Fanfiction of the Month (June): Without Regret (Pokemorph/Dark, PG-13ish)

~Ozy~

PC's Unofficial Poetry Critic
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    Author's Note: Well, a while back in the Fanfic Lounge, I promised Namine a dark fic. So, here it is. Or rather, the opening segment of it. We'll see where it goes from here, eh? Otherwise, there's nothing special you need to read it, nor anything I'd ask you to keep in mind. Been a while since I wrote anything PFF...

    Without Regret

    By ~Ozy~

    Prelude    ​


    The entire chamber bespoke of a terrible perversion of science. Massive glass tubes lined the walls, each filled with orange liquid. Glowing bands of blue energy coursed gently up and down each of them. In the middle, one tube was placed in an obvious display. Two men stood by it. One seemed powerful, confident and efficient. The other, dressed in a lab coat hovered several steps behind him.

    "Masterfully done, doctor." The dark suited and dark-haired man stepped around the containment unit, studying the mutated creature inside as though he were responsible for it. With each step, his steps clanked on the steel grate that served as flooring here. Several fingers trailed over the cool glass, drawing the beams of energy towards the spot where he had made contact.

    The man's companion, for the sake of his own life had to speak. Summoning as much confidence as he was able he said, "I'm afraid not, sir. This technology, this process is still not entirely workable. The creature's genome is unstable. His human form is wasted away as much as this one is improved."

    The overseer, suited and superior in his confidence said, "And why, Dr. Ragole, would this be a problem? He has no use to me as a human."

    Ragole swallowed hard, almost whispering, "Because of the instability of the genome, and perhaps exacerbated by the mutations induced into the Scyther, the mutation itself is unstable. There is a pain-based reaction that causes a reversion to the human form, be it willing or no."

    By way of demonstration, he adjusted a dial on the tube with practiced speed. The beams of energy solidified and struck the oddly altered Scyther. It was longer; with lithe muscles cording its body and serrations on each of the blades. For a moment, as the beam struck, lightning coursed along the of the unfortunate creature surface before it… Twisted, could be the only accurate descriptor.

    Where before, there had been an assassin created by nature and improved by science, hung a teenaged male in the same suspended animation. Wisps of black hair clung to his scalp and his frame was withered by disease. Dr. Ragole said, "The morphing and mutation processes have left him without any immune system to speak of. The condition is similar to AIDS, though with a different cause and at an entirely different level. Our other projects are growing nicely. They'll be ready in several weeks with better results. Honestly, I'm surprised this one still lives."

    "You should hope the others succeed, Doctor," Ragole's superior said with a nasty smirk. He laughed and continued, "I'm not above seeing to it that you are the next one we test on." His smile twisted into a scowl and glare at the containment tube he had been examining. He snapped, "Kill the failure," before spinning on a heel and storming from the building.

    Dr. Thomas Ragole complied with his superior's directive immediately. Stepping back to the control unit, he toyed with one of the dials, and then flicked two switches. The energy once again coalesced and shot towards the frail boy. Skin blackened as the killing force cut through his clothing and the doctor, once so proud of his creation turned away himself.

    After three steps, the sound of glass shattering was the most warning he had. It was far from enough, for the first shards had not yet hit the floor before he saw a serrated blade explode from the front of his chest. With an agonizing twist that drew a scream from his lips, the blade was turned upwards and slid with surprising speed through the rest of his chest cavity and into his skull. He saw no more.
     
    You've definatly achieved the dark bit, milove. "Keep it up" is about all I can say here. Have a blast writing it. I'm looking forward to seeing more.
     
    Chapter 1: Lost Soul​

    A deft twist caught the razor-edged bone between one of the many notches on his own arms. A quick sidestep, and he had avoided the vicious slash that served as a counterattack. Bone snapped as the pressure from his sidestep proved too great for the armblade caught there to bear. It hung at a weird, disjointed angle now, seeming ready to fall off of its owner's body.

    Caius darted back his shuffling quicksteps on the verdant grass making a sound that echoed the wind rushing through the trees ahead. Despite the cautious move, his faced showed the equivalent of a grim smile for a Scyther.

    The unfortunate creature that had hung in suspended animation years ago was dead now. What existed was the battle-hardened leader of a hive. The excruciating pain of near-death erased what humanity there had been left to him. He was an improvement on nature, respected by his hive, feared by the others. The lack of scars on his green shell was proof of his battle prowess.

    This fight was done, and all knew it. The harsh rasp of bone-on-bone had ceased and no more guttural cries filled the air. The injured Scyther grimaced through her pain and dashed forward, her remaining blade raised high to strike. Caius met it with a powerful block that actually spun the female around.

    His other arm came up in a powerful sideways cut and nature took its course. The defeated hive joined Caius's veritable army and crimson stained the hive leader's blades. Her head hit the ground with a dull thud, so much like a single rock thrown to the earth. A roar of victory rent the air as he tossed his head back. Pidgey flitted away from nearby trees as the older members of his hive joined him.

    At the height of their power, with an empire spanning the entire forest, they felt invincible, nature's immaculate warriors. A frenzied dance began with the stomping of a few restless feet, soon sweeping through the entire assembly and all sense of rhythm, order, or logic was lost to the orgy of motion.

    *****​

    Culture in a Scyther hive was an odd thing to say the least. If two hives were bitter rivals one day, if the leader of one was defeated, those rivalries never existed and they were as one. The principle of the self was foreign to each of them, working only for the good of the hive.

    Fiercely territorial in their hunting, the forest-dwellers would stalk and butcher any other predators that threatened their own source of game. However, none would take more food than was needed for the survival of their hive, either plant matter or meat.

    Of course, this can all be attributed to instinctual behavior designed to ensure the survival of an ecosystem. What made the culture truly interesting was the honor code that seemed to rule it. Common threats overruled inter-hive rivalries and mercy in duels not between hive leaders was a common sight. These were conscious choices, not instincts, though this code seemed bred into every Scyther.

    It is their viciousness to their enemies that is worth noticing here, however. Two members of the core hive, the first that Cauis had come to rule, interrupted the dance. These were his best fighters and scouts, each marked by a purple band on each arm, the ink extracted from berries.

    Few noted their presence until the wild gyrating of their leader ceased. It was the single word his scouts had spoken that stopped him so suddenly. In their harsh, rasping language, the scouts had whispered, "Meatbags."

    Since the hives began organizing under the rule of the fearsome mutant, even humans with kind intent had been warded off. The forest was dangerous to them now, and without human interference, had begun to truly become wild again.

    Industry, though, marched on and the corporations thought that if the numbers were large enough, the massive hive that had caused the "trouble" would not prove a threat. There was a ribbon cutting ceremony and talk of productivity soaring, of any number of how the environmental concerns would be handled. Then came the machinery of modern life.

    Caius looked at the scene with hate. He could no longer remember what life had been like as a human, nor did he want to. They were weak creatures, deserving only his contempt for their reliance on destruction for their own survival. He glared at the yellow of the machines ready to invade his home and sat back to wait amongst the foliage, the cool green of the
    leaves.

    *****​

    Night came, and the assembled force flitted between the rough bark of the trees, the dead undergrowth. They had traveled miles without a whisper of noise. Each had fallen into their instincts as a warrior and it guided them now.

    The call had been raised as soon as Caius left for the incursion. It was their time now and they rushed to the call of their leader. A member of thee core hive woke him and he stood to stretch noiselessly to the ears of any human. Dull yellow eyes surveyed the destruction that a single day had caused with intense hatred.

    He raised a single arm and pointed it towards the machinery and supplies. Around him, the Scyther took wing in a cacophonous buzzing that rent the still night air. He followed, flying in the middle of the swarm for the few moments that they were in the air. Each landed light-footed and the night fell silent again.

    Razor-edged bone found steel and the steel gave with agonized shrieks. Tires were slashed, gas spilled from its torn and twisted drums. The trailer-office the foreman had been using before he left was demolished in a matter of seconds. The frenzy of destruction lasted no more than a quarter of an hour, but nothing remained untouched, sanctified from the territorial bugs.

    Caius's high-pitched roar ended all motion, all noise. The world was quiet again and understanding the meaning of the forest-lord, all followed him out of the artificial clearing.
     
    *laughs* Yeah, you're definatly acheiving dark. Keep it up, love. You're doing wonderfully. *giggles a bit* I love how you're actually dealing with inter-pokemon behavior, especially within the hive!
     
    This is the talent true writers show today.
     
    This is a pretty impressive piece, I must say. And I would like to congratulate you for achieving fanfiction of the month. =D
     
    A note before the next chapter: I didn't expect the following to be as edgy as it wound up being in parts. Consequently, I'm bumping the rating to 16+. If mods want an edited version, I can oblige.


    Chapter 2: The Obstacle Encountered​

    "And just how much does that come to in property damage?" growled James Carvram. The nervous finance officer that was currently the object of his anger slid the report across Carvram's desk, a massive and dominating redwood fixture. James' eyes scanned down to the appropriate heading, "Total Cost of Equipment Rendered Inoperable."

    From this imposing corporate leader, narrowed eyes were not a positive signal. Nor was his low hiss of, "Would you care to explain to our stockholders just how much we've lost on this venture now that our machinery has been destroyed?" reassuring for the financier's future job prospects. His boss was known for both a quick temper and a long memory.

    Carvram noticed with vindictive pleasure the way this messenger's eyes darted around the floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk. The man, Damian by name (or so the report said) seemed convinced that the retail sections of the job ads were his best bet at this point. James enjoyed the fear, basked in it as he purred, "You're not finished yet, though. Find out what happened for me and I might not have your head on my desk the next morning."

    From the way Damian hurried from the room, James would have thought his paassing threat entirely serious. He chuckled and returned to perusing the report. His expression turned grim as he considered how much he had sunk into logging and drilling rights.

    He stood and began to pace around his spacious office, considering his next action carefully. He had at least one assiduous agent in finding what had happened, but continuing this operation would prove difficult if his investors saw problems. His piercing grey eyes passed over a fern without seeing it.

    Powerfully built, Carvram was a dominating leader, not so much charismatic. Instead, his presence overawed most people. A smirk spread across his face as he unlocked a door set into the wall. A small kennel was at the bottom of the unobtrusive closet. It was cramped, three feet by five and the assembly points had been welded together. A heavy padlock held the door. Through the bars at the top, a leash ran and inside, was clipped to a collar. Inside the kennel, wearing the constricting and ornate piece of welded steel was a small girl, black-haired, raggedly clothed, and sleeping.

    James jerked on the leash. She started awake with a small gurgling sound as her head was pulled into the top of her confined world. He laughed and bared his teeth in a parody of a smile as he undid the padlock and pulled her out. Again, her only response to this inhuman treatment was a small, wet sound in her throat as the steel pulled on her airways. Three years had passed since he had acquired her, the lone profit in an otherwise worthless raid. He wasn't sure she remembered how to speak at this point.

    Yanking her to her feet, she shuffled beside him to his desk and sat by his chair, all without looking up from the floor. Eye contact was a habit he had beaten from her early on. Easing back into his chair, he began to idly toy with her unkempt hair. She was relaxing in that regard, a demure toy for his abuse and aggression. He could coo praise at her or beat her for hours and rape her, all without her changing expressions or shifting from her position on the lush blue carpet of his office.

    Deep inside her mind, where a girl named Erin still existed, she shivered. He looked tense today and she doubted she would sleep that night for her bruises. Deep inside, she felt fear once again.

    *****​

    Buried in the bowels of Cynastar Enterprises there was the Surveillance and Espionage Department. It was there that Damian found himself, asking a singularly unhelpful woman about the events of a week ago. The financier growled, "What do you mean, no records? Of course there have to be records! It's policy!"

    The tech held up her hands in defense and said, "You ever try installing a stable camera and satfeed on logging equipment? The shaking from the movement alone is enough to make the video unusable, much less the actual logging process. The only cameras we had were inside the foreman's building."

    Damian sighed in resignation and dropped his head into his hand to rub his temples. Sounding tired, he said without lifting his head, "Give me those tapes at least. Maybe there'll be something there."

    There was nothing, though, on the first viewing. Or the second. Or the tenth. Damian's eyes were tired and his head felt like it had been used as a quarry hammer. The darkened viewing room helped nothing, and the small halfbacked chair he was sitting in proved to be a hell all its own. With a sigh, he hit the rewound to five minutes before the tape went static.

    There was nothing. Nothing again. Four minutes and fifty-five seconds of worthless footage. This time, in the last seconds, something caught his battered eyes in gazing about the tiny building. He paused it and examined the white blur, then slowed he tape and rewound. There, entering the building. Slashing upwards…

    "Beautifully done," he muttered, then stopped the tape. He ran from the room with the relief of having made a start. Snagging another tech, a man in an obnoxiously orange shirt, he said, "Compile a list of all natural threats in the forests we recently procured. Also, all corporations with resource-ventures large enough to get away with medium-scale sabotage. I need it tomorrow."

    This one, at least, didn't cause problems, only moved to his computer with mechanically tired grace.

    *****​

    Blood matted her hair as she was thrown back into her cage. The door closed and her eyes were once again cut off from light. What clothing she had had was now rattier and wet from blood and urine. He skin was sticky with their dark pleasure. Hanging on the edge of consciousness, she curled up in the small space afforded her, trying to sleep on her bruised body and what she was sure was a broken rib.

    The handlers had been rougher on her today than normal, battering her body into a state of unthinking obedience and abused her further still. Tears for what had come before, her anger and confusion at why this was being done to her had already dried on the cold floor, had already been absorbed by the steel bars without noticeable effect. There was no point in wasting them there any longer.

    Lairen, cold and hurt and alone allowed herself to hope for one nice dream, the one of revenge and blood. Finally, their blood not her own, their bodies mutilated and broken on the floor instead of hers. She thought of guns, of knives and a crimson patina staining her vision.
     
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    Very nicely done. I really don't have anything to say besides good job and keep going.

    *shifty glance* Kabutops are still the shiz!! *inside joke*
     
    *slight shudder* You are indeed keeping with the dark. You greatly deserved the honor of FFotM. I'm glad it went to you, milove.

    I'm also glad that you, Master, are not so cruel as your characters...

    Keep up the good work. There were a couple of typos. *laughs slightly* Other than that, nothing.
     
    All right, I'm sorry for the lack of updates, but it's been a hectic few days and I haven't had a chance to write. I'm planning on making a start on ch. 3 today, so expect it within the next few days at the most.
     
    Yeah, it has been kinda hectic.... And that would probably be my fault. But, I await your next chapter.
     
    This is a GREAT story. I thought of making a better story then the one I did called Sething Darkness. You have the best written story on this forum.

    Continue soon.
     
    You've made a fan here today. I love Dark FanFictions and this hit it on the head. Great job and I'm expecting more, so I'll be keeping an eye on you.
     
    Okay, folks, I'm really sorry. Life has been hectic and I've been treasuring my spare time too much to sit down and write an entire chapter in one go. I have been working on it, though, it's about 40% done. I can't promise you an exact post date, just try and be patient.
     
    We can do. *waits semi-patiently, drawing*
     
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