Part One - Prep-Talk & Charcoal
“Right…on my mark, get set, Flamethrower!” The booming command is pursued by a long jet black blast of fire, which reaches fifteen feet into the air before flicking outwards in a small darting cone. Al’s face beams with excitement, the pre-eminent rush of battle knocks his nerves into disarray, turning his cheeks red and his brow sweaty. “Alright, go Famfrit!” The youth’s great Charizard turns to meet the gaze of his trainer, and smiles with a bold, silent defiance.
Al could still not comprehend why his Charizard, of all the Charizards of the world, had to be as black as the night sky, why Famfrit’s breath had to be flames of midnight…whilst a Charmeleon, there had been nothing, nothing at all - after the horrific events of the Jaunting Tower…he had awoken in the ruins of the night’s destruction to Famfrit’s new form, a stronger, darker, more menacing form…
“Okay, good, Famfrit, return!” A flashback of an inferno breaks Al’s concentration, and he pauses in silence for a moment, one hand hovering, dead, before his waist. In it he loosely grasps a poke ball, large and swollen, ready to fill. “Famfrit…return!” A thin red beam, like a targeting laser, connects with Charizard’s chest and it whips away in a flash of high speed light. Silence falls across the arena, until the slow sound of Al’s breathing retakes control.
“Go,” he takes hold of the next ball attached to his belt, and pulls it clean, “Crallos!” From the new ball a blur of steel and wing scrambles into a collective image, a Scizor, with armour as black as Famfrit’s wings, springs out from the dancing lights. Without command, it leaps with a clear bound across the arena, driving it’s claws downwards, cleaving two vertical iron bulkheads in two with deadly focus and perfect accuracy. Standing in a stance of a samurai, it flickers back into a red whirl, and is gone quickly from sight. Al lowers the ball back to his belt, Scizor never talked, it seemed to shy away from praise - it simply loved the challenge, the silence thought that accompanied a pokemon with the clash of steel…he had come to respect that silence.
The connection with that night weighed heavily on Al’s mind. Ever since he had taken over the ninth gym - the focus gym on the Coronet Plains there had been nothing but trouble, attention unwanted and vile, disaster…the tower.
“Go, Shaw!” This time, from the whirl of crimson, springs a black midnight mouse, which bounces onto the arena floor with a great rendered tail, which springs it twenty feet into the air amidst a crackle of sparks. The Raichu bounces around, until it settles it’s gaze onto Al, it’s smile revealing radiant teeth on coal fur.
“Shaw, our battle approaches - together, all of us, we can win! Are you ready?…Good, okay, Volt Blade!” With a quickly gathered grace, Raichu performs a high sprung back flip, and charges sparks from it’s reserves along it’s tail - which would normally ground it, before driving it heavily into the ground. With a great thunderclap and flash, a wave of electricity darts out across the arena floor, it slams into the high walls and dissipates with a fizzle.
“That was perfect, we’re going to have a battle on our hands with your radiance Shaw!” Amidst the Raichu’s screech of jubilant glee, Al levels a poke ball with his most trusted pokemon of all, and nods. He waits for the red whirl to carry Raichu away, before slumping forwards to lean on the railing that surrounds his duelling booth. It was raised, standing 20 feet above the arena, designed, so Flint had said, to protect Al from his own technique; the sheer power and uniqueness of his pokemon had drawn challengers from all over Sinnoh, and even beyond - there was no rest, not for the wicked…Al lets out a long, drawn out sigh.
“Well…now, we come to you…” The fires of his memory explode into view once more. As he focuses, he is drawn nearer, and nearer the inferno’s epicentre…there, he could see two red pupils, glowing in the night flames. Somehow, his communications with the Grove Institute had brought one pokemon to the forefront of his mind…Giovanni’s greatest creation, and the proudest nightmare of our world…Mewtwo.
“Go, Lapin!” The last of Al’s pokemon flies from the red ribbons, and appears, hands held behind back in solemn judgement, utterly silent, utterly still. The Slowking turns, as slow as it’s breath, to stare blankly at Al. Already Al could see the only non black part of Slowking’s skin glimmer, the gem in it’s crown. It was hypnotic, and Al, during training had focused on that…somehow, his Slowking, above all, could talk…
“What shall I do…Al?”
“Lapin - this time, we’re going for the reverse play - you’re leading up front, ready to take on the battle head on?” Al clenches his fist, using the adrenaline to stand upright and defiant once again.
“Oh, I am ready - I will enjoy…this.” Still, thought Al, there was a bonus to the speech, he just wished such intellect and emotional calm came with more, exuberance.
“Okay…Power Gem!” Before Al had even made a motion, the gem in Slowking’s crown glows a bright red, and from it, like a repeating cannon fly small glimmering shards, which cascade into the sky before clattering down onto the arena floor like stone rain. Al smiles, in some respects Lapin was the only true friend he had. They had discusses, talked, reminisced. The painful process of bonding had taken months, for a Slowking, as wise and powerful as they may be, still retained the reticent slow processing of it’s forebearer Slowpoke, and peer Slowbro. He’d forgotten to ask the pleasantries, and intelligent conversation required; but he’d still be here tomorrow if he bothered…
“Brilliant Lapin, return!” In the flurry of red, Slowking bows out.
Tonight the next challenger would arrive, and Al’s meaningless life would continue - he had achieved all he wished to achieve, and now continued to achieve for the sake of his friendship, the bonds with his companions. There was nothing left for him to search for, except gyms and leagues on distant shores…he wished he could see the truth, what really lies behind the world, and the greatest secret of all…why Mewtwo came for him that night, in the Tower…
"Wings of steel collide with the fiery fist, and the Dojo of The Flaming Wing is born..."