the safety-mode switched off, and the trigger pushed in.
Every hair on my body rises at the crackling gunshot, louder than thunder, which split the night air. I spin around, only to find you on the ground beside me. Dead. And Dominik a few meters away, eyes wide and gun in hand.
The next few moments are a drunken, dazed blur to me. I feel my skin and fur prickling with electricity. I see the flash of the Thunderbolt striking its target. I see your killer fall, paralyzed. The sirens blare louder, and louder... Closer, and closer... Unfamiliar voices, speaking of hearing a gunshot...
The cops are coming. They will find Dominik. And then... I stop, suddenly empty, lost, and alone. Always, I have known you. I was your first and only Pokemon; an Eevee given to you on your ninth birthday. We were closer than friends. We were the best of companions.
Even on that day when Dominik confronted us for the first time, and tried to take me away for the sake of biovolving, we stood by each other... I fought back. Dominik was surprisingly impressed with my battling... He brought us here. He made us a deal. Either you would stay and be my Fighter, giving him the profit you made, or he would take me and make you leave. You wouldn't abandon me, though... You couldn't. Even if it meant it would have to end like this...
I blink, noticing flashes of red and blue lights appearing in the back of the alley. They are here. If they find me... I will be put to sleep. That concept is simple. Suddenly I remember... a forest we visited... Long ago. Before any of this. Years back... Somewhere north of here, where Pokemon Fighting did not exist. A peaceful place. A village of calm tranquility rather than a corrupt town of street-gangs and violence. There was a forest near there... There is a forest still there... A place where I could leave this life behind.
My eyes shift down to your body, laying there motionlessly. There is nothing left for me here but death and more lonely cruelty. There, I could have freedom. I know it is where you would want me to go...