[Pokémon] My Guardian Angel (PG-13)

Song for this chapter: Negai, Yami no naka de from Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha.



Even after the sun had completely set, the air was saturated with acrid smoke. Mark Antony looked at the distant view of the battlefield from the cover of a row of bushes. Behind him, Corporal Cox and six of their finest men waited for him to speak. As they did, their eyes analyzed the surroundings, a part of them wondering if the trees were even real. The small forest they were currently hiding in had been far enough from their battle with the Kantonians to escape a fiery fate. To see leafy canopies and flourishing bushes after days of traveling through wastelands and abandoned towns was enough to take their breath away.

"The direct route to the hospital is too dangerous," their leader finally spoke, his whisper a smidge louder than his men's bated breath. "We'll have to go around it, through this forest, in order not to be seen. It'll take longer, but this is why we're here: to find out what is the best route for the regiment to take."

"Sir," a private spoke up. Though his voice was soft, it was not hesitant; he was one of a handful of soldiers that did not fear the sting of his superior's words. "With the Kanto regiment at their base, we may have the opportunity of raiding the Pokémon Center for food and medical supplies."

Mark Antony turned, a thoughtful expression on his face. Pokémon Centers were a fairly new business in Johto and might not have much medical supplies to offer; they had only been built when the war started for traveling Johtonian regiments to heal their fighting and scouting Pokémon. Then again, little medical supplies were better than no supplies at all. Without saying a word, he regarded the man who had spoken then looked back out into the battlefield. Try as he might, the twenty-five-year-old man could not see the aforementioned building.

He grinned. "It doesn't seem it was anywhere near the battlefield. Perhaps the Center escaped being torched to the ground."

Again, Mark Antony turned around, but this time, a determined frown was etched on his features. "The Center is not among the burned and collapsed buildings I see, but it could be in another part of Cherrygrove. Keep an eye out for it; our men and Pokémon are in dire need of supplies." The sergeant walked onto the dirt trail his men were on. Unsheathing his sword, he told them, "And just because this forest seems desolate, it does not give you reason to let your guard down."

All eight of them, their weapons in hand, began to walk through the beaten path carved out by forest Pokémon. The blood stains and mud that coated their uniforms were hidden beneath the shadows of the trees' canopies; any moonlight that did seep through the smoke and dense leaves bathed the thin, almost-black tree trunks. The sound of their muffled footsteps was in unison with the faint rustle and chirping of Pokémon hidden around them. The men ignored the buzz of nature. As long as they didn't spot the flash of red and blue that made up the uniform of a Kanto-owned Pokémon, they didn't consider themselves in any danger.

An hour had gone by in silence until one private stopped with a startled gasp and sniffed the air. While everybody else turned to look at the soldier with raised eyebrows, Mark Antony smelled what had alerted the private. The faint odor of charred wood and leaves that drifted on the wind was accompanied by a stronger smell of burning meat and spices. Mark Antony stepped forward a few paces and squinted, trying to pierce the gloom.

When he couldn't, he leaned on his sword and simply said, "There are some people camped a little way's off. They could be Cherrygrove citizens who stupidly decided to ride out the takeover or stationed Kanto soldiers on the lookout for us. Either way, we have to be the ones with surprise on their side." Mark Antony gave Edward a glance, who nodded in acknowledgment.

"Okay, Private Kisubo and Private Toren, both of you…"

As the corporal assigned positions, Mark Antony leaned against a tree, still trying to see past the thick black that covered the forest. A couple more steps forward did nothing to help. As nonchalantly as though he was mounting his horse, he sheathed his sword and nimbly heaved himself up a tree limb. With his boots now precariously balancing him on a thick branch, he straightened and looked towards where the campfire aroma was coming from. Mark Antony tipped his head for a better look at a flicker of red he saw from the corner of his eye.

It was gone by the time he turned.

Edward's faint words faded completely when the sergeant's curiosity took over. One hand hovered over the hilt of his sword while the other laid over the trunk of the tree for support. Mark Antony sniffed the air, then frowned. The odor of smoke and meat was weak; the stillness of his bangs and the tied ends of his headband told him it was because something had interrupted the breeze that carried it. The branch he stood on creaked as he turned around to tell Edward. Mark Antony froze, though, when the screech of a raptor tore the air in two. He whirled around, narrowly avoiding falling eight feet to the ground, and whipped out his sword. The bird of prey flapped himself out of his dive at the sight of the blade but still brandished sharp, ivory talons.

"Kanto," Mark Antony hissed at the sight of the ruby vest on the Pidgeot. The beige bird whipped his head back, the flowing scarlet and diamond-white feathers on his scalp writhing like snakes, and gave a great downbeat of his wings. Whatever breeze Mark Antony had felt before intensified into a tremendous gust that knocked him off his feet. The man grabbed the tree branch he had been standing on as he fell, but the Pidgeot grabbed it in his talons and snapped the limb like a toothpick; a taunting trill was let loose from the Pidgeot's rose-colored beak at the sight of the human's shell-hocked face. The forest rushed around him in a mix of colors until Mark Antony landed back-first on the ground.

"Sergeant!" Edward exclaimed, running to his friend's side.

"I'm okay," his superior muttered as he jumped to his feet despite his throbbing spine and chest. Steadying himself with a quick breath that sent a ripple of pain to a possibly-broken rib, he looked over to his privates. When he saw they merely avoided the Pokémon's gusts and talon swipes, he yelled, "Don't hop around like schoolchildren! Fire! Fire your weapons! The enemy is already aware of our approach!" The disappearance of the campfire smell told him that much.

Fired shots made the trees around them quiver. The privates, now braver with the command to defend themselves, took cover behind the trees, the canopies' shadows hiding their well-toned forms. Edward had his own sword out and was poised for any incoming attacks, including those of Kantonian soldiers. Mark Antony's grip on his own blade tightened in frustration. The Pidgeot was deftly dodging the whizzing bullets with an Agility that allowed him to weave through the canopies and fire an attack whenever he was seen. One of the privates was caught off-guard when a Gust came at him from behind. The attack swept him off his feet and straight into the tree he was hiding behind. The Flying-type let out a screech of triumph before propelling himself towards the fallen soldier, talons menacingly curled. In the blink of an eye, a shooting pain ran through the Pokémon's stomach and up his chest to settle as a burning sensation that made him shriek in agony. Mark Antony came in running, the empty sheath of his dagger shoved into a strap in his boot, and kicked the Pidgeot squarely in the abdomen.

"Damn bird," the spiky-haired man spat at the grounded flier. Mark Antony pinned the massive fighter by running his sword through one wing and standing on the other. When he looked down at the bird's pained chocolate eyes, what little sympathy he could have felt was shoved to a dark crevice of his mind. Pokémon were intelligent creatures, and those who didn't want to obey their masters could escape. The Pidgeot that writhed at his feet chose to follow his master.

He leaned over and yanked the dagger from the Pidgeot's stomach. Ignoring the agonized wail, he did the same with his sword and turned towards Edward, who had come up to him with the rest of their troop in tow. "The Kantonians are closing in," the corporal told him, only the slightest dimming of his eyes betraying his cool exterior; the privates that helped their nearly-knocked-out comrade to his feet weren't so discreet. "We need to move out."

"You're right," Mark Antony agreed, nonchalantly cleaning his sword and dagger on the grass before placing them in their sheaths. "We're not sure if the camped Kantonians are two or two dozen. Only a fool would take the chance with our numbers." Looking towards the west, he traced the path they had taken so far in his mind and knew with certainty that there was a barren expanse of land that bordered the River Cerre a little way's from where they were. If they reached the desolate field, any Kantonian Pokémon would lose the cover of the shadows and tree canopies.

Then again, they themselves would be left wide open.

If only our scouting Pokémon hadn't been killed off in that Blackthorn battle, Mark Antony thought with gritted teeth. We could have found out how many Kantonians we're actually facing!

"Everybody!" he said aloud. "Retreat to the west! If we make it out of the forest, we'll leave the Kantonian Pokémon without cover! Corporal Cox, lead them out!"

Edward blinked and demanded upon seeing Mark Antony's eyes alight with fiery determination, "Sergeant! What are you planning to do?"

"I plan to hold them off long enough to give you guys a running start." When the blonde opened his mouth to retort, Mark Antony insisted, "I can take care of myself, you know. If you don't go right now, you'll kill us all."

All Edward could do was nod and dash towards the west, barking a sharp order to the privates to follow him. The younger men looked at their officer with expressions muddled with confusion and shock but obeyed. Mark Antony watched them go, and when their backs disappeared, he dashed towards the wounded Pidgeot, one hand going for something that was latched beside his sword. The bird rose one dark-brown wing, a trill that was more pathetic than threatening stuck in his throat.

Or is it the blood bubbling in its chest that is making that sound? he idly thought, eyes as emotionless as his expression.

From his sash, he unclipped a ball about the size of his hand. The sphere was clunky at best with both halves made of dark-black metal that already began to rust in spots; the man concluded after a moment that it weighed as much as his sword. Despite its flaws, Mark Antony still took a moment to revel in the invention, finding it, for the umpteenth time, hard to believe that it contained a living, breathing Pokémon. When he had received it from one of the military scientists a few weeks back when his regiment was stationed at Blackthorn, the central headquarters of Johto's military, the mere thought that this capsule contained a Pokémon was ludicrous. If that hadn't caused doubts, the claim that this "Poke Ball" allowed humans to gain the Pokémon's complete and utter obedience did.

But whatever misgivings he had about the new invention would have to wait until the Kantonians were stopped in their tracks.

Pidgeot began to struggle against his exhaustion and weakness when the man before him took out his sword. Mark Antony stabbed the raptor in the chest then rolled him over on his stomach when the body became lifeless. As a second though, he ripped the Kanto vest off and threw it off to the side; looking at it had made him sick.

Pressing the button in the center of the Poké Ball, Mark Antony felt the sphere wobble in his palm before its top half opened to let out a stream of white light. Ivory changed to dusty-gray as the light solidified into a three-foot-tall bipedal creature of crudely-stitched cloth. Blood-red eyes blinked up at the human, a muffled hiss making his yellow, zipped-up mouth quiver into a hideous scowl. The Banette used its stubby legs to back and crouch defensively, his stub of a golden tail bristled like a broom and the wisp of cloth that curled from behind his three blunt, head spikes whipping ominously behind him. Mark Antony stood in front of the Hoenn Pokémon, unaffected by the murderous glare that was sent his way.

"You see this?" he demanded, thrusting the Poke Ball into Banette's view. "I have control over you. I am your master. If you decide to disobey, I'll kill you on the spot. Disobedience to the Johto side is alliance to the Kanto side."

Only an agreeing grunt left the furious Ghost-type.

"Good." Mark Antony could now hear the Kantonians' raucous yells of attack. They were growing close enough for him to be able to feel the thundering hooves of a Rapidash; he was not going to wait long enough to be able to see the rider. He stared down at the possessed doll, then pointed at the feathery corpse. "I want you to animate that body. Make it seem as real as you can."

Banette grinned evilly; it was time to release his pent-up anger. He gripped the zipper of his mouth with one of his tattered fingers and pulled until a cackle was ripped free. Even as he pulled out a handful of nails from his maw, his maniacal laugh still rang through the grim forest, his eyes as bright as rubies. The military officer watched as Banette took the nails, all of them coated in a thick-layer of rust, and stuck them into his torso, arms, and throat. It wasn't until he saw the wounds open and the blood trickle into pools of red that Mark Antony realized that it wasn't rust that covered the phantom's tools.

A tuneless hum now overcame the animated marionette. He hovered above the Pidgeot's corpse and let his blood drip onto the body, eyes now simmering coals that illuminated the inch-long nails embedded into his body. The corpse twitched as its cream feathers were soaked to become a grotesque shade of poisoned garnet. It lifted itself into the air, head still bowed down, its own blood drowning the grass. Banette lifted his hands above his head and twitched his fingers. Wings shook then spread. Talons slashed at invisible foes. With a flick of his wrist, Pidgeot's head snapped into position.

Mark Antony unconsciously stepped back, horror making his eyes widen and his face to become pallid. Even when his ears heard the bark of an order, he couldn't will himself to take control. The Pokémon in front of- No, he couldn't call it one of Arceus' creatures, not anymore. Whatever he had in mind when that scientist told him Banette could move the dead, this was not it.

The shot of gunfire made him jump into action. Forcing himself to look straight into the eyes of the bird, of Death himself, the twenty-five-year-old commanded, "When the Kantonians arrive, attack."

Banette gave a barely perceptible nod from within his trance, his mouth still agape in a silent shriek. Mark Antony walked around the Pokémon and took cover behind a tree, the Poké Ball back in place and his sword held in both hands. As he waited, kneeling on the blood-soaked ground, his eyes couldn't help but travel to the Pidgeot.

When their eyes had met, the bird's gaze had been glossy and clouded over by the white veil of death. The sword wounds no longer shed blood, but they leaked viscous body fluid that stank of decay. Feathers that had been stained with the Marionette Pokémon's blood had fallen to the ground to curl up like withered leaves, leaving the corpse's back almost completely bare. It was a vile monstrosity, but Mark Antony had no choice but to rely on the faux Pidgeot. He could never hope to defeat the incoming Kanto soldiers, even with Banette's help. Ingenuity and the element of surprise had to be used to their fullest potential if he wanted to get out alive, even if it meant going against nature herself.

The ground trembled once more. Mark Antony pressed himself closer to the tree and the shadows it cast, a white-knuckled grip on his sword. He was unaware that the still-possessed Banette extended the tree's shadows so that it covered the officer in inky darkness until he couldn't see the shine of his blade. As the tendrils of black slithered and hid his form from view, the Kantonians broke into the clearing in a thunderous orchestra of galloping hooves and running feet. A single beat of time later, all sound ceased to exist.

Then, "By Arceus… What abomination is this?"

"Sir, it's alive!"

"It's… Damn it, sir! It's one of our own!"

Banette swept his arms in an arc, that same, malicious guffaw escaping his unzipped mouth. Pidgeot flapped his wings, spreading the odor of rotting flesh into the air, and rocketed towards the shell-shocked Kanto soldiers. At the same instant, Mark Antony flew from his shadowed perch, sword at the ready. Expertly, he ducked Pidgeot's massive wings as they flapped for a second time, avoided the bird's sharp beak as it lunged at a soldier, and ended up to the side of the group of twenty Kantonians. The man nearest to him turned around, mouth agape in surprise, but was quickly rendered helpless when Mark Antony slashed at his legs. Going down as a crumpled heap on the ground, the Kantonian writhed in agony as Mark Antony kicked the man's gun to the shadows.

"What the?!" the leader exclaimed, drawing his own sword out from its sheath. He ran at the Johtonian but was then knocked back by Pidgeot's wings. While Mark Antony knocked a soldier's rifle from his hands, he saw the red-haired, navy-clad leader regain his footing and rush at him again, this time with two more soldiers on either side of him. Mark Antony backed up then jumped towards one private and aimed for his abdomen. Much to his surprise, the other solider was faster than him and slammed his rifle into the backside of his head. The sergeant stumbled and barely managed to avoid falling to the forest floor. Mark Antony rushed to pick up his fallen sword when the sound of a fired shot blasted in his ears.

"Ugggh!" he yelled and withdrew his right hand, cradling it to his chest. The bullet wound bled rivulets of blood that stained the front of his silver uniform scarlet. Mark Antony fell to his knees at the sensation of needles running through every nerve in his throbbing hand. For the Kantonians, the moment of distraction was enough. The leader raised his sword, emerald eyes narrowed; the two soldiers raised their rifles and aimed.

Branches of trees bent then snapped off as Banette commanded Pidgeot to unleash a Twister. Mark Antony quickly latched onto a nearby tree trunk as the wind whipped his clothes and hair in an attempt to send him to the next region. From the corner of his shielded eye, he saw the three men collide with the trees behind them. Unfortunately for them, they were not unconscious. They were fully aware of their breaking ribs and the echo of a broken skull as they were slammed into the trees, picked up again by a well-aimed Gust, and then thrown towards the rest of the soldiers.

"Thanks," Mark Antony huffed towards Banette once the hurricane gale settled until only the broken branches and fallen leaves on the forest floor twitched. Miraculously, his sword had been lodged between two rocks instead of being blown into a nearby canopy. On his feet again, he pulled it out, ignoring how his hand screamed in protest; the bullet still wedged in the shattered bone of his hand felt like it burrowed deeper. The twenty-five-year-old bit the inside of his cheek, successfully fighting back the urge to dig the shrapnel out himself.

When he turned towards the Ghost-type, an audible gasp left his mouth. Mark Antony saw Banette twitch the invisible strings of his dead puppet in a way that made Pidgeot gain a ravenous light in his eyes. He stepped back once, and that's all the initiative Banette needed to give the mental order.

Pidgeot reared his head and flew over the two soldiers and their leader, who were too injured to move. The soldiers fired round after deafening round, but they could only watch in dismay when their bullets lodged into the bird's unfazed corpse. Soon, they were out of sight when the massive raptor was on top of them. Talons dug into their chests for a perch before Pidgeot's beak tore into meat and muscle. Those who were able-bodied ran away from the gruesome scene, their faces as white as sheets.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Mark Antony bellowed at Banette, his hands shaking at the sight he had just turned his back to. He had seen death and gore just as much as he had seen the sun rise and set for the past two years, but the sight of humans being so mercilessly murdered by such an unfeeling creature sent chills running down his spine.

The possessed toy looked at him with eyes that tauntingly danced within blood-red flames. He raised a hand, and Mark Antony was lifted into the air.

"You're under my command!" the Johtonian shouted, livid with anger and fear. Already he felt that his limbs were not under his control. They were as frozen as the blood in his veins.

Banette sneered at the human's claim. With a twitch of a finger, he unhooked Mark Antony's Poké Ball and held it aloft. Within seconds, it was crushed into pieces of metal that rained down upon the screaming, dying men. At the sound of the Poké Ball's remnants hitting the ground, the ghoul grinned in satisfaction.

"You vile creature," Mark Antony spat, ignoring how the bullets fired at him by the surviving Kantonians were eerily deflected back at them with nothing but Banette's hellish gaze. What was this twisted Pokémon planning to do to him?

His world was suddenly tipped backwards with another silent command from the phantom. Mark Antony's sword clattered to the ground when he was jerked back by an invisible string at the back of his skull. The chill that had settled on his limbs spread to his chest and grew until he found it agonizingly difficult to breathe. Like a fish out of water, he flailed and wished for air, growing increasingly terrified. From head to foot, he was numb, and not even the burning of his hand and broken rib were there to remind him that he was still conscious. Mark Antony didn't doubt for a second that Banette could kill with the bat of an eye.

Every color of the forest suddenly rushed at him in an overwhelming wave of hues. Green turned to black. Brown turned to black. Through the sea of midnight, Mark Antony only saw Banette's cold eyes of fire.


When Mark Antony woke up, he saw the night sky above him was lit with orange. For a moment, he thought the sun was rising, but when the smell of gunpowder flooded his nose, he sat up, tensed. The fire among the stars was from war weapons, not the sun.

"What in Arceus' name?!" he exclaimed. Mark Antony then began to harshly cough, which made his injured ribs rattle painfully. Mark Antony held his uninjured hand to his chest, greedily sucking in air. His whole body shook now that it wasn't frozen by Banette's power, and a giddy chuckle slipped out of him. The normally level-headed man sat there and laughed at the fact that he was still alive. This time, it wasn't his training or intelligence that got him out of a scrape. The only reason he was still breathing was because Banette chose to spare him, for whatever reason. His fate was decided by a creature that was supposed to be under his control.

At the thought, he immediately became sober, then furious.

"That bastard," Mark Antony shakily growled, cursing the scientist that had given him the Poké Ball with every fiber of his being. "That incompetent, lowly bastard!"

He would have sat there for hours if a glance at his blood-stained uniform didn't remind him of who he was. Mark Antony stood up, but unlike the last time, his feet still wobbled and threatened to send him toppling to the ground. Stubbornly, he shook his head to dispel any lasting memories of Banette and looked around. A curse was muttered when Mark Antony didn't find his sword.

I guess I have to make due with this, he mentally sighed while slipping out his dagger from the sheath attached to his right boot. The small weapon felt like a twig in his calloused hand.

"Now then…" The amber-eyed man trailed off when he didn't recognize any of the surroundings landmarks.

What landmarks? a snide part of his thoughts quipped.

For once, Mark Antony had to give that part of his mind some credit. Indeed, the only landmarks near him were the hundreds of charcoaled tree stumps that had long since finished smoldering. Looking down, the sergeant kicked up the blackened dirt and watched how it crumbled off in heavy clumps riddled with burned pieces of leaves.

"A battle took place here," he muttered to himself. Mark Antony observed the wide expanse of field, now nothing more than five miles of scorched land, then a nearby tree stump. He traced the smooth grooves at the top. "Battle Pokémon cut this whole forest down in order to battle unhindered. Fire Pokémon then incinerated the fallen trees into ash."

Mark Antony's eyes clouded over, and even when he looked up to glance at the town a couple of miles from the dead forest, they were unfocused with thought. Faintly, as though he was recalling a legend from an ancient tome, the fire that engulfed the buildings further fueled the thought that kept turning in his mind.

There was no doubt about it. The only force with such strong Pokémon on its side was Cassius' Kanto regiment. Charizard, Arcanine, Pinsir, Scyther, they were all rumored to be under his command. They had defeated a Johto regiment in this very spot and were now laying waste on New Bark Town. Even from this far, Mark Antony could make out the Johto flag mounted on top of the most important research facility in the region. It was not down, but he was sure that if he blinked, it would be lost in a sea of flames…

"But wait!" Mark Antony yelled out in surprise, the realization literally knocking him off his feet. Sitting on a stump, he stared at the hell-consumed town with wide eyes. He tried to speak, but his mouth had gone paper-dry.

But Cassius is back at Cherrygrove! he silently reasoned, hands now gripping his locks of matted hair and staining them with blood. How could he be here, in New Bark Town, so quickly?! Mark Antony breathed in the smell of the deceased forest in an effort to calm down.

Something else dawned on him.

This battle has been fought days ago… We've been deceived! Cassius was never in Cherrygrove! That was their plan! They led a part of his regiment for who knows how long to derail us from Cassius' path!

"I should have seen Cassius with my own two eyes," the officer rasped, gripping the hilt of his dagger so tight he thought the bullet in his hand would rip right through. Whatever pain that racked his hand was washed away by his fury. Mark Antony jumped to his feet, the stinging of his ribs just making him growl in frustration, and faced the fire-stricken sky. "Damn it all! Damn it all to Hell!"

And that was when Mark Antony saw something fall from the heavens.

As bright as a miniature sun, it lit the smoke-filled clouds when it streaked through them. Mark Antony leaned forward, mouth agape in awe. He squinted and tried to see past the veil of light that surrounded it. After a second, he flinched. Whatever kind of energy it was, it hurt to look at it for long.

"It's a fallen Pokémon," he reasoned, anger momentarily shadowed by hope. His legs automatically began taking him to the west, where the strange object was falling towards. "It was probably shot down."

His jog turned into a sprint, then a full-fledged run that sent pangs of pain to run rampant through his chest. More than once Mark Antony had to force himself to keep running or fall victim to his injuries. If this was a Pokémon, he could possibly force it to help him back to Cherrygrove. Though his stomach tied itself into anxious knots at the mere thought of another Pokémon, he knew there was no other choice. Walking back would take him at least two days, yet that was if he wasn't spotted by Kantonians. With nothing but a dagger he could barely grasp in his shot hand, the chance of returning back on his own was laughable.

"They'll trip over themselves for the chance of capturing the elusive Mark Antony Colfax, the youngest sergeant to date," he couldn't help but remark. He unconsciously chose that moment to grip his dagger too tightly and suffer the excruciating pain of the bullet grinding against his cracked hand. Mark Antony let out a gritted curse and continued running, deciding to keep his mouth firmly shut from now on.

Then the air trembled and gave a low hum like the plucked string of a cello. Mark Antony stopped as he saw the streak of light suddenly plummet like a missile about a mile from where he was. The hum evaporated then came back as a sonic boom that threw him into the air. The twenty-five-year-old was flipped backwards and thrown on the ground, where he gripped his chest and squirmed in agony. When Mark Antony opened his tearing eyes, he held his breath, his body paralyzed in a half-crouched position. Try as he might, though, all he heard was silence.

"Dead?" Mark Antony asked in a rare moment of ineloquence.

He half-crept, half-jogged the quarter mile to the twenty-foot wide crater on the outskirts of New Bark. The closer he got, the hotter it became. By the time he looked over the rim of the crater, a sheen of sweat was visible on his brow. Every upturned rock and clump of dirt was seething with heat, and as Mark Antony stood up, the sole of his boots sent a wave of warmth throughout his entire body. With every hair on his head standing on end, he gazed at the undistinguishable lump in the middle. Was that small mass of yellow and gray really a Pokémon that could help him? Again, his stomach did unpleasant back flips. The earth around him, burned scarlet with whatever energy aura the creature had been surrounded by, simmered and crackled in warning.

"Death by Pokémon or by Kantonians?" his voice sounded, almost inaudible among the consistent sizzling of the earth.

Mark Antony gripped the double-edged sword and decided to approach the listless Pokémon.

As he began to walk towards the middle of the impact site, the charred dirt left behind clear imprints of his footprints before collapsing into fine crumbs. Sweat now dribbled into his eyes and to the front of his uniform to mix in with the blood that stained it. Mark Antony gripped his jacket and fell to his knees. Each breath was now labored and struggling to leave his parched mouth. Through hazy vision, he saw the lifeless Pokémon was no bigger than an infant. Uncertainly, he stood up and walked towards it, each step now hissing with heat. Mark Antony grunted when sweat trickled down his hand to pour into his bullet wound.

"You… better… be… helpful," were his exhausted and frustrated words that made his ribcage ache.

Once he got his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes, he looked down.

"What…?"

For a moment, Mark Antony really thought he was looking down at a baby. The small Pokémon was wrapped in two tattered tassels the color of gold while her small eyes fluttered against unpleasant dreams. Without even thinking about it, Mark Antony scooped up the bundle and looked into the Pokémon's silver face and the bloodied cuts that marred it. She trembled in his arms, and the two cyan tags that dangled from the tree star tips on her head shook as though to dispel the nightmares that plagued her.

"What are you?" he finished, words now soft and difficult to get out. Vertigo claimed him and forced him onto his knees again. However, even through his blurry and unfocused eyes, the Pokémon's injuries were as clear as day. He traced a rather large gash on her cheek and felt her flinch.

You're hurt, he mentally said now that his mouth only allowed him to release raspy breaths. Mark Antony looked down at the Pokémon, seeing helplessness and fear in that shuddering mass of injuries. Yet, despite the defenselessness, he sensed the inkling of something that told him this was not a Pokémon that should be manipulated for human gain. A sacred being was in his arms, and the thought of forcing her to do anything was lost.

Immediately, the overwhelming heat dissipated around them. Mark Antony, his breathing hard, saw the Pokémon's face was strained with effort.

/ I am Jirachi, / came the telepathic call. The human felt the edges of his brain fizzle at the power's touch. Goose bumps rippled his flesh.

"Jirachi?" Mark Antony echoed, the unfamiliar name rolling off his tongue in the same manner he recited the names of the Pokémon deities of his region; he didn't know what made him realize that Jirachi deserved the same amount of respect as Johto's Legends.

/ I beseech you; help me. / Amber eyes opened to gaze at their potential savior. / My body cannot last much longer. /

"What can I do?" the sergeant asked, oddly detached from the scene. He felt like the little kid he was so long ago reenacting one of his old bedtime stories. It should have felt silly, but with the gravely-injured Jirachi in his arms begging for his help, it felt anything but.

/ Hide me away so I can recuperate. /

"You'll die," he bluntly told her. "I'll get you medical help instead."

Either Jirachi found his frank words true or she had no energy to retort, she simply closed her eyes.

/ I leave my life in your hands, human. /

"Mark Antony," he told her. "That's my name."

But Jirachi had already fallen into a restless slumber.

Mark Antony held the psychic close and looked towards New Bark Town. Somewhere in the midst of battle was a Pokémon Center that could save the life of this goddess of the sky. Were the chances of reaching it in one piece good? No. Even if he somehow managed to get to it without being shot on the spot, there was no guarantee the building was still in the hands of the Johtonians or even still standing.

"I have to try, though." Mark Antony then looked down at the sleeping Legendary, each difficult breath rattling in her chest. "Are you really a deity like the Beasts of Legend?"

Jirachi only shivered in response.


A/N: I was going to wait until I finished Chapter Six to post this chapter, but after seeing that Chapter Six was going to take a bit longer than I thought, I decided to post this chapter right now.

The first episode of Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha is so similar to this chapter: unsuspecting human finds an injured creature in need of help, but at the same, it's more than it seems; the human then goes off to a medical facility. I thought the similarity between the two was so cool. ^^

Everything except the meeting with Jirachi was improvised writing. I SO did not expect to put in such a creepy scene like Banette's. It was a nice addition, though.

Chapter Six: Mark Antony makes his harrowing journey through New Bark Town with an injured Jirachi in his arms.

P.S. I put up a PM list for anybody who's interested in being notified when I post a new chapter. :3

I will admit that chapters 4 and 5 are superb pieces of work, Phantom Kat. I was particularly interested by how the Banette controlled the dead Pidgeot, and then deserted its so-called 'trainer'. And with Jirachi in the hands of a human now, what is Arceus going to think? Will Deoxys try and save her? I have a great deal more to ask, but I don't wanna overload you.

Kyuu-chan said:

I will admit that chapters 4 and 5 are superb pieces of work, Phantom Kat. I was particularly interested by how the Banette controlled the dead Pidgeot, and then deserted its so-called 'trainer'. And with Jirachi in the hands of a human now, what is Arceus going to think? Will Deoxys try and save her? I have a great deal more to ask, but I don't wanna overload you.

Click to expand...

Wow, thank you, Kyuu-chan. :3 Hehe, I also liked the Banette scene, although I'm going to have to edit the plans of some future chapters a tad bit because of that. Just a tiny bit. :>

What will Arceus think? Let's just say he's a bit too preoccupied to be paying attention to what his children are up to, and Deoxys won't show up again until much later.

I finished Chapter Six yesterday, and all I need to do is proofread it and fix up this part at the end. That is, if I don't fall dead first. I've been awake since 5:00AM because I couldln't sleep, and I still need to go to school. ;-;

- Kat

Song for this chapter: Forestaste from Pandora Hearts.



He had to be crazy, Mark Antony reasoned. The human shook his auburn head and looked behind at the crater he had just climbed out of. Despite the constant sounds of bombardment in New Bark Town, Mark Antony's world had turned silent. Every rock, every pebble, had ceased its sizzling to coolly lay at his feet. Gusts of air once again blew across the scorched land to ruffle his locks of hair and Jirachi's wish tags as freely as though the barrier the injured Legend had put up had never existed.

"This is crazy," Mark Antony muttered to himself, looking down at the crater again. The crash sight was no longer an unbearable inferno, but his heart thumped erratically and urged him to drop the Legendary and run in the opposite direction. Then again, his heart also made his hold on Jirachi tighten.

"To Hell with this!" he finally yelled to himself, turning on his heel and beginning to run towards New Bark Town. Of course, he wasn't going to sprint into the line of fire, but maybe running would dash away the thought of leaving Jirachi to fend for herself.

Mark Antony kept that up until the sound of exploding bombs and the distant yells of men finally reached his ears and brought him back to the reality that was the Region War. Skidding to a halt, he panted and clutched his burning side; it seemed he had forgotten about his injuries during the run as well. Not even realizing that the pain in his ribs had turned from constant stabs to dulled pangs in seemingly minutes, the sergeant quickly hid behind a sagging tree. Peeking from behind it, Mark Antony eyed the entrance of New Bark Town, which was now nothing more than a crumbling arc of white stone with its writing faded and blackened with ash.

"How dare they barge into one of the most important towns in Johto!" he lividly hissed under his breath. Childhood memories of visiting the town with his family and being completely in awe over the technological advances that flourished were crushed by the realization that Kanto had probably burned it all to the ground. New Bark Town, Johto's beacon of ingenuity and hope for a better future, was in the hands of the region that wanted to tear his homeland apart piece by piece. Mark Anton hadn't grasped what the fall of New Bark meant for the future of Johto until now.

Jirachi moved in his arms; his fingernails were digging into her. Mark Antony started a bit and apologized. This time, he noticed that his injured hand flexed and unflexed without the excruciating pain of before. Though the sensation still made his teeth grind against each other, his hand could now ball into a fist without feeling like he was closing his hand around a sharpened blade. The man stared at his twitching fingers, amazed that they weren't bone-white and jerking with pain, then at Jirachi.

"I know what you're doing," he told her, hazel eyes gaining a shadow of guilt. "You're healing me instead of yourself because you know, and I know, that I'm your only hope."

After checking for any Kantonian soldiers, Mark Antony ran under the collapsing arc of stone and entered New Bark Town. Immediately, the air was again throbbing with incredible heat that took his breath away. He took a step back, eyes tearing when all he saw was flames of brilliant orange. After a steadying breath, Mark Antony reopened his eyes to gaze at the mournful site of the beloved town, or what was left of it. Every house on either side of the cracked and rubble-littered cobble stone street was on fire. The smoke that curled from the roaring flames had turned into a toxic fog that swirled around the pieces of rubble and abandoned carriages on the street, almost managing to hide a handful of corpses from view.

Again, Mark Antony felt nothing but fury and deep sadness for those civilians caught in the crossfire. He cared not only for Johto's magnificent towns but for its people, even if his aloof exterior didn't show it.

"But they're not my priority right now," he firmly told himself. Mark Antony took a deep breath, fighting every urge to just go out and pummel any Kantonian he saw to the ground. The idea of freeing the town by himself was ridiculous; the notion of saving Jirachi, though, was just a bit less impossible.

Mark Antony looked down at his charge and caught sight of the uniform he proudly wore. He creased his eyebrows in thought. After a few seconds of thinking it through, the sergeant gently laid Jirachi on the ground and took off his sash to get rid of his flared jacket. He was left with the dark-gray vest and simple leather belt he wore underneath. With one fluid movement, he unsheathed his dagger and cut a long strip of cloth that he wrapped Jirachi in, making sure every part of her was hidden.

"There. We're a lot obvious now, huh?"

With that, Mark Antony began running through the street, his sash and empty sword sheath abandoned. A fog of smoke now danced around his feet then covered him in a semi-transparent veil minutes later. His coughing spasms went unheard as the sound of gunfire and explosions was deafening. Mark Antony squinted against the wall of smoke and dust, only able to see faint shapes of buildings. No amount of waving dissipated it, and the sound of war was so great that it all meshed into one chaotic orchestra that played from every direction. The sergeant found a lamppost to lean on and sighed, still trying to see through the poisonous veil that blanketed the town.

But he then jumped to his feet. Fire materialized within the smog, and it was coming towards him. The mysterious flame bobbed closer and closer until Mark Antony discerned an echidna walking out to him, his olive-green back the source of the fire. The Cyndaquil raised his elongated snout to him, revealing that half of it and his underbelly were cream in color. The human stared at the creature's shut eyes then at the man that finally stumbled into view. His small Pokémon worriedly looked at him and the way he gripped his limp, bleeding arm. The stranger's lab coat had turned from a pristine white uniform to a torn, bloodied rag that hung over his gaunt form. When he looked up, strands of white hair hanging over glossy, blue eyes, his unsteady steps halted.

"Ko… Komali," the man rasped, addressing his attentive Cyndaquil with those exhausted eyes of his. "Is someone there?"

Mark Antony cautiously walked towards the injured man, holding Jirachi close to his chest in case he decided to run. By the light of Komali's flames, he concluded the stranger was completely unarmed; he only saw muddy, brown pants and a cotton shirt that stuck to his sickly-looking body. As Mark Antony approached, the Fire Mouse Pokémon kept his eyes on him, abnormally-long snout poised to open and attack if need be. The twenty-five-year-old felt his insides tighten, and his healing ribs tingled in apprehension. However, the sight of the elderly gentleman bleeding to death before his very eyes willed his feet to take him closer.

"Are you a Johtonian?" Mark Antony asked, ignoring the part of his conscious that insisted that it didn't matter.

The man looked up at him and smiled. "I'm surely no Kantonian, if that's what you're asking. I'm one of the finest professors in this here region, I am! I'm-!"

Mark Antony caught the professor with one hand as he lost his balance. Komali squeaked in alarm and rushed over to the sitting pair, though he spared a glance at the wrapped bundle in Mark Antony's arm. The chestnut-haired young man didn't notice and sat cross-legged on the street, Jirachi in his lap and his hands already taking off the civilian's tattered lab coat.

"If you keep bleeding, you'll die," Mark Antony bluntly informed him as he expertly tore the coat into manageable strips. He took the man's bleeding arm and began to fasten a makeshift tourniquet on his bicep. "Why are you still here? Didn't you have enough time to escape before the regiments clashed?"

"They took away our research Pokémon," he mumbled almost inaudibly. "I had to get them back…"

"But they were already gone," Mark Antony glumly finished while tying the tourniquet and arranging the rest of the cloth strips as bandages. He felt the older man slouch in guilt.

"They did; only this little guy was left to help me." The man nodded over to his Fire-type Pokémon, who had now decided to sit by his side. This time, Mark Antony spotted the Cyndaquil eyeing the hidden Jirachi. Warily, Mark Antony cradled the Wish Pokemon again and helped the stranger to his feet. When he was sure he would not end up toppling over his rescuer, the professor faced Mark Antony and shook his hand. "Name's Professor Caleb Newman."

"Mark," was the officer's response, opting to not reveal his full name. Every year he had spent in the military told him that lying would be safer, for Newman as well as himself. Plus, he couldn't help but feel that every Kantonian and Kanto-owned Pokémon would swarm towards him if he dared utter the truth.

Professor Newman's gaze was clearer now that Mark Antony's tourniquet stopped his wound from bleeding. Though still pale and soaked with sweat, he managed to look at the younger man straight in the eye. "If you don't mind me asking, Mark, what are you still doing in this once glorious town? Running into the heat of the battle, no less!"

This actually caused Mark Antony to ruefully smile despite himself; maybe this man wasn't as out of it as he originally thought. The small grin faded from view a second later when he looked down at Jirachi's prone and covered form. Against his chest, the mass of cloth barely fluttered with Jirachi's labored breaths, and with a feeling that knotted his insides, he wondered if the short intervention had caused Jirachi her life. Then again, according to Newman, he had been walking right into the line of fire.

"I'm trying to find the Pokémon Center," he said after a few moments of nothing but the sound of explosions in the distance. Amber eyes trailed to the helpless bundle in his arms. "This Pokémon needs help."

"You do know the chances of the Center still standing are slim to none, do ya, boy?" Newman took a step towards the determined officer, but Mark Antony stepped back, muscles taught with tension.

"I have to try," he rebutted with conviction. The professor approached Mark Antony again. This time, he was met with a hardened glare that stopped him dead in his tracks. Instead of trying again, he reached out his hand.

"Mark, you have to trust me. I won't hurt a hair on that little Pokémon's head. If I see it, maybe I can help."

"You're not a doctor," Mark Antony stated, but he knew that Professor Newman was the next best thing. When the elderly man took a vial of antiseptic from one of his pants pockets, Mark Antony begrudgingly approached him. He stood before the professor, one hand hovering over the strip of cloth that hid Jirachi's face. Newman stared back, cerulean eyes full of curiosity and concern.

"She's not a normal species of Pokémon," Mark Antony began. "She fell from the sky and told me she was going to die if I didn't help her."

Newman said nothing at the soldier's odd words and was instead transfixed at the sight of the goddess Mark Antony finally revealed. A wrinkled hand gently caressed the Legend's cut-riddled face then the two tattered wish tags that hung from her star tips. Jirachi's eyes struggled to open when she sensed the stranger's hand, but all she could manage was a whimper that warbled in her throat. Newman retracted his hand, mouth still agape in awe, and continued to size-up the Pokémon before him. At their feet, Komali anxiously paced around them, half-closed eyes glued on the gravely-injured Psychic-type. Mark Antony watched the Cyndaquil make his rounds until his eyebrow twitched in irritation.

"Are you going to help her or not?!" he yelled at Newman, eyes shadowed by a steaming glare that told of all the anger, frustration, and utter hopelessness that coursed through his veins. Anger from thinking of who could harm such a helpless creature made his hands, and Jirachi, quiver. Frustration that was aimed at Newman and his ability to just stand and stare made him lean closer to the professor with the intent to murder. Beneath all that, the fact that he was standing in the middle of the torn street and asking a complete stranger for help morphed into the utter helplessness that rattled his bones. It was a strange cocktail of sensations for the accomplished sergeant to feel, which made it all the worse.

"Of course I'm going to help her," Newman replied, seemingly unfazed by the metaphorical daggers that were sent his way. With a torn handkerchief he had fished out, the elderly Johtonian began to apply the antiseptic on the cuts that peppered Jirachi's once angelic face. "This will only make sure the cuts are not infected, if they aren't already, but like you said, she'll die without proper medical treatment." His voice then dropped into a solemn note. "She might still die, though."

"Well then take me to the Center," Mark Antony insisted, stealing a glance at the blade strapped to his boot. If all else failed… "You know this town better than I do."

Newman cocked his head, a wry smile sliding across his features when he saw Mark Antony's dagger. "Relax, you won't have to resort to such barbaric schemes. Follow me, and I'll lead you to the Pokémon Center, or at least to the spot where it's supposed to be."

With Komali now knowing that the powerful deity he sensed might be alright, the Pokémon breathed out a sigh of relief and followed his master. Newman, with the Cyndquil's flames once again lighting his way, unsteadily walked to his left, where he knew a street leading to the west side of town was located. The arm that cradled his injured limb reached out to sense for a pole that sported the street signs he was looking for. Mark Antony watched the man touch destroyed house after destroyed house until he uncertainly walked towards him, an eyebrow raised in suspicion. He smoothed his frown over and tried to banish the thoughts that this Professor Newman might be a Kanto spy that was leading him right into enemy hands. Such thoughts could possibly make him run in the opposite direction or kill the guy, effectively wiping out the only chance of finding the Center without stumbling in the dark. Military intuition and human instincts were now at war with each, and all of it made his temples throb in protest.

"Mark! I found the street!" came Newman's voice within the toxic fog.

The sergeant blindly stumbled to the gentleman's side and followed him down the desolate street. It looked just like the street they left behind, but Newman, apparently, knew that this street led towards the Center. Again, Mark Antony wondered if he could trust this man. He knew of many soldiers who had the potential to kill even when they were injured as gravely as the professor. Who said the guy didn't have a blade of his own tucked into one of his pockets?

Deliberately falling behind a couple of steps, Mark Antony spoke up. "Why are you helping us? You obviously have no reason to go to the Center; your wound needs the attention of human doctors. Your Cyndaquil is in perfect condition as well."

Newman stopped and wobbled in place for a heartbeat. Mark Antony tensed and waited for the man to fall to the ground, but instead, Newman regained his balance by taking a step forward. He turned around, his sweat-stricken face alight with the joy all scientists developed when they were met by an elusive opportunity.

"Do you know who you hold in your hands?" he asked, his words nearly silenced with wonder.

"Jirachi," the twenty-five-year-old simply answered. "She told me her name was Jirachi."

"My boy, just her name speaks volumes of the deity she is. Jirachi in the ancient tongue of our ancestors means to desire. Long ago, humans and Pokémon desired light in their darkness, so she created the stars to illuminate their way. Her powers of space bending is only matched by her power to grant the wish of any being." Newman hobbled towards him, the foul smoke and his blood finally taking a toll on him. Mark Antony supported the man by the shoulder while Komali pulled on his owner's pants leg to stop him from falling.

"Do you see the wish tags on her head?" the scholar asked him once he stopped swaying from side to side. He waited until Mark Antony stroked the delicate talismans before continuing. "Each of them is imbued with enough power to grant the user any wish they desire. Those who take them without her permission are forever doomed to be ravaged by the power in it. She would use one on her own if she could," Newman said when he saw Mark Antony about to comment, "but the wish tags are powerless if she is."

The army officer opened his mouth then closed it. Mark Antony settled on eyeing the Legendary Pokémon in his arms as though trying to spot the remnants of the stars she created in her hands. Then he caught sight of the bare star tip on her head.

"It looks to me that she used to have three wish tags," he drawled out puzzlement.

"Yes, Jirachi is said to have three wish tags on her headdress." Newman's own eyes clouded in thought. "She must have trusted a very important being with one of them."

/A human who knows so much about me?/ a feminine voice appeared in the air. Within the exhaustion, there was a small smile in her words. /I am honored./

"Jirachi?" Mark Antony stroked her blanched face, trying to get her to open her eyes. Jirachi wormed an arm out of the cloth cocoon to clutch one of his fingers, reassuring him that she was there even if she couldn't see him. Newman leaned in closer, if that was possible, his eyes now as wide as saucers. His own hand hovered above her, fingers twitching as he debated over whether to touch this elusive creature. Instead of risking another suspicious glance from Mark Antony, he retracted his hand and settled for observing her.

"Did you really give your wish tag away?" was the first thing that was out of Newman's mouth. This was received with a dirty look from the chestnut-haired man. Mark Antony would have clobbered Newman for not seeing that a missing wish tag was the least of Jirachi's worries if his hands weren't full.

Jaw set in irritation, Mark Antony continued on walking down the street with a call for Newman to keep leading the way. The older man started at the abrupt departure and quickly took his place at the front. A couple of minutes were spent on going around collapsed house walls and craters created by Pokémon attacks, and the two humans had thought Jirachi had fallen back into her restless slumber until the back of their minds tickled with her presence. They kept on walking, but their eyes had been drawn back to the Wish Pokémon.

/I… don't remember who I gave my wish tag to,/ Jirachi confessed to them. Her tone told of decades she had spent on pondering the question in vain. /Even though it is a part of me, for some reason, I cannot feel its presence./

While Newman was left to muse on this mystery, Mark Antony asked, "Why are you healing me? You should use your remaining power on yourself." Discreetly, he flexed his shot hand, silently marveling at how his bones only throbbed in protest, and touched the side of his abdomen. Crusted blood was felt on his vest, but the rib he was sure had been on the verge of puncturing through his skin could no longer be felt. The answer to his question had been swirling in his mind all this time, but he wanted to know exactly why Jirachi thought that by saving his life, hers would in turn be saved.

/You already know the answer to that question,/ Jirachi told him, her words still veiled by a smirk. /Your wounds in comparison to mine are superficial. While my remaining power can fully heal you, my own injuries will still be as grave./

Mark Antony nodded then thought of something. "You don't seem to have a hard time communicating anymore."

/I no longer feel the need to create a barrier around myself. I feel safe in your arms./

This caused the young human to blush.

"Mark," Newman's voice rose above his Cyndaquil's anxious squeaks. "There it is, the Center…" When he turned, the scholar's face had gained an ivory-white shade that relentlessly drained his color. Mark Antony barely had the time to grab the man's shoulder before Newman collapsed on the floor. Komali looked up as Mark Antony laid the man down on the street, his middle and forefingers deftly picking out the professor's weak pulse on his neck.

"Calm down, calm down," he shot at the stressed echidna. "Newman just collapsed from blood loss. The walk over here exhausted him further, so that didn't help any." Mark Antony looked up and saw the square outline of the Pokémon Center. An intake of breath ceased his chest and made his heart start to flutter madly behind his newly-healed ribs. "Stay here with your master."

Komali looked at him, his hackles rising in protest, but then looked down at Newman and decided against going after him. Mark Antony, hypnotized by the building that was coming closer and closer with each running step he took, paid him no heed. He held Jirachi close to his chest, and even in her weakened state, the Psychic-type felt his heart pounding madly with glee. Jirachi managed to tilt her head up, eyes opened a crack, and see the change in his expression when he stopped seconds later.

"What in Arceus' name…?" Wide eyes turned into infuriated slits. "No. No! This is not how it's supposed to be!"

Mark Antony walked through the blown doorway and the only wall of the building that was still standing. Boots crunched the wooden remains of the rest of the Pokémon Center and the sea of broken glass that sparkled with pools of medicine. With each step, the smell of charred oak and human flesh wafted over him, undoubtedly more toxic than the silver smoke that hung over the scene. Standing on a small mountain of wobbling wood, the new vantage point allowed him to make out where Pokémon had charged in with their monstrous claws and started to conjure their hellish flames. On their way, the brutes had left crushed and charcoaled corpses that forever wore masks of terror and desperation. Some were merely citizens and staff, as he had expected the moment his nose picked up the grotesque odor of cooked flesh, while others sported the tattered remains of the Johto uniform.

At that moment, the true horror dawned on him. Every civilian in this place had been scarified for the two measly, Johtonian soldiers he saw among the rubble. The clerk buried beneath the boards of his counter and shelves might have only greeted the soldiers as they entered. Doused in the liquid remains of the windows, the dead twins in the corner might have marveled at the soldiers' weapons and begged the men to let them see them up-close. Through it all, the two nurses, their bloodied and bruised corpses only recognizable by their white dresses, had tried to heal the Johtonians' wounds.

For a while, he stood there, frozen in place, until he realized that the mound he stood on wasn't entirely made out of shrapnel. The sight of a mangled hand reaching out of the wood made Mark Antony utter a gasp and lose his balance. A hiss of pain slithered from his lips at the sensation of dozens of glass shards sticking to his back; a slight turn of his head revealed he had missed a rusted nail to the head through sheer, dumb luck. Jirachi struggled in his iron grip, trying to see what was wrong, but Mark Antony was already getting to his feet and brushing the glass with a hand.

"I'm okay," he automatically told her, rubbing away the tears that sprung into his stinging eyes; the smoke had begun to settle over the decrepit remains of the Center. Never one to beat around the bush, the words, "There's nothing here to help you," were out of his mouth before he could stop them. When he caught what he had said, Mark Antony closed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut in anger. For the first time in his military career, he was caught without a backup plan. What had made him neglect to think ahead he couldn't exactly pinpoint. All he knew was that Jirachi made him feel as though he could achieve anything despite the stacked odds.

It was probably my healed injuries that fueled my confidence, turning it into cockiness, he bitterly snapped at himself.

He tried to tell himself that he always knew that the Center was most likely destroyed, but the prideful part of him was simmering with self-loathing.

/Mark Antony, cease your shaking. This is not your fault./

The human's amber eyes snapped open, and they trailed to his trembling hands. Mark Antony looked upon the wreckage again. He felt he needed to say something, an apology or even a prayer despite the fact he wasn't religious, but nothing came to mind; Mark Antony couldn't even muster up the energy to apologize to the Pokémon who had healed him and was now destined to die in his arms. All he wanted to do was get away from the scene before his self berating reduced him into a pathetic shadow of his former self.

/Wait!/ Jirachi shouted in his mind. Mark Antony stopped his journey to the door and looked down, his face still marred with anger. /I sense something that can be of use. Over there, by the western side!/

"What is it?" Mark Antony asked, his glare softening at the thought of finding something of use in the debris. Despite the glimmer of hope, he had no idea what Jirachi thought could be salvage. Could it be a vial of medicine that had rolled away from the falling walls and the trampling of Pokémon?

/It's buried beneath that mountain of debris,/ she directed him. Mark Antony eyed the pile of wood and tried to knock off the section of wall that made up the top. Glass shattered when he finally managed to push it off, and now he got to his knees to look through the pieces of wood. Something small in the middle was outlined by the light that trickled through the pieces of debris. Somehow, the bigger pieces at the bottom had helped form a small alcove in the center that kept the rest from smashing whatever was in the middle.

"What is it?" the human asked, more annoyed than perplexed. Why was Jirachi wasting his time on digging out some bundle when he could be out tracking down something else? He was a man of action, one who had grown to learn that time was of the essence.

/It's a human baby on the last threads of life./

Mark Antony pulled back from the wood pile to stare at her, about to protest that he couldn't try saving another life on top of hers. To his surprise, the Legend was gaining a sheen of china-blue light that covered her body.

/By saving it, you will save my life./

Jirachi managed to fully open her eyes, the glow around her body beginning to brighten and pulsate in waves that rolled towards her extremities. Mark Antony saw her butterscotch irises growing into a hue of slate-gray that revealed the fearful shine she had been hiding. When he was about to ask what was going on, she gave him one of her rare glares; her wish tags rustled with the sudden surge of power.

/You helped me immensely since we met, but now it's time for me to carry out my last resort. My body is ready to give out on me, and there's nothing you can do. Her eyes, now holding just a tint of melted amber, softened. /Mark Antony, if you want to help me, rescue that baby.

Wordlessly, the sergeant laid her on the ground and managed to weave his hands into a space in the pile of wood. His fingers met burnt oak and gnarled nails before they encountered the wrapped bundle. With a hitched breath, he eased the bundle out and held it in his hands. Mark Antony breathed out when he was, indeed, holding a baby in his hands. The infant's grimy body was mottled with bruises, cuts, and minor burns that the tattered blanket had no hope in protecting her from. When he put a finger to her quivering mouth, the weak, uneven gasps were like caresses from a feather. A pink ribbon was still tied to her fair hair.

He sat there, mind going blank. Never in his life had he held something so delicate in his hands. Jirachi, though helpless, always had the aura of a deity about her. The moment he had held the Wish Pokémon in his arms, he knew she could've controlled his very will if she wasn't critically injured. However, this baby was just that, a baby. If he dropped her, she would die. If he did nothing, she would die. Mark Antony, the type of young man who aspired to become a military hero rather than a future father, was at a complete loss at what to do.

Jirachi managed to get on her wobbling feet, the energy that now masked her injuries giving her the strength to stand. Mark Antony stared at the abandoned strips of cloth at the Legendary's feet then at her. Why did she look ready to die before his eyes even though she could stand? She easily met his befuddled expression with a small smile, but Jirachi's face had the appearance of aged parchment. When she rose an inch off the ground, she seemed as lifeless as a strung puppet.

"You're… stronger," he told her, feeling goose bumps rise along his flesh. No, stronger wasn't the right word. With her haggard face and the way she let her limbs hang lifelessly, she resembled an animated corpse. Mark Antony visibly cringed at the fresh memory the comparison brought on and decided to divert his attention to the baby in his hands. Instead of being shocked that the infant girl gained the same cerulean glow, Mark Antony grew annoyed.

"Okay, Jirachi, what the hell is going on?" he demanded. The way she calmly met his eyes with her exhausted ones just furthered angered him. His goose bumps evolved into full blown chills, however, when tears began to leak from her eyes. Jirachi brushed them away and shook her head at herself. Yet the tears could not stop flowing, and the psychic ended up turning her face away when a sob shook her shoulders.

I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise, Death, Jirachi mentally voiced, feeling her heart tear in two at the mention of the reaper and the oblivious souls he was in charge of. For how long would their world be absent of stars? After she left Death's tower, Jirachi had no doubt that she could get rid of the perpetual gloom the denizens had to suffer through, but now it seemed they would never have the Earth they thought they had.

Unaware that Mark Antony had grown silent, too unnerved by her sudden display of weakness, Jirachi glanced at the sky, rephrasing her last thoughts. No, they will have that Earth. It's just going to have to wait a little longer. Despite the conviction, there was still that little thought at the back of her mind that reminded her she didn't even know if what she was about to do was going to work. Arceus had mentioned it in passing, but his tone had told her that the claim was mostly fueled by the myths humans loved to make about the Legends to emphasize their deity powers.

In between her tumbling thoughts, Jirachi had ordered Mark Antony to hold up the infant, who had now started twitching at the sensation of the Legendary's power flowing into her weakened limbs. Jirachi lightly touched the baby's shut eyelids with her fingers and locked gazes with Mark Antony. The twenty-five-year-old did not look away, although he did gain his own melancholy stare; he still had no idea what was making her cry.

/When my body vanishes, get away from here./ The spacer wielder stressed the last words with every fiber of her being. /When my aura grows stronger, those who did this to me will find this place. If you stay, they will kill you./

"You never told me who tried to kill you," the observant officer shot back. "I don't like being kept in the dark; who did this to you?"

Jirachi wasn't sure if the tears in her eyes were new or if they were the ones who had refused to fall. /I once admired and aspired to be like them./ Before Mark Antony could remark on the vague answer, she continued, /Do I have your word that you will leave me once this is done?/

Mark Antony focused his gaze at a piece of glass and nodded with gritted teeth. When he felt Jirachi's eyes on him, he looked up and sighed, his jaw relaxing and his eyes losing their daggers. "Understood, but," he added, gaze shadowing as he looked at the ground again, "why do I feel like I need to protect you, even before I knew who you were? What sort of power have you cast on me?"

/Mark Antony, I have cast no spell on you./ She smiled down at him, and the beginnings of a laugh twitched her lips. /Is it so hard to believe that you helped me because I couldn't help myself?/

"Yes," he told her, subconsciously rubbing his right hand. Jirachi lightly touched his hand and felt him cringe when her fingers brushed the blood-stained bullet that peeked out from the wound. Her knowledge of human wars was limited, but his darkened stare told her of the danger and betrayal that were always on the forefront of his mind. The Legendary slowly withdrew her hand, the smile wiped off her face.

/I'm going to take over this infant's body since her soul is leaving as we speak. I'll be able to recuperate without being detected. I don't know how long it'll take or even if it will work, but it is the best option available. Now, Mark Antony,/ she addressed him, /shield your eyes and keep the baby aloft./

Immediately, the silver that was shining in Jirachi's irises exploded into a brilliance that washed over her. The human looked away, vision blurry with the tears that had sprung into his eyes. In his hands, the baby had grown almost too warm to hold. Jirachi pressed her hand harder against the baby's shut eyes as first her tassels, then the rest of her body, began to turn into platinum smoke. Mark Antony heard the fluttering of her tassels and wish tags dwindle to be replaced by the sound of the baby's regular breathing. Her triumphant smile was lost in the fog she had become, and as silently as dawn itself, she settled over the infant's twitching form.

Mark Antony reopened his eyes and looked at where Jirachi had been floating moments before. His amber eyes only met the twinkling remains of her power. Wordlessly, he brought the sleeping infant to his chest, his hand tingling as the warmth in her began to settle. Her hair and scarred skin glowed like the faintest, yet most beautiful stars above them. The military officer caressed her cut cheek, then stopped. He couldn't stay here or take the baby (or was it Jirachi now?). Reluctantly, Mark Antony placed her behind an overturned table that miraculously escaped being trampled to pieces. He knelt there for what seemed like forever, just staring at the helpless being that slept in her raggedy blanket.

Finally, Mark Antony got to his feet and began to run back to where he had left Professor Newman.

Jirachi knows what she's doing, the mantra was repeated again and again; the thought that Jirachi had only managed to mask her uncertainty well didn't cross his mind. Only the tales of the mighty Legends of the Regions silently played, keeping him from turning back and scooping up the baby in his arms. Those myths of the Legends moving continents, creating seas, and bringing life into the once desolate planet of Earth had to hold some grain of truth after all he had just witnessed.

"Newman," he said, jogging to a stop. Mark Antony knelt beside the unconscious man. After a glance at the professor, though, he stopped himself from jumping to his feet. The fresh, gunpowder-coated fingerprints shone as clear as day from the man's neck. With a barely perceptible turn of his head, he noticed Newman's Cyndaquil was nowhere in sight.

Damn it, he cursed, his eyes now lowering into furious slits.

The faint sound of a gun being cocked reached him.

Damn it!

The next thing he knew, a bullet was lodged into his lower back. Mark Antony fell on his side, his spine aflame with pain. He planted his hands and tried to get up, but the crippling sensation of his vertebrae splitting in two forced him back to the ground. His hand reached for the blade on his boot, the sound of running footsteps and the jiggling of weapons coming closer and closer.

Mark Antony grasped the blade of his weapon as someone grabbed him by his hair and jerked his head up. The sensation jarred his injured spine and effectively made him drop his blade. He saw the navy uniform of a Kantonian soldier before the butt of a rifle collided with the side of his head, drawing him into darkness.


The chaotic atmosphere of New Bark Town was replaced by the solemn Kantonian camp in the outskirts. Currently, a silent Mark Antony was tied up in the middle of a tent. With his blade taken away, the tent bare of anything but him, and guards outside, he saw no reason to try and escape. Even though his ribs and hand had healed, the bullet to the spine had done something. Every now and then his fingers would twitch and curl painfully while his legs went through periods of numbness. The captive stared at the rope that bound his feet, wondering if the Kantonians were merely mocking him. He then looked up when the beige flaps of the tent parted.

Sergeant Cassius Bradley stepped in and knelt before the Johtonian, a fine eyebrow raised in question. Mark Antony glanced at the man's polished boots and his meticulously clean, royal-blue uniform, his face as emotionless as stone. Cassius grinned even wider, emerald eyes threatening to dance out of their sockets.

"So this is the scourge of Johto," the forty-year-old man remarked. His teeth, all of them as bright as his platinum-blonde hair, were shown in an acidic smile. "You really are the kid I imagined you to be."

Mark Antony looked up, his head inclined. "As original as I had imagined you to be, Sergeant."

The Kantonian ignored the remark. "I really do wish we had more time to talk. We might have had the chance if your regiment had caught up with us. This brings me to my main question." Cassius leaned forward, shadowing Mark Antony's indifferent expression. "Why are you here by yourself?"

"This kid doesn't feel that you need to know," was the response. Mark Antony flashed his own sickly-sweet smile. When he was grabbed by his vest collar, he barked, "Go right ahead and threaten me, you barbarian! From the day I donned my uniform, I knew I was dressing for my funeral."

Cassius eyed his enemy's blood-soaked vest and hand. "You're a strange one, Colfax. Here I thought military power would make someone so young think they were… immortal."

Noticing the intent stare, Mark Antony chose to lead the man away from the tempting subject of his injuries. "Apparently you, though, believe you're a great deceiver. I must admit, you fooled me and my corporal."

His plan worked; Cassius, the most prideful man that roamed the region, forgot about Mark Antony's healed wounds in favor of mocking him with a loud chortle. He saw him as a child, not an equal (as shown by how he refused to address him by his sergeant title), which just made Cassius easier to fool. The Kantonian was a great strategist, Mark Antony thought, but off the battlefield, he was as self-absorbed as the kings of old.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Colfax, but did you enjoy the burning of New Bark more?" came the words that tore through his thoughts like a knife.

"Shut up!" Mark Antony shouted, his cool exterior completely lost. In his reawakened rage, he attempted to stand up, but he only managed to lose his balance. Face against the dirt, he heatedly continued, "Don't you dare mock New Bark and everything that it stands for!"

Cassius hauled the younger man to his feet in one easy movement and couldn't help but smirk when the Johtonian's unresponsive legs made him stumble into him.

"You know, Colfax, you may act as cold and distant as the rest of us officers, but you're still just a kid who loves his region."

Mark Antony snarled, once again being held by the collar. "If you don't love Kanto then what the hell are you fighting for?"

"I would gladly sacrifice a few Kanto cities if it meant gaining control of your government and economy." When faced with disbelieving eyes, he added, "I don't look down on you because of your age. You're unfit for your rank because you have the nativity of a child. You're not going to save every inch of Johto. You're not going to rescue every woman and child in the region. The entire picture is going to go up in the flames due to your thick-headedness. Can you even begin to imagine all those small towns you could have saved but ignored while on your way to Cherrygrove?" Cassius cocked his head before looking down at the stunned Mark Antony. "Then again, it's too late to talk about it now, right?"

Pushing him back, Cassius ordered for a guard to lead Mark Antony outside by his tied hands. As the auburn-haired sergeant was forcibly straightened, he was met with the sight of a dangling blind fold.

"Guess what today is?" were Cassius' final, malicious words.

Seconds later, Mark Antony was walking through a sea of inky black, all the way hearing the whooping yells of Kantonian soldiers. Their crude remarks and beastly chortles flew past him. Despite the way his legs threatened to send him toppling to the ground with each spastic sting of his spine, he marched on, his head held high and his steps always sure. Minutes were hours in his blinded world; each step was a leap away from life.

Sometime during the infinite march, he was stopped and told to stay in place. Cassius' footsteps past him until they faded among the single cock of a rifle. Every soldier in the camp settlement was now silent and turned into one, solemn entity.

"Any last words?" Cassius yelled from somewhere in the pitch of night.

Mark Antony, as tall and proud as ever, replied, "I'll see you in Hell!"

The single round was fired, and he fell to the floor.


In the dank interior of his tower, Death started, then closed his single eye in a smirk. He turned away from the window and teleported in a cloud of curling smoke.

Finally.

He had been growing tired of waiting.


"This wouldn't have happened if she had listened."

Celebi turned towards her elder brother. Mew's features, though shadowed by the heavy smoke New Bark Town expelled, were clearly contorted in fury and something else the forest spirit identified as… satisfaction?

"Mew!" she exclaimed, grabbing the pink feline by the shoulders and turning him to face her anxious, cerulean eyes. Mew raised an eyebrow, staring at her hands as though challenging Celebi to continue holding him in such a manner. The Grass-type released him like a hot coal but still held her demanding stare.

"Jirachi was the only one who knew of our exact plans. With her out of the way, there will be no opposition."

"She's our sister," the time traveling pixie responded as they both descended towards the ravaged town.

"I hardly knew her," was Mew's curt reply. The New Species Pokémon turned towards the shocked Celebi, the small embers that still dotted the sky rushing past him and illuminating his coy grin. "Besides, isn't she your sister, too?"

Knowing what he was implying, Celebi turned silent. Then they both stopped in midair, their gazes connecting. Jirachi's extremely faint aura had skyrocketed into their radars for a reason they couldn't pinpoint. All they knew was that it felt like a drastic shift of power, much like when they took the life essence of nature to fuel their own attacks. Mew gained a rather pleased smile and dove deeper into New Bark, now knowing exactly where to go. Celebi was on his tail, weaving through the wreckage once they were following the street. When she reached the remains of the Pokémon Center, Mew was already floating over a lifeless body.

"Mew…?"

"Let's go back to Heaven." He deftly used his psychic powers to levitate Jirachi's corpse for his horrified sister to see. Celebi swallowed, reaching towards the battered body with her powers.

Nothing.

Unsure of how she felt, Celebi teleported away with Mew and her sister's remains.

Moments later, a baby's cry broke the silence they left. Now that Jirachi's body has been forcibly expelled, the soul the Legend had thought would not last much longer was overtaking hers. Although she fought with every fiber of her being, everything that she'd gone through that night had taken too much of a toll. On top of that, this human, though young as she was, wanted to survive.

She should have never underestimated the power of the human soul.


A/N: I had this chapter finished since Monday, but it seems proofreading took longer what with some art club stuff, solo and ensemble, and other stuff. Oh well, it's here!

This... is the turning point in the story where the main plot finally begins. Actually, it's in the second book where the plot gets going, but the next chapter sets some of it up. This chapter, I think, is the point where you'll decide whether to continue reading or not. ^^;

Oh, Full Metal Alchemist refrences!

1. The part where Mark Antony said he knew he was dressing for his funeral is similiar to what Wrath told Mustang in the manga about Hughes.

2. The last line is a refrence to what GreedLing told Wrath in Volume 14. Hehe, I luff GreedLing.

What's in store for Chapter Seven? Well Mark Antony, unfortunately, does not get to meet Cassius in Hell because Death and those in Heaven have something in store for him. He's not the least bit thrilled.

I added Mark Antony's character profile. Of course, they contain spoilers for Chapter Six. :3

Also, I'm going to be adding Special Chapters throughout the story. They'll range from a character's past to some holiday stuff. The first one I plan to do, after I'm done with Chapter Seven, is about what I originally imagined Mark Antony to be when I began to think up this story, almost a year ago. It was totally different from what I wrote these past chapters. Look out for that soon! :D

- Kat

Song for this chapter: Distortion World from Pokemon Platinum.

This is the perfect background music for Purgatory. 8)



When Mark Antony reopened his eyes, all he saw was a sea of red.

He tried to blink away the bright spots that danced in front of his eyes, but the burning color of ruby that was everywhere around him made it impossible. Frustrated by his surroundings and his spinning head, Mark Antony spit out the sand from his mouth and picked himself up. After he did, he sat there, licking his lips as his eyebrows furrowed in thought; he couldn't taste the sand. Deciding it was because the earth itself was so dry and lifeless, the soldier stood up and looked around. Despite his cool exterior, he bit his lower lip in worry. All he saw among the desert was a blood-shot sky and mountain peaks that looked too sharpened to be real. Mark Antony turned every which way, but the scenery was the same.

"Where am I?" he questioned aloud. Mark Antony walked a couple of steps forward, noticing how his footsteps collapsed into mounds of still sand within seconds. His eyes strained against the harsh red that threatened to swallow him into the depths of this extremely alien land. The mountain peaks were as far and foreboding as ever, and no other silhouettes rose up to greet him. "Hello?!"

His yell faded in a heartbeat.

Mark Antony let out a frustrated sigh and began to trek through the desolate wasteland of scarlet. He kept his eyes on the lookout for anything that hinted humanity or Pokémon life, but it was useless. The land was so dry that there was no hope for footprints to survive for more than a breath. No burrows, tunnels, or plant life decorated the land. Those fang-like mountain peaks were the only things that rose up towards the sky. When the constant sound of empty, crunching sand began to grate on his nerves, Mark Antony looked up towards the sky, trying to find a speck of a cloud or feel a gust of wind.

Rippling goose bumps made him stop in his tracks. He had raised his right hand to his head and saw that there was no dried blood or bullet in sight. With a sharp gasp, he stumbled back and landed on the sand, his hand still aloft in utter horror. Mark Antony turned it this way and that, but there was nothing to be found. Upon closer inspection, his skin was borderline translucent; the red-tinted light the sky gave off didn't seem to have any effect.

"Am I…dreaming?" he guessed, honestly at a lost as to what was going on. After finding a Pokémon deity and witnessing some mystical method of human possession, Mark Antony couldn't be sure what was real and what was not.

Between his pale fingers, he saw the outline of some small shapes. Unable to believe his eyes, the sergeant jogged towards them and stopped when he clearly saw they were the tops of towers set into a deep valley. Mark Antony rocked on the edge, and his eyes scanned the small civilization hidden in this twisted place. He stilled as he watched people going in and out of their wooden houses. The utter normalcy chilled him to the bone, but he still leaned even closer, noting that the style of dress ranged drastically from one cluster of people to another.

Just then, a blur of silver rushed out from below him. The creature planted his two thick pillars for feet on the ground, and the wave of supernatural power knocked Mark Antony backwards until he lay sprawled on the ground. An eye as scarlet as the sky above looked down at him, and the three gray flaps on the Pokémon's face fluttered in a grunt. Mark Antony stared up at the Dusclops and the pale, gargantuan hands that picked him up by the collar of his vest, which he now saw was mysteriously free of blood, grime, and tears. The white wisps of cloth that flowed from the phantom's head and back were whipping with his displeasure.

"So this is where I dropped you," he said to himself; his hollowed body echoed like an aged drum.

"Pardon?" Mark Antony couldn't help but growl at the strange creature. Placing his hands on the Dusclops' massive grasp, he began to struggle. "Let me go!"

Dusclops scoffed, his sole eye shining in slight amusement. "Yes, I'm going to let you wander around after spending an eternity locating you," he sarcastically remarked. Ignoring Mark Antony's protests and demands, the guard began to float back down towards the hidden village.

"Who the hell are you anyway?" the soldier kept on going, digging the heels of his boots to the cliff side in hopes of slowing the ghost down. Dusclops briefly stopped and looked at his burden with a glare. Mark Antony smiled smugly when he saw that the Pokémon was annoyed enough to give him his full attention. "You can't just drag a person wherever you please. Who do you work for? Who's calling the shots?"

"Death," came the solemn answer.

It was Mark Antony's turn to scoff incredulously. "Death is no stranger to me. I cannot count how many times people have told me that death was what awaited me." His smile faltered when the back of his mind prickled and tried to drive a recent memory into his conscious. Now that he thought about it, what was he doing before he woke up in this land of red? For some reason, he couldn't find the pieces between leaving the Pokémon Center and winding up face down in the sand.

Dusclops chortled when he saw Mark Antony's expression shift from confident to downright worried. With his charge too distracted to put up much of a struggle, the ghost easily dragged him down the cliff's side. "Trust me, boy, this is the end of the line. There's no turning back now."

Wham!

Dusclops flew back when the boot came in contact with his chin. Mark Antony was dropped to the floor, where he landed in a crouch and immediately took off. He had no idea where he was heading. His fight-or-flight response had just been too strong to ignore this time around, especially with his suddenly throbbing head. Something the Dusclops had said really hit home, whatever home was. It had sent his heart racing and his anger over the brim. Even as he felt the Pokémon's power swell behind him, there was no room to care.

The wayward young man found himself behind an old-style wooden cabin, his back against the backdoor and his eyes staring at the water pump nestled in between two piles of firewood. Mark Antony straightened just as a woman walked from the front of the house, her faded blue bonnet askew and only being supported by her hair bun. Mark Antony stood up as her pale-red skirt brushed past him but backed up when he noticed that she didn't give him the time of day. She wandered over to her clothesline and began to drape the imaginary clothes that were bundled in the crook of her arm. He walked in front of her and stared at her unseeing silver eyes. Though different in color, he was reminded of the burning irises of the possessed Banette.

"Hey, snap out of it!" he harshly whispered, taking the woman by the shoulders and shaking her like a rag doll. Mark Antony shook her for all he was worth, eventually winding up knocking her bonnet from her head and loosening her fair hair. Nobody deserved to be puppets like he had been.

Mark Antony was pulled back then held up in the air. A familiar voice snarled in his ear, "Are you trying to get me in trouble? I-!"

"You're doing a marvelous job on that on your own."

A presence blanketed them, which sent Mark Antony's body into a full-blown case of the shivers. Dusclops gave a start and turned around to face the newcomer; Mark Antony, with the phantom holding him by the back of his vest, could not.

His capturer stiffened but still managed to speak calmly. "This soul tried to escape. It was fortunate that I caught him before he shook this one from her trance." Dusclops cocked his head to the female soul.

"So she is under a spell!" Mark Antony shouted, craning his head to address both Dusclops and the newcomer.

"Shut your trap, you damned-!"

"That is enough!" the stranger bellowed.

A surge of unseen power swept the area. Mark Antony was dropped to the floor as the Dusclops jumped in shock. The sergeant turned around, but the view of the stranger was blocked by Dusclops' hovering form. He moved out of the way as the ghoul backed up with every shouted word that slapped him in the face.

"Due to your incompetence, this soul wound up in the middle of Purgatory! Also," the stranger continued rather cynically, "as I recall, I had told everybody that I would be the one to transport him here. And no, you weren't doing me a favor by going against my orders. Now be off!"

Dusclops' eye was redirected to his hulking feet; then it landed on Mark Antony as a simmering coal. When he flew off towards another area of the village, Death revealed himself and floated towards the enraged Mark Antony. When the cyclops approached him, the man was on his feet and poised to defend himself. Death inclined his head, anger fizzing into amusement. Mark Antony only tensed at the Pokémon's silence, unsure what the narrowing of that single eye meant.

"Do I really need to ask what I want from you?" the frustrated young man asked at length, his fists still held in front of him. He had a feeling that Death needed no questions, since it seemed at a glance that he had all the answers. No amount of asking was going to get them faster, as he had learned in the short amount of time spent in Purgatory.

"No, as you had just realized," the Dusknoir finally answered. He uncrossed his arms and came closer, the flaps around his head twitching as he prepared himself for the long explanation he was going to give. Mark Antony looked up, his shivers going up a notch and now overtaking his entire body. It wasn't nerves or fear that shook his knees like rattles. Something within this creature made his entire being jump.

"I'm guessing you know why my body is doing that?" Mark Antony prodded in order to gain entrance to the explanation he knew he was going to receive.

Death, now fully entertained by the former human's cheeky manner of speaking, chuckled; Mark Antony raised an inquisitive eyebrow when the face on the Pokémon's stomach opened in a grin. "This isn't really the place I had planned to explain to you what just happened, but due to the circumstances, it is better not to dawdle. Relax and listen to what I'm about to say."

A bit reluctantly, Mark Antony lowered his fists and sat down on the back step of the cabin's door. Death floated back a foot, the female soul now gone, but that did not relieve Mark Antony's shivers. The twenty-five-year-old endured it, knowing an explanation was going to make it worth it. However, what he did not expect was Death suddenly placing a massive hand on his forehead and tilting his head back.

"Before I can fully explain what this place is and what you're doing here, I need to bring some of your memories to the forefront of your mind." A short pause where only Mark Antony's ragged breathing was heard followed. "Will you allow me?"

The soul's breathing slowed when the realization that this creature was not like Banette hit. He uttered a dry, "Yes," and waited for whatever he was going to feel.

To his surprise, it was neither painful nor mind-blowing. With a deep breath, everything he had been trying to remember came back. Death retracted his hand and observed Mark Antony's blinking eyes and then the way they lowered to his shaking hands. The Johtonian then looked up, cocked his head to one side, and muttered, "Of all the things I could've forgotten, you would think I would at least remember my own death."

The Dusknoir waited for a few moments before speaking. "This is Purgatory, the place where all souls go to await Judgment. Normally, you would be transported here immediately after death and put under our spell." He did not miss Mark Antony's darkened expression. "This spell makes souls believe that these tiny villages that dot Purgatory are their homes. It is vital that all souls retain the same mentality as when they were on Earth so they can be Judged properly."

Still seeing Mark Antony's less-than-pleased scowl, Death simply said, "Ignorance is bliss in this desolate world. I have seen more souls than I care to count spiral into insanity when they manage to break free of my spell. Some are never found in the vastness of Purgatory."

Flinching, the former human looked away to glance at the souls he saw passing by. "So that's what that crazy thing was shouting about. He was trying to make me into one of those silver-eyed drones." His tone was indifferent with a hint of amusement, as though he had known that no such fate would ever befall him.

"You're not that different from them." When Mark Antony looked up in question, Death conjured a floating disk of emerald fire. As its surface flattened and shined until it was a mirror, the executed Johtonian leaned forward. Platinum eyes blinked back at him until the mirror went up in a plume of smoke.

"My eyes are the same as theirs," he realized, leaning back. "But why did you stop that thing from putting me under the spell?"

"I stopped that Dusclops because I have other plans for you. You are driven, headstrong, and loyal to those you serve. I can make use of your attributes."

Mark Antony stood up and looked towards the sky. Instead of the scathing remark he expected to say to someone who wanted to control him, he sighed and ran pale fingers through his hair. Was this the beginning of the shock of finding out he was no longer among the living? Whatever the feeling was, it made him realize that he had no say about what was going to happen to him next. "What did you have in mind?"

"I'll answer that once we get to Heaven. We have an appointment with Arceus himself."

"Heaven? Arceus?" Mark Antony asked, going over to Death. "You must be pretty important to meet Arceus." His critical tone was lost among a bout of shivers and the awe that was beginning to build within him.

The Pokémon put a hand on the soul's shoulder. "I'm Death, a Dusknoir imbued with the power to keep this place in control. That's why you're shaking so; the soul recognizes the one who will decide its fate."

Death then waved his free hand in the air to create a rip in the space of Purgatory itself. In it, Mark Antony saw pearl-white towers, buildings, and walkways that wound around clouds. The vision then zoomed into a magnificent palace. Details blurred when he found himself thrust headlong towards it. A pop! signaled the closing of the portal, a sound no soul paid attention to.


Mark Antony's eyes stung when he opened them. The abrupt change from merciless scarlet to blinding white made him squint and look at the floor. Death began to help him to his feet, but he practically dropped him when he saw who was at the front of the grand room. Mark Antony got to his feet, opened his mouth to shout a complaint, but was silenced by the room he found himself in. Though it was empty of feuding Legendaries, Arceus' Chamber was filled with the ambiance of power and might.

"Where is Arceus?" the Dusknoir demanded to the pair of beings that watched them with identical, superior expressions.

Mark Antony looked up and saw Mew and Celebi on top of one of the pillars that overlooked the chamber. Childhood bedtime stories and the faded depictions he saw within the old books jumped into his mind. Their real-life counterparts inclined their heads; Mew's small grin smoothed into a solemn frown.

"He's out dealing with other matters. Celebi and I are in charge while he's away."

Death did not look pleased by the answer. He crossed his arms and looked up with an agitated whip of his small, wispy tail. "I hope he informed you that I might come with a potential assistant."

The word was enough to make Mark Antony divert his mesmerized stare to the phantom. "Assistant?"

"Yes, he did mention it before leaving," Mew drawled with a disinterested flick of his ears. However, his china-blue eyes gained a dangerous sparkle when they caught sight of the soul. With the grace of a Persian, the Legend was flying towards Mark Antony. The twenty-five-year-old stepped back when Mew's snout threatened to touch his nose.

"So this is your candidate?" he purred. "An unfeeling, self-absorbed war hero?"

"I-!"

Mew silenced Mark Antony with his sudden scowl and piecing stare. "I suggest you keep silent. This is your Judgment, after all."

"That was not the agreement," Death stepped in, more than a little perturbed now. "Arceus agreed he would allow me to choose any soul I saw fit with no Judgment."

Mew floated back, but Celebi flittered to his side from up above. "Arceus isn't here," she remarked harshly. "Father left us in charge of Heaven and all his duties. So step aside and let us see his life."

The time traveler raised a lime-green hand, but Death pulled Mark Antony back before his entire life was laid for the Legendary Pokémon to Judge. Celebi blinked then growled at the interference. Mew's forehead merely wrinkled in displeasure and thought. Holding his sister back with a look, he analyzed the grim reaper with eyes that betrayed his playful appearance. "Do you really think that he would be of any use?"

Death held a strange shine to his eye, much like a faint grin that said he knew more than he was letting on. "I had been observing the human's war for quite some time. My eye was drawn to him, and I created a connection that would allow me observe him, follow him. This soul is headstrong, loyal, and bright. He has seen his fair share of hardships. It's only a shame he died so young."

Mark Antony felt like he needed to say something, but truth be told, Mew's stare scared him. His spine was sent into a frenzy of chills when the New Species Pokémon gave him his full attention. Still talking to Death, Mew snidely commented, "Yes, a shame."

"Just leave him here with us, and we'll find a more suitable afterlife for him," Celebi logically said. When she tried to mimic Mew's devilish grin, a sickly-sweet smile was born instead. "He's too brash, conniving, and cruel to be given such power. He might even be too sinful to reincarnate."

Mark Antony finally found his voice, though it wasn't filled with its usual vibrato. "Too sinful to reincarnate?" he echoed. "What do you mean by that? I'll be stuck in Heaven for all eternity?" When Celebi's smile was reflected back at him, he instantly knew that it wasn't Heaven they had in mind. Like a blow to the stomach, he realized that Celebi was not as divine and motherly as the bedtime stories depicted. He stepped back and gave them one wave of his arms. "Oh no, I will not let some damn pixie gods decide what happens to me."

"You dare spout your nonsense in these hallow halls?" the Grass-type hissed, the irises of her eyes lighting up in a brilliant shade of sapphire. "To Mew?" Mark Antony found it interesting that Celebi didn't mention herself.

"Yes! I do!" he shouted back, completely forgetting where he was or who he was talking to. The fact that he could be sentenced to an eternity of Arceus-knows-what if he didn't speak up overshadowed Celebi's cold fury and Mew's solemn expression, if only for a second that was long enough to shout things he would later regret. "My afterlife shouldn't be decided by the likes of you!"

Mark Antony clamped his mouth shut as an electric-blue aura rolled up and down his body. Celebi picked him up into the air with one angered thought. She snarled, her beautiful features contorted into an infuriated mess. The Johto Legend watched him like a bird of prey, waiting for him to utter one more insult about Mew so that she had enough of an excuse to obliterate his soul from the from face of all three worlds.

"Let him be your assistant then."

Death, Celebi, and Mark Antony turned to Mew. The feline's brow was twitching in annoyance, and his tail slashed the air with audible snaps. "Let this poor excuse of a soul rule Purgatory alongside you. Let him forever endure a life of hard labor, death, despair, and starless skies. His soul reflects that desolate world of yours perfectly. Obliteration is too much mercy for the likes of him.

"Mark Antony Colfax," Mew continued, expecting Mark Antony's silver eyes and the growing glimmer of fear he could see within them. "By putting you in Death's hands, humanity will forever be rid of a plague like you. Nevermore will they be scourged by your existence."

The soul was dropped to the floor with a grunt from the time traveler.

"That settles it then," Mew announced with a clap of his paws, his smile toxic. "Now leave, Death. I'm sure your duties don't allow for more conversation. Besides, more pressing matters are to be attended here before Arceus returns."

Mark Antony picked himself up and turned his back on the proud Mew and murderous Celebi. "Get me a freaking scarf or something already," he muttered to Death with chattering teeth. "You, this place, and those gods over there are going to send me into shock soon."

"I'll file a complaint," Death laughed, which caused his charge to do a double take. Mark Antony sighed; he was just reminded of Edward's short chuckles. The corporal had been the only one who could get away with laughing at him in such a teasing manner.

Noticing the past tense in his thoughts, the auburn-haired man closed his eyes and shook his head. He and Death were then engulfed in a cloud of smoke and luminous emerald flames. When nothing of them remained, Mew and Celebi flew towards the top of one of the pillars.

"What will we do with you?" Mew addressed the pillar's top.

Jirachi's body materialized on the platform. Brother and sister looked at each other, nodded, and put their hands out above the cold corpse. It started glowing white, and the aura then fluctuated between jade and rose pink. Little by little, Mew and Celebi were erasing any trace that their powers were Jirachi's undoing.


Death and Mark Antony appeared inside the tallest tower in Purgatory. Mark Antony blinked at the bleakness, wondering if the surroundings would forever change in intensity. Massaging his eyes, he leaned back and almost fell through the window that overlooked the small village below. Taking a peek behind him, Mark Antony bit his lip and edged away, settling for clasping his hands behind him and watching as Death wandered deeper into the room.

"Here."

From the darkness came flying something long and thin. With honed reflexes, Mark Antony reached out and caught the ebony handle. He winced slightly; whatever he had caught sent a paralyzing shiver down his spine. Once he shook away most of the chills, he inspected the scythe with morbid interest. He traced the three-foot blade that curved in an arc with a finger that didn't bleed and then probed the ivory skull at the tip with an inquisitive, platinum gaze. The dark orb nestled inside stared back from behind the empty eye sockets.

"What's t-this?" he asked, though he was already piecing two and two together. The slight stutter was a result of the chill that had escalated from his hands to his jaw.

"That's your instrument now. Instead of taking lives, you'll be guarding them." Ignoring Mark Antony's perplexed look, Death then said with a smirk intertwined in his words, "And you need a new uniform. You no longer take sides. You will protect every life I assign you equally."

The soul opened his mouth to protest, but the words were whisked away by the smoke that suddenly soared around him. It was gone before he realized that his body, or soul, rather, no longer needed to cough. Waving away the puffs of smoke, Mark Antony stepped back and examine himself with distaste. What had been left of his Johto uniform was replaced with an ash-gray, swallow-tailed coat that was buttoned over his vest and dress pants of an inky black. His boots blended in with the gray stones at his feet, no matter which way he turned. The only thing of his ensemble that didn't seem grim was the brown leather shoulder strap that went across his chest and over his back. A feel behind him told him there was a sheath of some kind to insert his newly-obtained scythe.

There was one other thing he noticed about his uniform.

"Do you find this amusing?" Mark Antony dully asked with a tug at the olive-green scarf that was wrapped around his neck and tied by a golden clip.

"Do you find that warm?" the Dusknoir countered with a nod to the scarf.

Mark Antony only grunted because he was, in fact, free from his shivers.

"The scarf allows your soul to ignore my aura and the scythe's."

"Okay, but why the outfit?"

Death shrugged. "With these clothes, you show no allegiance to a region or group of people. You are simply a servant of Death, a guardian angel that protects every life assigned to you with no prejudice or bias."

"Yeah, that," Mark Antony stopped him. Slamming the butt of the scythe's handle down, he leaned on it and glared. "I thought I was going to help you gather souls like me and bring them here. Isn't that what you do, what you want me to use this scythe for?"

The ghoul met his glare with a serious, leveled gaze. "I and my Dusclops guards can handle bringing the souls here. However, there are humans on Earth who are not ready to die. As tame as space and time are, as carefully watched as the time stream is, there are those who die before their time. Why? Not even the gods fully understand the universe. This is why I need an assistant that can watch over these humans and protect them until the danger has passed. I need someone with good judgment, courage, and wit."

"Is it really necessary to put so much effort into saving a handful of people?" the new assistant asked, not totally convinced.

"Not doing so will cause unforeseen futures. Their futures might potentially conflict with someone else's, causing rips in time." Death inwardly smiled when Mark Antony's already pale face morphed into a fearful expression.

"And I'm supposed to prevent this?" he asked skeptically.

"You did prevent Jirachi's death, after all."

Mark Antony's raised eyebrows snapped down to form a suspicious glare. "How do you know about that?"

Death put a massive hand up to calm him. "The moment Jirachi fell to Earth, I began to keep an eye on her, though I should have done so immediately after our conversation." There were undertones of guilt in his words. "That's when I noticed you and your potential."

The soul absently nodded, his eyes troubled and his mind too preoccupied to ask what Jirachi had been doing in Purgatory. As much as he disliked showing he was unsure on something, he asked, "Did I really save Jirachi?"

Death mentally frowned and decided to word his words carefully. "By hiding herself inside a human, she'll be able to regain her power over time. How long that will take, only Jirachi knows. Now," he announced loudly when he saw Mark Antony was losing focus, "training starts now."

"Training?" Mark Antony exclaimed, his solemn stature replaced by his usual stubborn self. He eyed the collecting slivers of smoke in Death's hand with a frown. "You haven't fully explained what I'm supposed to do."

The Dusknoir gave his newly-created scythe an experimental swing. "Then we should get started, shouldn't we?"

"Right," was the miffed response he got. Mark Antony straightened and took hold of his scythe; Death floated over and righted his own.

"To protect the humans you are assigned to, you're going to temporarily take the soul of a Pokémon with your scythe and store it in the orb inside the skull." Death touched the macabre object on his scythe, and Mark Antony did the same with his own. "You then inhabit the Pokémon's body and use its skills to protect the human."

Fingers were retracted from the skull in surprise. "I'm going to become a Pokémon?!"

"In a way," Death admitted, the face on his stomach grinning from ear to metaphorical ear. "After your mission is done, I'll retrieve you and return the Pokémon's soul into its body. If done correctly, the soul will suffer no ill-effects."

"Do I have to utter some sort of incantation or something?" Mark Antony guessed.

"No, nothing that complicated," Death said with a shake of his head. "Your scythe will know how to extract and store the soul. All you have to do is create the perfect opening for the soul to escape the body without harming either one. You cannot falter or be unsure."

"Sounds just like the army," the student mused with a melancholy smirk. Automatically, he gripped the scythe tighter and slipped into a fighting stance his father had drilled into him since he was four; the scythe was the worn staff his father had forced into his hands.

The pitter-patter of feet made him look into the darkness of the room. Mark Antony saw big sapphire eyes staring into his own before the Pokémon's ruby body emerged into the light. The Ledian cocked his head, two black antennae twitching in interest. From his four spindly arms, fists were raised in greeting.

"A Ledian," Mark Antony marveled. He stepped closer and couldn't help but expect the Bug-type from his beige belly to the four black spots that adorned his closed wings. Death smiled; he guessed the twenty-five-year-old was either shocked that a living, breathing Pokémon was in Purgatory or feeling the first bouts of homesickness. Ledian stood there, calm, if a bit amused.

"This Pokémon was more than happy enough to help me in your training," he told the soul.

Mark Antony turned from where he was crouched in front of the ladybug. "Really? What's in it for him?"

Death glanced out the window. "I promised he could see his master one last time."

Silver eyes were lowered. "Oh."

"Lei Lei!" Ledian comforted him with a pat on the shoulder.

Death came to them and put a hand on Mark Antony's other shoulder. "He's right. This is a training session in where sad times are not to be contemplated. Stand up and take your scythe in hand." Once Mark Antony did so, and Ledian stepped away a couple of paces to allow for some room, he continued, "Clear your mind and hold your scythe above your head. Then give Ledian once downward slice."

Death floated back and raised his own scythe above his head. Mark Antony had to rein his instincts in to avoid jumping back when the sickle came flying down in a graceful arc. Mark Antony raised his scythe as Death leaned against his.

"Just like that?" the sergeant questioned, the sickle shining above his head. Ledian looked on with a determined frown, his body stock still.

"Just like that."

Mark Antony returned his gaze to the Pokémon. Death had said that the scythe knew what to do, that all he had to do was swing, but the scythe didn't feel any different. A sigh mounted his lips and left with the words, "You better know what you're doing."

The menacing sickle came down and passed through Ledian's body like the ghost that had crafted it. Ledian collapsed on the floor and laid motionless at Mark Antony's feet. Raising his scythe, the assistant saw a glowing blue sliver of light wrapped around the blade. It pulsated and tightened around the metal like a child hugging its favorite blanket. By the light of the sliver, Ledian's prone, lifeless form was illuminated.

"That's the basic form of a soul," Death told his mesmerized charge. "When not brought here or to Heaven, this is how they look. They can only do one thing: struggle to get back to their body. Pick the soul off, and hold it in front of the skull."

"I can't help but think that this is some form of disrespect," he sarcastically quipped as he picked the soul off with his fingers like he would a piece of string. Mark Antony blinked then stumbled forward when the soul gave one tremendous tug towards Ledian. "Whoa! Hold on there!" He turned to Death, who looked like he was inwardly chuckling at his trouble. "How in Arceus' name do I hold on to it?!"

"Just tighten your hold, and tell it to stay still. Remember, you are now in control, and the soul will know that."

"Stay still," Mark Antony firmly told the wiggling mass in his grasp. He gave an opposing tug, and the soul reluctantly stilled. Mark Antony held it up to his face then in front of the skull. It slithered through one of the eye sockets and settled inside the orb. "Now why couldn't my soldiers be as loyal as you are?" he asked as he examined the orb and the cerulean brilliance that swirled within it.

Another tug pulled at his body, but this one had wrapped around his waist and thrust him backwards towards Ledian's body. Mark Antony only saw Death easily catch the scythe he dropped in surprise before the darkness that had started to creep around the edges of his vision enveloped him.


He had thought that that the darkness was going to knock him out for a long while, but Mark Antony blinked the world back into focus only a breath later. Death stared at him from high up in the air, his body and the two scythes he held absolutely colossal. Mark Antony picked himself up, and when four hands helped him up instead of two, he knew what had happened.

"Was a warning too much for you to say?" Mark Antony acidly remarked. His antennae quivered as he realized the words he had just spoke weren't in English. Blue eyes widened, and he muttered a few words to himself in fascination.

"You might have hesitated if you were told, and the soul would have slipped your grasp," the grim reaper simply explained. The glare he was given was not lessened. When Mark Antony settled for just shooting him a dirty look, he elaborated, "When a body no longer senses its soul anywhere near, it will suck in the nearest soul in a last ditch effort to survive. "

"How selfish," Mark Antony quipped as he turned around and inspected the four-foot-body he now occupied.

"No soul can occupy an empty body; it will end with the destruction of both the soul and the vessel. Your scythe, though," he held it up, the blue light in the orb casting his face in shadow, "imbues you with the power that allows you to fully control the body with no side effects."

"I'd hate to be destroyed after you just convinced Mew and Celebi not to wipe me off the map." He had been about to say, "let me live," but his mind automatically corrected it before the words were out of his mouth. Now that he had a real body again, that creeping feeling he had been feeling since he saw his pale skin and colorless eyes manifested itself into a heart that painfully ached. The sensation of breathing once again made him realize how much he had missed it. Even if the air provided by the atmosphere of Purgatory was thin and stale, Mark Antony thought it was the most refreshing thing ever.

"I'm fine," he insisted when he saw Death's stomach contorted in a concerned frown. The expression became blurry as tears brimmed and spilled down his face. Frustration boiled when he couldn't stop the flow of tears, and the wings on his back spread open and buzzed madly. "I just need a breather." There was a moment of silence. "It's funny," Mark Antony started to say, his wings lying flat on his back and his antennae drooping. "I had said to Cassius I was prepared to die, and now I'm here wishing that this Ledian's body was my own."

"Nobody is truly prepared to die," the Dusknoir told him as he traced Mark Antony's scythe; he knew such a proud man did not want to be looked down upon right now. "It's human nature to always strive to be better and fulfill everything and anything. No matter how long you live, you will always feel that life was cut too short."

Mark Antony inclined his head towards his teacher, each heartstring pull taught with the strange feeling that it was the end of the world for him. He didn't know what was worst: never being able to live again, to travel, sleep, to know that the next day would be another chance to make something of himself or knowing that he would never be there when Johto was savaged by Kanto. Each realization was as depressing as the other. "Am I going to get used to this?"

"Think of it this way." Death ignored the scythe he was expecting to wave a hand to the window and the bleak scenery that was forever present. "Yes, those souls down there live in ignorant bliss, but they, until their Judgment centuries from now, will never be able to live on after death. Each day will be filled with repetitiveness of their every day lives, and they do not have the power to do more. You, on the other hand, will have the chance to experience new things, to evolve, and see the world change. It's your choice, however, whether you want to move on or not."

Silence reigned for a few minutes. A sigh was then heard, and Mark Antony faced Death again. It was hard to tell which emotion was prominent in those wide eyes, but his half smile was less vague. It wobbled on his face, threatening to give away to the ache of the heart that wasn't even his, but his stubborn, determined demeanor made it stay in place. "I'm sure as Hell not going to sit here and mope. I've never been one to do that, and I am not going to start now." He heaved another sigh to calm his fluttering heartbeat. "Now what more do I need to learn?"

"Exactly what I wanted to hear," Death remarked, beaming. "All you have left to learn is how to use the Pokémon's abilities. Concentrate on finding that part of your mind that holds the Pokémon instincts. Right now, your soul is subconsciously suppressing them."

Mark Antony nodded with one last wipe at the remaining tears on his face. He was silent once again, but this time, he was racking his mind for something he had never felt before. When after a few minutes passed without nothing jumping out at him, Mark Antony tried a more practical approach.

I want to fly, he mentally declared, raising a brow and awaiting some kind of sign. How do I go about doing that?

Some muscles on his shoulder blades itched, and he instinctively spread his wings out. Buzzing soon thrummed the air when Mark Antony let his mind show him all the other wing muscles he was unfamiliar with. He then let his train of thought wander and ask the questions while he jumped and hovered in the air. His own human instincts were holding him back, so why not let them take a backseat?

"Seems like you got the hang of it," Death observed with a look up. Mark Antony flew above him, his two upper fists vanishing and reappearing as he let loose a Mach Punch at an invisible foe. "Make sure you don't completely mask your human self. Your knowledge and skills are sharp and will serve you well. Just learn to have an even balance of both types of instincts."

"Right," his assistant agreed distractedly.

"Time for your first mission then."

Mark Antony flew back in surprise. "Huh?!"

Death just grinned and motioned for him to land. When the Ledian touched the floor, Death suddenly thrust his intangible hand into Mark Antony and dragged his soul out by the scarf. The assistant rolled to the floor and barked in his normal tongue, "Will you quit doing that?"

"No time for apologies," the grim reaper told him, and with one flick of his wrist, Ledian's soul was sent back into its fallen body. The Pokémon began to stir, and Mark Antony's scythe was forced back into his hands. "We have to head out, so you can get started. Time is of the essence."

"Exactly where are we going?" Mark Antony asked, mad but disoriented enough to hold back a glare. Standing up, he propped himself with his scythe and ignored how the room still spun.

"Lavender Town, Kanto."

Death sent him a warning look, but Mark Antony waved it off with a gritted, "I know. I have to protect everybody equally." He then remarked as they were pulled into the grim reaper's newly opened portal, "It doesn't mean I have to like


A/N: What do you do when you can't pick up Soul Silver on Sunday? You finish a chapter. What do you do when you get Soul Silver on Monday? Procrastinate on proofreading said chapter. xD

Yesh, finally, Mark Antony gets his scythe (and his strange outfit that I've grown to love). And for anybody who's reading, you finally know why I titled this fic "My Guardian Angel." It all makes sense now, huh? Again, a lot of this chapter was completely written on the fly, especially the training bit. Turned out well, I think.

What's in store for Chapter Eight? Mark Antony gets thrown into his least-favorite region and is forced to protect a kid who seems to seek out trouble rather than avoid it.

BUT, I'll be writing Mark Antony's special chapter next. It's all about the backstory I scrapped months after I thought of this fic, and it gets to feature a region I know next to nothing about: Orre! Yep, that's going to be fun. :D

This story is AMAZING! You have a great talent, keep going! It shocks me that mew and celebi are evil. I don't see that being very likely since mew is so playful and celebi is very kind, but it just makes the story all the better! :D

(btw, are latias and/or latios going to be in the story? They are my all time favs.

zapdos926 said:

This story is AMAZING! You have a great talent, keep going! It shocks me that mew and celebi are evil. I don't see that being very likely since mew is so playful and celebi is very kind, but it just makes the story all the better! :D

(btw, are latias and/or latios going to be in the story? They are my all time favs.

Click to expand...

Thank you, and yeah, I had fun with playing with Mew's and Celebi's characaters.

Unfortunately, Latios and Latias won't be appearing, unless I can add a cameo and a reason for them to be in a region other than Hoenn. However, I have special roles for them in the sequel. ^^;

- Kat

I would like to say that these special chapters are not meant to go along with the normal chapters of the story. They are stand alone one-shots, you could say. What is said or happens here are not applied to the main fan fic, although it might help you better understand some things.

Also, I have never played Pokemon XD: Gale of Darkness or Pokemon Colesseum, so the Orre and Shadow Pokemon in this are of my own imagination. If the story would have been written with this plot setting, I would have done research in order to keep the region and its elements as accurate as possible, but since this chapter is merely for fun, I decided to have fun and wing it.

So this is the background Mark Antony had in my original plot draft of My Guardian Angel. I did, however, add his military position and motives to fill in holes. As you will read, Mark Antony's character is more... cold-hearted and harsh.

Song for this chapter: Winter by Yasuhiro Takato. Lyrics are here


The knock on the door aroused Professor Lawrence from his reading.

It was unusual for something as trivial as a knock on the door to distract him from his research, but whoever was knocking was persistent, bold, and probably willing to stay at his doorstep well into the night. Putting down his reading spectacles and closing his hardcover book, the sixty-six-year-old man rose from his revolving chair and crossed the living room. From the arched window at the top of the door, he saw a pair of sand-covered goggles resting on chestnut hair. Lawrence opened the door and leaned against his walking cane to he examine the young man before him.

"You must have a good reason to come and see me if you braved the Harrow Desert and its inhabitants," the lean man commented, his thin locks of white hair brushed away from his face by the night breeze he just let in. Whatever drops of rain that fell and picked up midair by the gust speckled his very wrinkled, now gray, lab coat. The stranger paid no heed to the rain that was pelting him and instead straightened his olive-green trench coat and locked his amber eyes with the professor's graying blue.

"I'm sorry to trouble you this late at night, Professor," the twenty-five-year-old apologized with a slight bow; Lawrence quirked a bushy eyebrow, recognizing the Johtonian custom, as well as the accent. "But I was hoping that you could help me out."

Professor Lawrence, uncaring that the traveler's clothes were getting soaked, stood there and pondered about whether he should let the man in or not. Finally, he let the traveler enter with a nod of his head. The sound of leather loafers against hardwood floor was drowned out by the shutting door and the stranger's heavy, black boots striding in. Rather than frown at the fact that his furnished floor paneling was getting wet and stained with the globs of wet sand that dripped from the traveler's baggy jeans, the old man was more interested in why someone would come to his home. With that came a suspicious glint to his otherwise glazy stare.

As though on cue, something shifted in the shadows. The foreigner didn't notice it, but Lawrence caught the slight movement and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

"I suspected something more… elaborate," commented the stranger, but despite his words, he seemed impressed by the large living room. Although the only furniture in the room was the professor's desk and chair on a raised area of the room at the back and a forest-green loveseat at the corner, the air of wealth and importance was all around. The wood alone was a dark and rich honey shade, and that color only came from the oldest and most beautiful Nuez Trees that rested on Kanto's beloved Indigo Plateau. An arm and a leg were surely the price to buy and export these magnificent trees.

"I make do," the professor answered with a shrug, making his way to his desk; though he was suspicious of his visitor, he did not fear turning his back to him. Once he was seated, his book and glasses in his lap, he waved a hand towards the love seat. "Now take a seat, and state your name and business."

"Name's Mark Antony Colfax," the Johtonian said as he took the invite, or rather order. Mark Antony was now noticing Lawrence's cool gaze and posture. To say it didn't make him wary would be a lie, but he had expected the professor to be as cold and aloof. Besides, he had faced much harsher things than an old man's attitude.

Mark Antony's cocky persona, however, was mentally smoothed over as he remembered the reason he was here. As confident as he was, being his usual harsh self wasn't going to get him anywhere.

"I'm here," he continued, unaware of the shifting shadows behind him, "to ask for your help. In Johto, I'm a sergeant of my regiment, and currently, we're fighting Kanto for control of our own region." Mark Antony glared at the floor as though it were the soldiers that were currently tearing up his beloved home. "Our regiments and our Pokémon aren't enough. Battle after battle come and go, and we don't seem any closer to victory than two years ago."

Lawrence cocked his head, waiting to hear the point to Mark Antony's visit. Noticing this, the sergeant intertwined his fingers together and leaned forward in his seat, amber eyes shrouded in shadow. "Professor Lawrence, you are the lead scientist in the research of Shadow Pokémon. Although I know you have created no Shadow Pokémon yet, I'm confident that you will and that they will be stronger, fiercer, and faster than normal Pokémon."

"You want to be an apprentice and learn the art of Shadow Pokémon in order to win your Region War," the man finished the thought. Lawrence quirked an interested brow, his solemn frown now not quite as harsh. Mark Antony raised his head in agreement, and his eyes were alight with malicious eagerness. He had heard of Lawrence's claims that Shadow Pokémon could potentially have the ability to bring a region to its knees, and he liked the hellish idea.

"Yes," Mark Antony finally said, a sly smile stretching from ear to ear. "I have no plans to steal the information or cause trouble in Orre. My sole reason to create and use Shadow Pokémon is to rid Johto of the Kantonians. If you agree to help me, I can bring you the spoils of my victory: rare Kanto Pokémon, weapons, and technology."

When the strange shadow against the wall of the room moved again, this time, the twenty-five-year-old noticed it. Lawrence wryly grinned when he saw Mark Antony's gloved hand going for a Poké Ball that hung among the cluster of spheres clipped to his belt. It was now his turn to lean forward with an all-knowing smile. His foreign guest enlarged the Poké Ball that now laid in his palm, his gaze darkening with his own suspicions and the hairs on his neck standing on end. "Your cruel ambition alone is enough to interest me, but can you handle a Pokémon embodied with nothing but darkness?"

From behind the loveseat, something long and silky black shot out and wrapped itself around Mark Antony's arm. The sergeant jumped in his seat and jerked around to face his attacker. An elegant canine face met him with glittering ruby eyes, and Mark Antony only had a brief second to release his Pokémon from its capsule when the Ninetales leaped at him with gnashing fangs of ivory. Pidgeot materialized above them as Mark Antony's other arm was grabbed by a second, writhing tail. The other seven waved behind the sleek vixen like snakes never straying too far from their master.

"Pidgeot!" the foreigner shouted towards the massive flyer above him. Ninetales arched her back and whipped her tails to her right. To Mark Antony's great surprise, she managed to fling his girth towards the wall. The impact made his ears ring, his body ache, and he landed as a heap on the floor.

Pidgeot gave an ear-splitting cry that shook the downy, cream-colored feathers on his chest. He gave one downbeat of his chestnut wings and was on Ninetales in a flash. Black tails and ruby and yellow head feathers whipped around in the scuffle before nine spheres of cerulean fire propelled Pidgeot to the wall. Mark Antony rolled out of the way as his Pokémon flopped to the ground with growing burns over his body. Mark Antony wrinkled his nose as the smell of burnt flesh rose from the Pokémon that struggled to lift itself to his shaking, pink talons.

"And what was the point of attacking me?" he asked Lawrence, the professor rising from his seat. The demonic fox smiled once more with her abnormally sharp fangs and strutted towards her master. However, even when Lawrence didn't respond immediately, Mark Antony found he was more intrigued than mad. As he rubbed his bleeding, bruised wrist and struggled to get back on his feet with aching limbs and back, he tried to think of a Pokémon that had shown more strength, more ruthlessness, than the smirking Ninetales in front of him. No other creature came to mind.

"I don't want just anybody working alongside me," the old man answered offhandedly. "Now I didn't lie," Lawrence pointed out when he saw Mark Antony open his mouth. "I never said I didn't succeed in creating a Shadow Pokémon. So, what do you think?"

"It's… amazing," Mark Antony admitted, and the vixen flicked her tails in pride. Pidgeot, who had landed by his master's side, clicked his pale pink beak at the shadow beast. Ninetales gave a sadistic grin as she was petted by the aged scientist.

"The only Shadow Pokémon thus far," Lawrence told him. "All the others have died or have gone mad until they found a way to kill themselves off. But not my lovely Ninetales. She was the perfect guinea pig in every way."

Ninetales leaned towards his hand as she was scratched behind the ears. Even the simple action was no longer normal. A grin that was once heartwarming was now forever evilly twisted. Mark Antony was oblivious to the cruelness, the utter hate that radiated off the creature. He saw only raw power and the potential to come back to Johto with a force that would bring the Kantonian forces to their knees.

"So will you accept me as your apprentice?"

The old man fiddled with his cane, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes, I will, although my idea of apprenticeship and yours might be different. You see, I can do everything on my own except capture and steal Pokémon I need for my experiments." With a hand, Lawrence emphasized his frail body and the cane that was holding him upright. "I'll leave that job up to you."

An eyebrow was raised. "Stealing, huh? Sounds like a fun job."


There was something in the man's terrified face that put a grin on Mark Antony's own. The lab assistant was mostly shrouded in the darkness of the lab, but by the shafts of dusty light that filtered in through the shattered roof, he saw the man's tanned complexion; a native of Cinnibar Island, Kanto had faced his wrath. Or maybe it was how the man tried so hard to stop him and realizing that the Kantonians would soon face the same desperation. The mere thought sent him into a fit of spiteful chuckles that made his mount start below him.

"It's alright, Pidgeot," he calmed the avian, the evil smile still spreading upon his face.

The lab assistant rushed forward for one last attack, but Mark Antony swung the pipe he had picked up during the scuffle. With a teeth-chattering clang!, the man fell into a crumpled heap with a river of garnet blood oozing from the side of his head. Satisfied, Mark Antony threw the makeshift weapon to the side and took one last look at the ruins around them. Tables were overturned and were nothing but oversized splinters that cast shadows on the shards of glass that littered the floor. With the bookshelves and cabinets in ruins, papers and books were scattered and soaking up the spilled rainbow-colored concoctions at their feet. Pidgeot stared at the man, wondering if his master had managed to hit this one only hard enough to knock him unconscious, but he was then forced to fly upward by a kick to the ribcage.

"Nice haul," Mark Antony commented after they burst through the mess that was the collapsing roof. He weighed the bag in his hands and couldn't help but grin as he felt dozens of Poké Balls tumble over each other.

Suddenly, the clear night air was filled with the enraged voices of men. Mark Antony looked down at the barren landscape below them, the solitary lab they had just ambushed behind them. Hidden in the shadows of the towering sand dunes was the local law enforcement, "a laughable bunch of righteous fools," as Mark Antony had called them on numerous occasions. These men were every bit as mysterious as himself. Their cream-colored overcoats and beige scarves hid every identifiable characteristic in order to blend in with their desert surroundings; Mark Antony was never sure if the men that chased him were the same bunch.

"Please," he scoffed when he heard the numerous clicks of guns. "Seven months is way too long to chase something out of your reach." The chestnut-haired man looked up instead to the mountain range that was coming up. A smart maneuver here and there and the police, if such shifty people could be called that, would be out of his hair. Securing his goggles over his eyes, Mark Antony told Pidgeot to fly higher.

Shots rang out. Pidgeot screeched in fright when one flew past and grazed his shoulder.

"Steady! Steady!" the sergeant yelled to the bird. Waving away the flurry of feathers that burst into the air from the shot, Mark Antony hunkered down even more and shot an infuriated look at the men below. Even from this high up, he saw that the guns the men wielded weren't normal.

"Damn Orrians," came the gritted curse. "How in Arceus' name do they trump their own technology in mere months?!"

A volley of shots were coming their way now. Mark Antony took one look behind him and ordered, "About face! Whirlwind!"

His stomach gave one giant lurch when his Pokémon turned towards the attack and gave one mighty downbeat of his wings. Mark Antony felt himself being blown back, and if he didn't grab hold of Pidgeot's flank, he had no doubt that he would've fallen. Adjusting his askew goggles, he felt rather than saw the twister launch itself towards the incoming bullets. As though slapped away by an invisible hand, the bullets flew in different directions before exploding. The police didn't even blink as their useless ammo rained down and disappeared among the sand dunes.

"To the mountains!" ordered the Johtonian, forcing Pidgeot to turn around. He hoped speed would be able to beat whatever the Orrians had up their sleeves. Ignoring the way the bird warily eyed the men below, Mark Antony urged him forward. The intimidating landforms were coming closer and closer, and though the craggy cliffs looked too unstable for his liking, he knew he could manage to get through without a hitch.

Pidgeot couldn't help but turn his head, however, when flashes of white light caught his eye. Below, emerging from the shadows, came two blurs he undoubtedly knew was trouble. Mark Antony also redirected his gaze upon hearing the wind whistle an unnatural tune and promptly cursed. He didn't recognize the flying Pokémon, but the shine of fangs and claws were enough to unnerve him.

"Gliscor!" one of them cried, and before Mark Antony could discern more than the Pokémon's obsidian bat wings, one of the monster's thick pincers was thrust towards his face. With a startled yelp, the sergeant leaned back almost to the point of toppling off his mount. The violet menace was not deterred, even when Pidgeot attempted to peck him in between his yellow eyes, and did a complete one-eighty that whipped his long tail towards the enemy.

Just as quick, Mark Antony unsheathed his sword and blocked the bulbous stinger. From the two prongs came oozing rancid poison that dripped down, effectively melting a patch of feathers from Pidgeot's back. The great bird gave one giant lurch, threatening to send his master over the edge.

"Damn bird! Don't let such a petty wound distract you!" He grabbed a hold of a handful of tawny feathers and yanked. Pidgeot screeched and flew up, which knocked a surprised Gliscor back towards his arriving ally. This flyer shrugged his dazed companion off and nodded at Mark Antony with a menacing glare; due to the Honchkrow's hat-shaped head, the human had the impression that he was being tipped off by a very malicious gentleman. Pidgeot blinked the world back into focus, tears of pain shaken away, and saw the massive crow rearing his head back. The cascading waterfall of white feathers on his chest swelled in preparation.

"Up! UP!" commanded Mark Antony, bracing himself for the dodge.

His heart rocketed to his throat when Pidgeot obeyed. Inches below them, a ray that blended into the dark night sky flew by as silent as the bird that launched it.

"What are these Pokémon?!" Mark Antony cursed. He chanced a quick glance behind him and admitted that these Pokémon were completely alien to him, although that raven bird reminded him of a Murkrow and the bat of a Gligar. Was it possible that they were some sort of cousins from another region, like Hoenn or Sinnoh? Once again, he swore at the people of Orre and the connections they apparently had.

Gliscor's triangular ears twitched, as though sensing the human's distress. Showing a grin that displayed all of his razor-sharp fangs, he swooped in and raised one of his pincers. Mark Antony swung his sword and deflected the suddenly-coated silver forceps. Metal and Metal Claw met and produced a hair-raising screech that caused both parties to cringe in pain. The scorpion hybrid flew back to nurse his ringing head, letting Honchkrow fly in with a surprising caw.

The Astonish was enough for Pidgeot to jump in the air and take his eyes away from the enemy. Honchkrow narrowed his own in triumph and flew back with one downbeat of his wings. By the time the Normal-type regained his balance, the Big Boss Pokémon was already descending down in a corkscrew manner. The Drill Peck hit tender chest flesh and ripped it away in seconds. Pidgeot cried out and tried to flap out of the way, spreading the running blood in all directions. Honchkrow stopped his spinning and ate a dangling piece of flesh off his beak, absolutely delighted. Mark Antony gripped the hilt of his sword, his face reddening in anger, and with one fluid arc of his arm, he flung his sword into the crow's chest.

Honchkrow tried to emit a caw, but only a slight gurgling was heard. Blood began to trickle from his beak, yet the flyer had enough energy to straighten and ruffle his red-tipped tail feathers. Mark Antony pulled his sword out when he finally managed to get Pidgeot to fly straight, ducking a wing that unleashed a devastatingly chilly Icy Wind. Gliscor materialized from behind his comrade and lashed his tail, the air that whizzed around him suddenly darkening into pitch blackness.

"Air Slash!"

Gliscor was buffeted by air that caught the underside of his wings and sent him toppling backwards mid-flight. He cringed while his Night Slash dissipated. Honchkrow swatted the scorpion away before he was hit, but by the time he did so, Mark Antony and Pidgeot were already high-tailing it to the mountains with a well-executed Agility. Both foes shared a heated glance and took flight after them, their cloaked trainers below following. However, it was obvious that they were too far behind to catch up.

Mark Antony didn't turn back and see if he was being pursued. From experience, he knew it when enemies were too hell-bent on stopping him to think about quitting. It didn't mater if they were currently huffing and puffing like madmen, though. Once among the mountains, he could easily lose them.

Pidgeot stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to face the pursuers, who also stopped in mid-air. Mark Antony was about to demand why he had stopped, but the dreadful feeling that hung in the sky became strong enough for him to finally sense. In an instant, his body was incased in goose bumps, and a cold sweat had broken out on his brow. As though sensing the human's growing unease, Honchkrow sent a crooked smirk only the malicious bird could pull off; even Gliscor shirked away from the crow.

Then a horrifying screech rent the air, a screech that told of murder, vengeance, and death. Mark Antony couldn't put his hands to his ears. His body had seized up in relentless shivers that immobilized him, made him dread the seconds that ticked by. Honchkrow stopped the blood-curdling caw, but the echoes were still all around him, as loud as ever. It wasn't until Mark Antony heard the sound of a hundred pair of wings flapping above him and saw the sand beneath them bathed by approaching shadows that he cried, his voice too frantic for his liking, "Fly, dammit! FLY!"

They were off in a heartbeat, but the spawns of the night were closing in, if the sound of their chill-inducing caws were any indication. Mark Antony ignored his pulsing heart and braved a glance behind him.

The shadow upon the sky parted as the hundreds of Murkrow spread out. Crooked beaks snapped at them, their speed and lust for blood greater than the sergeant had expected. Pidgeot yelped when multiple tail feathers were nipped at and flew forward with a great gust of wind that pushed many of them back. Mark Antony managed to swivel around, switching his grip from neck feathers to back feathers, and swung his sword. Two of the Dark-types fell in a flurry of feathers, but five more took their place. All the human could do was curse and continue to keep the birds at bay with swings of his sword. That all changed when Pidgeot, with his command, put in another Agility and tore through the sky, forcing him to just lay low and hold on for dear life.

They sped across the sky, but the Murkrow became bolder. In twos and threes they bombarded the Johtonian with unsheathed talons while another one would dive-bomb and try to pierce his back. Pidgeot would brace himself and flip to the side, batting the birds aside with his wings. Backward flips were executed when the Darkness Pokémon sped up towards the front, and sudden feints were made when a cluster of a dozen decided to attack all at once.

They finally made it among the winding paths of the mountains. Mark Antony turned back to the front, swatting away a Murkrow pecking at his hair, and yelled, "Uproar!"

Pidgeot reared his head back and filled the air with a caw that went from ear-splitting to silent when it continued to climb octaves. On either side of them, rocks tumbled to life from the mountain sides. Mark Antony took one look above them and knew that the plumes of dust at the top meant the mountains' peaks were crumbling. "AGILITY!" he bellowed above the crash of boulders and the shaking of the mountains.

In a heartbeat, they were gone. The Murkrow shook away the appalling cry from their heads only to be pummeled by the landslide.


"No…!"

Mark Antony shook his head, hoping the scene at the top of the hill was just in his head. The bag of Poké Balls numbly fell from his grasp. He ran towards the burning building, Pidgeot soaring after him, trying to make him stop. The trainer whirled around and hit the bird across the face with a fist. Pidgeot flew back, stunned and horrified.

"Get away, bird!" he spat, suddenly rigid with anger and fright. "Don't you dare try and stop me!"

Again, Pidgeot was left dumbstruck and watched as Mark Antony ran up the path towards the hill illuminated by flames. By the time his Pokémon lifted his wings and flew after him, the trainer's silhouette was beginning to fade into the orange and red. All the while, Mark Antony looked around him, knowing it was arson from the moment he had seen the house ablaze from the sky. There was nobody in sight, although knowing the cunning law enforcement in Orre, he wouldn't be surprised if the perpetrators were watching from the shadows of the sand dunes around the hill. The thought made his blood boil as hot as the flames that ate up the doorframe and leaped onto his clothes. Without missing a beat, he unhooked a Poké Ball from his belt and released a Croconaw from it. The reptile turned in the air and pounded the ground with his short, thick tail. The Aqual Tail rose up as a wave of water as blue as his scales and as deadly as the fangs that jutted from his muscled maw. It crashed and swept the flames aside while ridding the air of the acrid smoke. With a wooosh!, the water hit the walls and collapsed to soak the hardwood floor. Eyes bordered by black scales watched Mark Antony sprint across the living room and stand against the bookshelf that spanned the entire back wall.

"Croconaw, Hydro Pump!" The ruby scales that ran down Croconaw's back stiffened at Mark Antony's scowl. There was something in his expression that was darker than normal.

Pidgeot entered the home just in time to see the cyan crocodile rear back and release a torrential twister from his gaping jaws. The attack drilled into the bookshelf and send the smoldering books flying as tattered pages and charred covers. Mark Antony wasted no time in going down the revealed staircase and into Professor Lawrence's lab. The path down was free of any flames, but once he landed on the bottom stop and could see the cavern that laid beneath the house, he couldn't help but bite his lip. Wherever machinery laid, there were pits of flame in their places. They grew, roared, and connected with each other through the papers and chemicals scattered on the rocky floor.

"This is where it all started," he concluded upon seeing the ashen craters that peppered the floor and walls. Croconaw hopped to his side and inhaled to send a shot of water towards the growing wall of flames, but Mark Antony stopped him with a shouted, "Do that, and you'll forever ruin the machinery!"

"Croc!" his Pokémon retorted, waving his arms to emphasize the fact that Lawrence could die if the machinery exploded from the flames. When Mark Antony stood on the step, the gears of his mind grinding to try and find a way to save the lab, Croconaw realized that his master had no intention of saving the professor. The Water-type narrowed his eyes and couldn't help but bare his fangs at the human.

Mark Antony looked down at his Pokémon, a nasty frown upon his face. "What?" he barked. "Think I'm a monster? Go ahead and attack me, but as you do, remember that this house will soon collapse when the support beams are reduced to ashes. Are you going to let that happen?" When he saw Croconaw's dawning expression of horror, the trainer looked over his shoulder and ordered, "Pidgeot, go with Croconaw to stop the blaze."

Pidgeot chirped for Croconaw to follow him and flew back out the tunnel. The Big Jaw Pokémon gave his master one last, uncertain look and went out. When they disappeared, Mark Antony stepped into the lab cavern with a new Poké Ball in the palm of his hand. Calm and sure that he had the situation under control, he released the Cubone from within the sphere. The bipedal creature of brown looked up, his eyes fearful behind the loose skull he wore over his head. His grip on his bone club tightened when Mark Antony came closer, but he dared not back away.

"Okay, Cubone, I didn't snag you so you could just stand there," the human told him, and for a heartbeat, the Lonely Pokémon thought Mark Antony was going to bring out the same Pokémon that had murdered his first trainer. Instead, Mark Antony pointed at the burning machinery. High-quality metal held the worst of the flames' wrath, but it wasn't going to last for long. "Use a Mud-slap to put out the flames. If you even dare harm the machinery, I will personally allow you to meet your dead and useless trainer."

Cubone stiffly nodded and brought his bone club close to his chest. Tears were brimming in his eyes, tears of hate, anger, and utter sadness. The Pokémon took a deep breath, hoping that one day, he would be strong enough to take his own life and leave this cruel human behind. That day was not today, however, and so he complied to Mark Antony's order by sweeping the ground with his club. Rocks were picked up, torn away as though by the jaws of a monster, and then reduced to nothing but mud with a second sweep of the club. Cubone then flung the mud towards the first machine, half-hoping his attack would indeed cause damage.

Partial hopes were dashed when the mud simply doused the flames in a wet coat of slimy gray. Mark Antony nodded and pointed out another cluster of burning machinery. Cubone swallowed his disappointment and repeated the attack.

"Mark…!"

The hoarse, smoke-effected voice was a familiar one. From behind a massive computer riddled with sparking wires came stumbling out Professor Lawrence. His lab coat was in tatters from claw marks and burns, and his pale, ash-stained skin was peppered with bleeding cuts and bruises. With no cane to help him walk and a right leg that was nothing more than a charred limb, he soon fell to the cave floor. Mark Antony leisurely walked up towards the elderly man, his hands in his coat pockets and his expression indifferent. Lawrence reached out for him, but he knew that his apprentice had no intention of helping him. Even so, he kept his shaking hand aloft.

Mark Antony knelt down to the man's eye level, tilting his head with that same, cold frown he always wore. "I think I learned everything I can from you, Professor," he told him, his tone matter-of-fact. "There's no reason for me to stay under your apprenticeship."

"So…you're leaving," the old man breathed out, finally lowering his hand. Glazed eyes met Mark Antony's stony hazel.

Mark Antony lightly shook his head. "No, Professor. It will be you who will be leaving." Leaving Lawrence momentarily surprised, the trainer said to the Pokémon behind him, "Cubone, Bone Club this man out of his misery."

"Bo-!" Cubone cut himself off upon realizing that Mark Antony wanted this man dead. Who to say the man wasn't going to do the same to him? Solemnly nodding, Cubone ran up to them with shut eyes. Mark Antony stood up and smoothly moved out of the way. Lawrence looked up, unblinking and stock-still. His eyes were forced closed when the Bone Club broke his neck and sent his corpse skittering towards the computer he had used for cover. Cubone looked at the lifeless body then away when his eyes landed on the man's bent neck. When he did, though, he caught a glimpse of his blood-stained club.

"It seems you managed to put out all the flames," Mark Antony observed when he turned his back on the man he just murdered. "Good job." Cubone did not even hear his words.

A couple of hours later, Pidgeot and Croconaw returned, exhausted and with winded breaths. They stopped when they descended the steps, and their blood ran cold. Mark Antony straightened from where he was typing on the computer he managed to save, Lawrence's body forgotten at his feet. With a few more clicks, he finished rebooting the computer and turned to greet his Pokémon. What was left of the extinguished fires swirled around him as smoke. The machinery that could not be salvaged had been reduced to a pile of metal parts and electrical wires. Everything else needed to be repaired or rebooted, but Mark Antony didn't mind.

This was his laboratory now. It was his turn to take over the professor's plans, although his schemes weren't the same as the dead man's. All he wanted was an army of Shadow Pokémon that would eliminate the Kantonians from his region.

And now, that goal seemed within arm's reach.

In fact…

Without warning, Mark Antony grabbed Cubone by the spikes of his mother's skull. The Ground-type let out a startled yell and struggled, not even realizing that he could use his bone club to attack. The sergeant grinned at the petty attempts of escape and addressed his two Pokémon at the steps, "This is my laboratory now, and with that, Shadow Pokémon will be under my control." He stole a glance at Cubone, who was frozen in fear. "Starting with you guys."

Pidgeot and Croconaw shared a look then bolted for the stairs. Before Mark Antony could pull our their Poké Balls to recall them, a blur of onyx rushed out from the shadows and in front of the runaway Pokémon. Ninetales stood before them, all nine of her tails brimming with spheres of cyan fire. Mark Antony blinked in surprise and saw the Shadow Pokémon give him a fanged grin. Their eyes met, and the Johtonian knew what she meant.

"So you realized that the professor was too weak for this project, too?" he questioned the fox. "That's why you didn't help him back there."

Ninetales nodded at her new master then fixed Pidgeot and Croconaw with a cold glare. Both of the creatures cowered under it, and they were sucked back into their Poké Balls once Mark Antony put Cubone down, his boot holding the small Pokémon by his short tail. Once he hooked the two spheres to his belt, he recalled Cubone and held the Poké Ball in his palm.

He proceeded to place it on the capsule holder, a wide, cylindrical appliance that sported burns and broken plates of metals. The glass dome that once protected the Poké Ball inside it from harm was nothing more than shards of scattered glass that Mark Antony crunched on his way to the computer. There was a good chance that the machine was still in working order.

Mark Antony stopped typing, realizing that being wrong would probably result in the machine frying the Pokémon inside the Poké Ball.

The man shrugged. He still had a bag of Poké Balls he needed to retrieve from outside. Pokémon subjects were not in short supply.


The sun had set, and Mark Antony marveled at how Pidgeot's sleet-gray and onyx-black feathers blended seamlessly with the night sky. The sergeant ran a hand though the bird's back feathers and couldn't help but feel a thrilling shiver. It had been three months since he had transformed his Pokémon into their Shadow forms, but he still got chills at the sight of them. Their very fur, feathers, and scales teemed with a power he still could not comprehend.

Pidgeot cocked its head, and its minuscule pupils bore into Mark Antony's own. There was no disobedience, hatred, or fear in them. All of those feelings had been dealt with and erased that night in the lab. That stony stare was only fueled with the iron determination of fulfilling its master's wishes, a stark contrast to Ninetales' cunning gaze. Did something indeed malfunction with the equipment due to the raid? Were his own Pokémon lacking something Ninetales had? Did the professor add something else to the transformation process he himself knew nothing about?

It didn't matter. Whatever it was, he was glad that his Pokémon didn't exhibit it. That was the professor's mistake. Shadow Pokémon were not meant to be independent creatures of great power. They were supposed to be nothing but powerful drones incapable of their own decisions. Allowed one sliver of intelligence, and they would turn. Even now, Mark Antony was still debating about whether to keep Ninetales or just dispose of her. She was devilish as she was powerful. Who knew when she would decide he was also too weak to control her…?

From the edge of his vision, Mark Antony made out flames. His heart skipped a beat, and subconsciously tightening his hold on his bag of stolen Poké Balls, he shouted, "Pidgeot, climb!"

The Pokémon angled its wings and flew up at neck-breaking speed, Mark Antony hunkering down as his heart went up to his throat. Beneath them, the Flamethrower past by in all its ruby glory. Pidgeot now flew leveled, seemingly uncaring that its feathers had been seconds way from being burnt off its body. Mark Antony, however, risked a look behind him and saw an orange coming right towards them, the dark-green undersides of his wings catching the breeze and taking him closer and closer to them. From behind the Pokémon's long neck, the Johtonian made out a head of unruly, dark-brown hair.

Mark Antony took his gaze away from the Charizard and his master to look beneath him and figure out a plan of escape; Pidgeot couldn't very well fight at full potential with him on his back. To his great irritation, they were flying directly over a city made out of small houses and various labs that rose as metal skyscrapers from the sand. Gripping Pidgeot's feathers, he looked beyond the town, beyond the stadium on the outskirts, and towards the great desert that expanded over the horizon. If he could get over there, Pidgeot would be able to create a sandstorm big enough to cloak his retreat and confuse the trainer, whoever he was.

Charizard's roar shook the foundations of the buildings, but the sound then transformed into a rippling in the air. Pidgeot whirled around, face still expressionless. From behind his goggles, Mark Antony saw the Heat Wave swell and extend in rolling waves of heat. Even yards away, the fire was intense; his skin prickled unpleasantly, and his mouth was bone-dry.

"Who the hell is this guy?" he spat the question before yelling, "Mirror Move!"

Pidgeot flapped itself from its smooth flight and faced the Charizard with fearless, unblinking eyes. With another down stroke, flames erupted from the underside of its dark wings. Mark Antony yelled out in surprise and covered his eyes, but the searing flames were still dancing in his mind. The sergeant felt the air explode with heat, felt flames hover down to burn his clothing, and he knew that the two Fire-type attacks had collided. Charizard's bellow of pain came soon after. Curiously enough, the strange trainer said not a word, even after Mark Antony reopened his eyes and tried to lock gazes.

"To the desert," he ordered his Shadow Pokémon with a kick between the bird's ribcage. With feathers still brimming orange, Pidgeot took off to the designated direction.

A guttural growl told them the Flame Pokémon took off after them, his muscled, lit tail whipping behind him like a serpent. Pidgeot turned its head for a split second and directed a downbeat of its wings towards the dual-type. From the folds of feathers came shooting out a flurry of golden stars that illuminated the buildings they were leaving behind. Charizard spouted out a sliver of orange fire that warped itself into a twister; it wrapped the Swift and send it flying uselessly behind him. The Fire Spin ended, and Charizard was gaining speed. Mark Antony, for once, felt he was losing the advantage.

"Pidgeot!" he yelled above the wind. "Use-!

He was cut-off mid-sentence when an Air Slash hit them from behind and sent Pidgeot careering forward with frantic wing flaps. Mark Antony tried to get his Pokémon under control, but when he looked up, the trainer's face met his own. Harsh dark eyes locked with his before his Charizard conjured a Twister with a downbeat of his wings. Mark Antony soon found his world turned upside down when the column of swirling wind engulfed both him and Pidgeot. His hands gripped its neck feathers, but his arms still shook at the prospect of being tossed up into the air and left to drop. Pidgeot's screech rang in his ears as they spiraled into the spinning world beneath them. They were shadowed by Charizard's descending form as they fell.

Still, his trainer said nothing.

Mark Antony, teeth gritted and eyes half-shut behind his goggles, pulled himself next to Pidgeot's hidden ears. The bird's cry was louder than ever, and he wasn't sure he could hear the wind rushing around them anymore. The sergeant took a deep breath, willing his heart back to his chest if just for a moment, and uttered, "Tailwind!"

Something clicked in Pidgeot's mind, and it forced its wings to straighten and its tail feathers to stiffen to produce one last gust. Unfortunately, they were both sent backwards from the unpredictably strong rush of wind that was released. Their forms were captured by the Twister once again. This time, the Shadow Pokémon's wings were strapped to its sides by the winds. Now, they were too close to the ground for another attempt.

Suddenly, the Twister was broken by a downbeat of Charizard's wings. Pidgeot's own were freed just in time for both it and his trainer to crumple onto the ground, some last minute flaps saving them from a crash landing. The Johtonian rolled from his mount's back and onto the ground. Mark Antony began to pick himself up, feeling the gravel beneath his fingers. Disoriented, he got on his knees and saw the rows upon rows of seats that surrounded the stadium. He stayed on his knees, the dizziness and nausea almost too much to bare. Pidgeot's cry was now waning from the depths of his ears, and he thought he could hear the clanking of the chains that held up the battle arena above the mile-deep crevice dug into the desert. Mark Antony shut his mouth, tasting bile and feeling his heart still rapidly shaking within his rib cage.

A thump! that shook the ground and made the gravel jump told him that the Flame Pokémon just landed. Pidgeot ruffled its feathers and looked up as it got back to its talons, but Mark Antony could only crane his neck and hope that the sudden movement didn't send his world spiraling again. He only got as far as seeing the trainer don a cap and jump from the Chairzard's back when the lights of the stadium turned on. White bombarded his eyes and made him look down again. Eventually, the sound of crunching footsteps forced him stand up, albeit wobbly, and face his foe.

It was then that he noticed he was facing the famous Red.

The twenty-year-old tilted his red cap up to reveal dark-brown eyes too aged for someone so young. Red regarded the Pikachu that bounded from the stadium box, down the rows of seats, and onto the battle arena with a softening of his steely eyes. The yellow rodent rubbed against the blue jeans of his master affectionately then redirected eyes of dark amber towards Mark Antony, red cheeks sparking with electricity. Mark Antony gave the Electric-type a look of distaste then squared his shoulders and raised his chin towards Red. Despite being five years younger than himself, Red looked down at him with that unwavering stare of his. It made the Shadow Trainer growl in anger.

"I've heard stories about you," he began, his words a tad slurred with the dizziness he still felt in his throbbing head. "Champion of Kanto. The one who defeated Team Rocket those years ago." Something clicked, and suddenly, Mark Antony's world was no longer shaking on its foundation. Perfectly-focused eyes narrowed. "They've sent you to stop me, haven't they?" He wasn't sure who "they" were exactly, but he had known, deep down, after that night in the lab, that somebody else was going to step up to try and take him down.

Red merely nodded, expression still stern.

Mark Antony raised an eyebrow, waiting for the champion to elaborate and give a reason as to why he thought he would succeed when countless others before him had failed. Red stayed silent and only pointed at Pidgeot. Mark Antony frowned and looked at his Pokémon to find the bird was holding one mangled wing close to its chest. Anger mingled with shock clung to his face. He glanced at the Charizard; that Pokémon was stronger than any other he had faced if his attack managed to break Pidgeot's wing beyond usefulness. Still, he smoothed over his scowl.

"You may have forced me to stand and face you," he addressed Red acidly, "but do not think I have already lost!"

The young brunet closed his eyes as though to say he would never think of such folly. Red's Pikachu bounded to the center of the arena with his lightning bolt-shaped tailed twitching in anticipation for the battle he knew was coming. Mark Antony stepped up and fished out a Poké Ball from his belt, enlarging it with an expression of cold fury. Pikachu's black-tipped ears were flat on top his skull when Cubone was released in a haze of dark-violet. Everything about the materialized Shadow Pokémon unsettled the mouse.

Cubone tipped its bleach-white skull so that wine-red eyes could meet Pikachu's defiant stare. Its ash-gray skin blended almost seamlessly with the gravel at its feet, and its club was now stained with the blood of the numerous victims Mark Antony had ordered him to dispose of in the past three months. At the sight, Red's eyes dangerously narrowed. Mark Antony smirked, glad he evoked some kind of reaction from him.

"Bone Rush," was the simple, confident order.

Cubone chucked its bone club, and two more materialized in its paws. Pikachu rolled away from the real club and dodged the two new ones by jumping high into the air. Cubone conjured two more and ran up to the rodent. The rodent's eyes widened when the Ground-type jumped to his height in a flash. Without so much as a grin of triumph, Cubone clobbered the Kanto Pokémon on the head with one bone then slammed the other into his stomach as Pikachu fell in pain. The Shadow Pokémon descended down with one last bone in its grip.

It was its turn to be shocked when Pikachu, seconds away from hitting the ground, flipped backwards and delivered an Iron Tail to the jaw. All Cubone saw was flashes of silver dancing among the lights of the stadium before he landed on the gravel. Mark Antony sharply looked at Red and knew he had given no command to his Pikachu. With an order of, "Bone Club!" to the mindless Cubone, he gave the Kantonian a glare that the younger trainer immediately turned to.

"Is that how the famous Red faces his opponents?" Mark Antony called to him. "Do you look down upon them so much that you don't bother with Pokémon commands?"

The champion raised his head towards him, the brim of his hat casting a shadow upon his serious stare. "We trainers should not control a Pokémon's every move. We are merely their guides in times of trouble. They are our friends, not our tools."

Mark Antony gave him an infuriated look, as though the words had slapped him in the face. He had heard many people say the exact same thing, but hearing it from Red was much more angering. When Mark Antony met those orbs of brown, he didn't see an accomplished trainer, a champion, a defender of the people. He saw a Kantonian with his self-righteous beliefs and his aloof attitude. He saw that superior look, that air around him that emitted confidence and cockiness. All of it made him think of the Kantonian soldiers that were currently making themselves at home in Johto.

The shaking of the gravel beneath his feet alerted him to the Pokémon fight. Cubone had Pikachu nailed to the floor with a bone against his throat. The trapped Pokémon growled and braced his hind paws against the Ground-type's stomach. Cubone didn't need Mark Antony's command of, "Finish him off!" The reptile pressed the bone club more and more against Pikachu's windpipe, sanguine eyes glittering in glee. Mark Antony stood back, his stirring anger making it difficult to enjoy the upcoming victory. He knew Red had more Pokémon in his disposal, but he also knew the champion would be too shell-shocked to continue the battle after one of his "friends" died before his eyes. In mere seconds, he would use Cubone and Croconaw to take control of Charizard and fly back to the lab.

But then Cubone's pain-filled cry snapped him from his musings. It stumbled back and clutched its mother's skull with trembling paws. No matter how loud it yelled, though, Pikachu's Uproar still assaulted its ears. The aforementioned mouse jumped to his paws and took off with a Quick Attack that hit Cubone in the abdomen. Mark Antony took a step forward when his Shadow Pokémon was knocked down then sent skittering again with an Iron Tail. A glance at Red's solemn face made his blood boil anew. Pride was rearing up its head.

"Cubone, do whatever you need to do to win!"

Mark Antony couldn't help but step back when Cubone looked at him. Its eyes glowed like bloody rubies, and it emitted a strangled cry of joy. Immediately, Cubone dodged Pikachu's Slam with a swift jump back. Pikachu looked up only to see the Shadow Pokémon hanging off of one of the colossal chains that connected the arena with the stadium's stone structures near the seats. With that crazy, triumphant glint in his orbs, Cubone brandished its club and slammed it against the chain. Metal links shattered at once, and the arena gave a great upheaval as it tilted to the right and down to the darkness below. Pikachu tore off towards the crazed creature when Cubone jumped and ran in the direction of the next chain.

"STOP!" his trainer yelled, but the arena shuddered in warning and made him lose his balance. Now on his knees, he watched, horror-stricken, as the Lonely Pokémon climbed up the next chain. The sound of the torn link still echoed in Mark Antony's ears like an out-of-tune chord, and he immediately rose to his feet and reached for Croconaw's Poké Ball.

Charizard flew above him, already one step ahead, and Pikachu retreated back to his master. Cubone inclined his head at the sound of leathery wings and smiled under his skull. He jumped away to avoid Charizard's jaws and threw his bone with all the strength he could muster when he was swatted away by the dragon's tail. The chain was split in half, and the destruction trickled down so that links burst apart before everybody's eyes. Mark Antony gave a cry of alarm when he was thrown on the floor and sent sliding towards the tilting half of the arena. The groaning of the floor and the sound of waves of gravel tumbling along with him drowned out his frantic heart. Mark Antony dug the heels of his boots and tried to stand up, but the gravel beneath him continued on sliding. The angle towards the crevice was becoming steeper and steeper, much to his growing horror.

Pidgeot's screech joined the symphony of destruction. Mark Antony saw it tumble over the edge, its unbroken wing flapping uselessly as it was swallowed up by the darkness. Croconaw's Poké Ball slipped from his fingers and was lost among the gravel. Cubone had jumped when Charizard went for his master, smiling proudly all the while.

He had finally been brave enough to take his own life.

"Mark Antony!"

The Johtonian looked up when a large shadow covered his form. On top of Charizard, Red held out his hand towards him, outright concern taking over his once solemn features. Mark Antony scowled up at him. He felt rather than saw the edge creeping closer and closer. Again, he tried to get up, but he was swept off his feet the moment he did so. Red leaned towards him, his frown taught.

"Don't be a fool!" he shouted. Something in his eyes softened. "Please, Mark Antony. This is not your end."

Mark Antony analyzed the Kantonian's hand. No. There was no chance that he could grasp it and pull Red down with him as he fell. Already the ground was lost beneath his boots.

"Go burn in Hell!" Mark Antony spat. "And take your people with you!"

And he went over the edge.


In what seemed like an instant later, Mark Antony started, opened his eyes, and was assaulted by pristine white. He uttered a cry and stumbled back, but a pair of strong, gargantuan hands held him by the shoulders and forced him to straighten. If he had been a dog, his hackles would have risen and his teeth would have been bared at the touch. The Johtonian whirled around, jaw set firmly in indignation. All fury, and his voice, evaporated at the sight of a red eye glaring down at him.

"I see you came to your senses," a voice purred from above him.

When Mark Antony grasped his nerves and turned away from the cyclops, he saw a pink feline leisurely fly from behind one of the many columns of polished limestone that circled the center of the white chamber. Tiny, triangle ears were perked in fascination, but the creature's cerulean eyes were just as malicious as the twisted grin on his small snout. Mark Antony, with the ghost behind him, could only stand in shock. The Pokémon flew past him and circled him with pure curiosity, his long tail winding around the man's throat like a loving snake.

"Who are you?" Mark Antony growled, hating the fact that his voice shook. This Pokémon radiated power, and it sunk into his bones and heart to make his entire being shake. No, it wasn't only the god's presence that made him shiver. There was a shroud of cold that embraced him and refused to let go. Feeling the cat's tail caress his face, he couldn't help but wrap his arms around his quacking frame.

It was then that he found his clothes had changed.

"You're dead, or haven't you noticed?" the feline chirped in his ear, a smile weaving into his words. "It's the whole reason you understand my tongue." The Legend flew back as Mark Antony expected everything from his ash-gray, swallow-tailed coat to the pitch-black dress pants that draped over his boots. He was startled back to his senses when the cat faced him again, and a green pixie joined the Legendary Pokémon from where she was perched on a pillar. The disoriented soul managed to twist himself out of the ghost's hands and step to his left so that he could glare at the three strange figures. As he did so, he faintly felt something strapped to his back.

"Who in Arceus' name are you?!" he repeated between chattering teeth; the olive-green scarf that was wrapped around his neck could not keep the chills at bay.

The green fairy let out a scornful laugh, her two transparent wings fluttering as she came closer to him. "We are his children," her melodic voice told him, the tone suggesting he was an idiot for not knowing so himself. "I'm Celebi, the time traveling deity who has graced your region for centuries."

As a spark of recognition ignited his now silver eyes, the first Pokémon's taunting smirk melted into a dangerous frown that shadowed his gaze. It seemed that the fact that Mark Antony had the nerve to stand there, unafraid and demanding their identities as though he was in charge, ruined his fun. "I'm Mew," he curtly told him. "Arceus' first child. Like I stated before, you're dead, Mark Antony Colfax. Judgment has been passed before you, and it has been decided that you're to be Death's assistant," he motioned to the Dusknoir briefly, "for now and evermore."

Mark Antony clamped his gaping mouth shut. Without warning, he stepped up and grabbed Mew by the fur of his chest. Celebi's antennae stiffened in rage while Death looked on with an indifferent look, the yellow mouth on his stomach twisting into a thoughtful frown. The time traveler, her clenched hands already sparking with blue power, was waved away with a flick of Mew's hand. Mark Antony only saw Mew in his haze of red, Mew and that superior look the Legend's eyes held even now.

"How dare you think you can decide my fate?" His steaming anger was enough to keep his cold-induced stuttering away. "Gods you may be," he spat, "but what becomes of me is my choice and my choice only."

Mew took one look at Mark Antony's platinum irises and pale skin before chortling in his face. "You ignorant, ignorant human," the god chastised him, growing amusement making his tail twitch. "When you're dead, you have no say as to what will happen to you. If I so wanted, I could eliminate your soul from existence, and a part of me wonders, 'Why haven't I done so?' You've killed many people, Mark Antony." The human's name sounded like sweet poison on Mew's tongue. "Your heart is as dark as the Pokémon you created. There is no remorse, no forgiveness, in your hostile stare. Surely the world would benefit from your complete absence."

The soul gasped when he was lifted in the air by an invisible hand that held his body painfully tight. Though he realized that he didn't need to breathe, Mark Antony still found himself panicking when Mew's psychic powers began to compress his windpipe. The scythe strapped to his back rattled as he kicked his legs and clawed at the deity that had floated from his hands. Mew took a moment to relish the struggle before intensifying his powers. Now Mark Antony screamed and held his head, doubling over in the air and wondering if he was really dead. He felt the coldness, the lack of a heartbeat, and the truth in Mew and Celebi's words, but was the pain he was feeling just in his head?

The pain that stabbed at his mind like many knives was real. Mew's next words were just faint, insignificant words that were drowned out by his yells. Celebi watched on with morbid fascination. Death closed his eye and bowed his head, waiting for Mew's unneeded torture to be over.

"But at the end I said no," the New Species Pokémon continued. "It would be too much mercy for the likes of you. You need to suffer for your sins against Pokémon and human kind, not be slapped on the wrist and disposed of. So I'll take every grain of memory you have and leave you in the world of Purgatory with Death for all eternity."

Mark Antony wanted to protest, but even when the pain ebbed away, he had lost the words in order to try and hold on to the memories that were running through his fingers like sand. Each time an image presented itself, it evaporated away. Placed and people he tried to recall no longer had any meaning, and after a while, even their names were lost. Again and again the pattern was repeated, and again and again he tried to hold on to something; even the most insignificant of memories, like the smell of his childhood home, were grasped in vain.

And every time they escaped his fingers, even he, cold-hearted Mark Antony, had the urge to cry.

So it was when he was dropped to the floor like a forgotten doll that he looked upon the holy chamber with empty eyes. He tried desperately to feel angry at the beings that smirked before him, but every event, every memory, that had made him the callous person he was had been wiped away. Even the notion of knowing his whole life had just been discarded was gone in an instant. Mark Antony sat there, his eyes wide and fearful of everything he saw.

At length, all he managed was a shaky, "What have you done to me?" His voice grew stronger, yet his eyes still met the floor. "Why am I here?"

On the polished tiles, he studied his reflection. He saw faint scars with no explanation and eyes that pained for no reason. The skull perched on the top of his strapped scythe stared back tauntingly. Or was it in understanding? It, after all, was as hollow as him. Hesitantly, he stood up and reached for the scythe. Once he held it close to his chest, the feeling of having a weapon in his hands was a familiar tingle at the back of his mind.

"Come."

Mark Antony jumped at the voice and turned around to face Death. The three gray flaps on either side of the Ghost-type's cylindrical head had been flapping in silent anger for a while now, but they were still as he looked down upon the twenty-five-year-old with that sole eye of his. Death tilted his head and observed his new assistant. Interesting. Despite having no memories, the soul had a firm, determined look about him that was only hindered by the lack of a gleam in his eyes.

"I assume you will tell me what I need to do?" Mark Antony probed, noting that the energy he felt in the scythe could be felt in the hand Death laid on his shoulder.

The Dusknoir glanced at him curiously. "You do not wish to know who you are or what you're doing here?'

The gaze that met him was one of defeat. "I have a feeling I don't want to know."

"And your name?"

The soul smiled a bit. "Mark Antony."

Death glanced at Mew, not knowing whether that sliver of a memory was meant to comfort or torture. With that lingering thought, both he and his assistant disappeared in a plume of emerald fire. The two deities watched the curling flames wane and die away.

"Helping humans." Mew snorted at the job Death had waiting for the dead sergeant. "Despite having no memories, a human can never change. He'll loathe the job."

Celebi's grin faltered with an occurring thought. "What if he grows to like it?"

Her brother shrugged, though a malicious smile was present on his features. "Then he'll be nothing more than a forgotten memory."

With those murderous words echoing among the marble walls, both gods settled in to enjoy Arceus' absence.


A/N: Wow, did that turn out longer than I expected.

This is how the story would have gone if I had used this instead of what I wrote in the official chapters: Mark Antony would have indeed grown to love his job, never knowing who he is but happy enough that he doesn't want to know. Death keeps this from Mew, so Mew never destroys his soul as he said he would. However, as the story would progress, Mark Antony would come to figure out his past, (by some events I never specified in my notes) and he would be conflicted with his cold past self and the caring guardian angel he is now.

But that is not going to happen. :P

After writing this chapter out, I miss writing about my official Mark Antony, but I cannot work on two things at once. So that's why I didn't start Chapter Eight yet. ^^; I need to update faster if I ever want to write the sequel sometime in this lifetime. *looks at the pages of notes*

Also, as I was proofreading that last part, I realized I never specified how Mark Antony could understand the Legends and Death (and not normal Pokémon). :x I'll go and fix that in Chapter Seven. *scurries off*

Phantom Kat said:

Unfortunately, Latios and Latias won't be appearing, unless I can add a cameo and a reason for them to be in a region other than Hoenn. However, I have special roles for them in the sequel. ^^;

- Kat

Click to expand...

hooray for the Lati's!!! Can't wait for more chapters and the sequal!

I was just reading over this again, and I was wondering, how it seemed like in the normal chapters, it was like the pokemon world was just hitting the industrial age, with cannons, swords, older rifles and the such, but when you typed Mark Antony's special chapter, you made it seem like they were very high in the technological era, with the technology to create shadow pokemon. I'm not sure if this is a simple continueity error, or if you were going going for a Nazi zombies approach. I'll try an explain that: in Call of Duty, in Nazi zombies mode, there is this whole thing about how while the rest of the world is just finishing with wwII, and technology still isn't that advanced, some crazy German scientist finds an element that can create the ultimate weapon, as well as bring the dead back to life, and make laser guns. Bot sure if you followed that or not, but anyways...