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Creative Writing Share your fan fiction, stories, poems, essays, editorials, song lyrics, or any other related written work. All written must be your creation. Start a new thread, and keep replying to that thread as you add on more chapters. Anyone can join in at anytime.


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  #1  
Old 04-14-2007, 05:43 PM
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Default Administration of a Legend

A/N: Administration of a Legend is rated PG-13 (just to be safe) for blood/violence and slight innuendo. There's nothing much yet, and it (should) stay at the PG-13 level.

Summary: Rocket is destroyed. Chrono is rising. Magma is alone. Aqua is refusing. When Giovanni is brutally murdered, what effect will it have on the people around it? What will become of Aqua and Magma? Will Chrono conquer them all?

Okay, here’s the prologue of my first Pokemon fanfiction. I'll update once a week; constructive criticism is welcome.

Please note: This particular chapter is from Giovanni’s point of view; obviously, you can’t trust everything he thinks to himself. He’s a greedy bastard, a fact which he seems to forget quite often.

Also, due to the fact that I have a friend with an extremely weak stomach reading this, I’m marking all the chapters that have large amounts of violence. It’s a bit too late for that now, seeing as he already read this chapter and told me he almost threw up… and lost his appetite, which is pretty hard to do. I got a prize for making him lose his appetite!

WARNING: VIOLENCE IS IN THE CHAPTER AHEAD

Please skip the chapter if you dislike violence/have a super-duper-mega weak stomach.

As another note, the slightly ‘Hollywood Physics’ of this chapter are not Hollywood physics; they are explained later, actually.


Giovanni closed his eyes, breathing deeply. His Persian released another cry of pain as the Scyther closed in on it, lifting its sharp bladed arms menacingly. He tried futilely to block out the desperate mews, ignoring the sweat that gathered on his forehead. The lump grew in Giovanni’s throat each passing moment; with each uttered hiss of pain, the aqueous fire behind his eyes threatened to break free. “Slash.” His voice, full of raw pain, broke on the simple word.

The Persian launched itself forward, lifting its claws to Slash at the Scyther. Without any prompting from its master, the Scyther moved with exaggerated slowness out of the range of the blow. The Persian landed hard on the ground, hissing in pain as its injured foreleg threatened to give out. It turned once again toward the Scyther, ignoring the blood that dripped from its fur and the pain that threatened to overwhelm it.

The Persian had one sole duty: Protect its master. Protect its friend. Protect Giovanni.

Giovanni saw the hopelessness in the situation, even as clearly as he saw the bloodied and mutilated remains of his five other Pokémon scattered across the floor of his spacious office. Their entrails were spilled from their bodies, their limbs marred and mangled. A monster had done this to him, done this to his Pokémon. The monster hid in the shadows, watching his every move, too cowardly to show his face.

“Cut.” The caliginous voice leapt from the shadowy doorway of Giovanni’s office, commanding the Scyther to move. Giovanni winced at the coldness and hardness of the algid voice. How could one become so cold, so unfeeling? Giovanni wondered. Even he himself had never been so callous and uncompassionate as the man whose voice issued orders from the shadows.

Or had he?

Come to think of it, there were many times Giovanni had been just as merciless and ruthless as the voice in the shadows. But those people had deserved it. Giovanni deserved none of this; he was just making his way in life. There was nothing he could do. But this voice… this voice was taunting him, tormenting him. Surely the man could not warrant this treatment of him.

Giovanni turned his face to the side. The corners of his mouth tightened as the blow connected with his Persian’s tail and it flew off to the side, leaving a jagged, twitching stump. His Persian wailed in pain, a wordless reflection of agony. It Staggered slightly to the side, but the Scyther was unaffected.

“You’re getting torpid, I see.” The voice came once again, this time in a slow drawl.

The voice was taunting him. Of course he was getting sluggish! He was old; no one his age should be forced to fight a man of this power! At any earlier time, Giovanni could have destroyed the man. It was completely unfair to have to participate in such a fight unwilling and unprepared.

Scyther lunged towards Giovanni’s Persian, launching a volley of quick Cuts. There was no warning, no trigger, no sign. There was no time for the Persian to retaliate, for Giovanni to issue a command. The Persian was cut down quickly, its limbs rolling off to the side in a spray of blood. Giovanni could barely contain the strangled noise that rose up in his throat as his beautiful Persian was disemboweled before his very eyes.

“Return,” the voice in the shadows intoned emotionlessly. A red beam shot out of the shadows, drawing the Scyther back into its Pokéball.

The man stepped forward, and Giovanni struggled to find his voice. “I should have known.” Despite Giovanni’s plight, he managed to throw a small amount of contempt into his voice. “Only cowards hide in the shadows. Only cowards hide their faces from the world.” If that was so, this man was indeed a coward. A dark green, almost black, mask covered all of his face but his eyes and chin. The man was dressed in expensive finery; a suit that, upon first inspection appeared to be black, but was in fact dark, dark green, a tie, and a top hat of the same color.

“If that is so, would not you yourself be considered a coward? Do you not hide in the shadows, behind your organization? Is your face not hidden from the world?” Giovanni could hear the smile in the man’s voice. Of course, it was probably more of a smirk than a smile. He had stated the truth, and he knew it.

The man released his Scyther once again and walked closer to Giovanni. Sometime during the course of their talk, Giovanni had collapsed helplessly onto his knees. The man now towered over him. Hesitantly raising his eyes to the man’s, Giovanni froze.

“You…” He remembered those eyes. He had killed their owner not years before, in a very similar position to this. Their places had been reversed, then. Apparently, though, he had not killed their owner. For here he was, standing over him.

“Yes, me.” The man paused, waiting for Giovanni’s reaction. The man would kill him soon, Giovanni knew. The man knew that Giovanni knew, and his smirk deepened. Of course, Giovanni could not see the smirk. He just knew it was there.

Giovanni looked once more into the eyes that hovered above him, staring down at him as a lion stared at its prey. The eyes did not fit the man. The man standing before him could not be more than twenty-five years old, and yet the eyes looming over him were so much older.

Those eyes had seen murder. They knew betrayal and all its costs. Those eyes had watched emotionlessly as pools of blood gathered around the bodies of innocent men and Pokémon. They had stood by, allowing unspeakable things to happen. Those eyes had once, unwittingly, almost led Team Rocket to its end. And those eyes had come back to finish the job.

The last time Giovanni had looked into those eyes, he was towering above them, and they were begging for mercy. Giovanni had shown none. He had struck the boy who knelt before him, struck him hard enough to kill. Yet he hadn’t died, and here they were, in the same position once again, their positions reversed. Giovanni would not give the man the satisfaction of begging for mercy. He would die silently.

The man’s eyes narrowed. He knew what Giovanni’s decision was; he knew how it would end. He would take the Team Rocket members and their Pokémon, bully and blackmail them into helping him. How else had he gotten in? Someone, or someones, had helped him. The man nodded to his Scyther.

Lifting its blade arms, it struck the final blow. Giovanni’s head rolled off to the side, and blackness enveloped his mind. Giovanni was dead. Team Rocket had fallen.

Far below, groups of people dressed in dark green-almost black-uniforms ushered the bewildered Rocket members onto large trucks, confiscating their Pokémon and money. Rocket was gone. In its place stood Chrono.

A/N: So… whaddya think? I thought it was decent enough.

~IGC

Last edited by Scourge of Amaranth; 04-21-2007 at 12:24 AM.
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Old 04-16-2007, 01:23 AM
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Default Re: Administration of a Legend

A/N: If anyone can figure out the irony surrounding the names of Neal’s Pokémon, you get a virtual beer. Unless you’re underage… then you get to give me a virtual Coke. If no one guesses, it’ll be explained in a later chapter, anyway, so you’ll have to wait to find out.

This chapter is really an introduction for my character; it’s nothing special, and more of a filler. The real action starts soon.

And, as a note, for those of you who don’t know- a muscle shirt is a real type of shirt, and that is the proper name for it. They’re also called Under Armor, but that’s a specific brand, so I used the technical name. (That notice was for the benefit of those who, like me, have no sense of clothing style that is relevant past 1500 C.E.)

Also: I apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors- I am currently beta-less, so I’m doing my own checking. You know how that goes…

Another note… Neal has been training Pokémon for about twelve years. Most of his Pokémon are fully evolved because of that, but their power varies. Keep in mind, also, that he’s twenty-four, and that he’s the person who helps train Team Magma members. Of course, you don’t know any of this yet… but now you do. All that goes to say: he’s not overpowered. He’s been training his Pokémon for a long time, and several of them were several years old when he acquired them. Also, some of the Pokémon he has evolve at a very early points in time.

And, just if you’re wondering, there’s still more to be explained, and Neal doesn’t know about Rocket yet. Just wait, people.

Dis. Claim. Er. Still. Stands. *hefts a large wooden club at angry lawyers*


Any person, man or woman, would be captivated by the lithe form that glided effortlessly through the dark water. The man coasted through the rough seas with the pristine grace of a Dratini flying through the skies, plunging through the waves and salt as if they were clouds. His firm muscles rippled smoothly as he pulled himself through the water, his dark hair grasping at his face and his boxers clinging to his legs.

There was refined, calculated, and restrained power in every movement of his body – a power that could bring a grown man to his knees. Every movement was captivating, alluring, carefully measured and planned. He moved with a divine confidence, yet at the same time, an uncertainty; any action, so carefully planned and executed, could be changed at a moment’s notice.

The feature that really drew looks, though, was the man’s eyes. They shifted color constantly, changing from light pink, to deep blue, then black, and all the colors in between. The endless cycle of colors changed with his emotions, and conflict was clear on the man’s face. It was what he did, out here in the wilderness; he thought, he debated, he bested himself. Here was the only place he could relax his face and allow his emotions to show. Because of his eyes, he had to keep his face constantly smooth in the view of the public; emotionless as a frigid pool of still mountain water.

(+)-(+)

“The eyes are the window to the soul,” some great man whose name Neal couldn’t recall had once said. That was certainly true for Neal. His eyes changed with his emotions, matching each emotion to a color. For the moment, Neal’s eyes had settled on a deep, dark blue, as they always did while he was thinking.

That trail of thought done with and ended, Neal grabbed up another as he continued his way through the water. Team Magma members weren’t supposed to swim; they had to keep the false pretense up that they were primarily a group of radical environmentalists. It was one of the many tricks they used to keep Team Rocket’s hungry eyes off of their prey. Of course, Team Magma members weren’t supposed to bathe, either. No one listened to that rule, of course. Well… almost no one. There was that one guy… The irises of Neal’s eyes shifted to a mirthful pink at the memory. Maxie had almost fainted during the practice session with the man, due to afore mentioned man’s odor. The man was then promptly booted out of Magma. Neal shook his head lightly, then shoved his thoughts out of his head as he reached the shore.

Panting lightly, Neal reached the shallows and stood, shaking his head slightly to move his long hair from his ever-changing eyes. Walking over to the rock where he had left his clothing, he lifted the heavy belt from the pile, casting his eyes along its Pokéball encrusted length. Settling on a dark grey Pokéball painted with dark storm clouds and slight dragon outlines, he unattached it from its place.

The Pokéball was one of the newer models made by Devon Corp, programmed to accept any pattern or color set designated by the owner of the Pokémon inside. The Pokéballs had been ‘transported’—as Maxie called it—from Hoenn. It wasn’t really transported; it had been stolen from Hoenn and transported to here, the region known as Shiga. Neal shook his head, grinning slightly, then released the Pokémon inside. All this while, his eyes had remained a light pink color; it was not a color often seen in Neal’s eyes- he was in a good mood.

A beam of red light shot out of the Pokéball, and after a fraction of a second, the form of a Salamence appeared. She stretched her dark blue body, making the scales shimmer slightly in the moonlight reflected off her silver wings. “Dry me off, Doxa.” He grinned at her as she nodded and began a careful, controlled, Fire Spin.

Weaving her head slightly and focusing the flames, she encased Neal in a shell of fire. After a few seconds, she let the flames die. Neal grinned at her once again, his eyes now a warm chocolate color with flecks of gold. “You almost singed me again. Try to use a little less heat.” He was now perfectly dry and comfortably warm, so he pulled on his black jeans and muscle shirt. Grabbing his red button-up t-shirt, he pulled it on over the muscle shirt, leaving it open to hang loose across his torso. He buckled the belt holding his Pokéballs around his waist, positioning it so they hung across his left hip.

“C’mon Doxa. Let’s go for a flight.” He grinned easily as he crossed to Doxa’s side and swung himself onto her back, positioning himself so he wouldn’t fall. She started to flap her wings and lift up from the ground, but Neal stilled her. “Let me release the others.”

Doxa was an intelligent Pokémon; she could understand the basics of everything Neal said, and then some. Her wings stopped their motion as Neal unhooked two Pokéballs; one was dark purple with a series of aimlessly overlapping lines and waves, and the other was icy blue with icy daggers crashing towards eachother. He released the Pokémon inside both. “Megalopsychia,” he nodded towards the Gardevoir that materialized from the purple Pokéball. “Dikaiosyne,” he turned to nod towards the Dragonite that had come from the icy blue Pokéball. “We’re going for a flight. Stay here, if you wish. Keep an eye on Axioprepeia, if you stay. He’s been trouble, lately.” Both of the Pokémon nodded; they understood they were to watch the newest member of their team.

Megalopsychia’s soft, light blue-and-cream skin glowed in the soft moonlight, offsetting Dikaiosyne’s baby blue scales. Both of the Pokémon were tense with the anticipation of getting to spend a night out of their Pokéballs with their fellow team members. Dikaiosyne, Doxa, and Megalopsychia were both female, along with Andreia, who Neal had yet to let out of her Pokéball.

Neal replaced their Pokéballs and unclasped one more, this time a bright yellow Pokéball with jolts of electricity racing around eachother playfully. “Axioprepeia.” A Manectric stretched its neck, releasing a loud cry. Neal’s eyes shifted to an irritated gray at the sight of his Pokémon; Axioprepeia had been giving him trouble, lately, disobeying his commands. “Stay here. Don’t get lost.” He glared piercingly at the Pokémon, making his message clear.

Next came his Charizard, Peripsema, and his Tyranitar, Andreia. Peripsema’s scales were a bright green, and the flames on his tail were bright blue. Andreia had strikingly bright red scales, and she stretched happily, happy to finally be out of her Pokéball.

Resettling himself on Doxa’s back, he urged her into the air. Predictably, only Peripsema and Dikaiosyne followed. Neal happily ran a hand through his hair, and his eyes congealed into a light blue color. He always felt happy and carefree while he was flying, away from the pecking eyes of civilization. Only when he was alone could he show his feelings, and only when he was alone could he contemplate his thoughts. Alone, that is, except for his Pokémon.

A/N: A thoroughly dull and boring chapter with a terrible conclusion. Don’t worry; things pick up soon. I understand the first chapters are relatively short; they double in size later on.

~IGC
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Old 04-20-2007, 01:39 PM
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A/N: Okay… this is slightly less dull…

My reviewers on a few other websites have asked for longer chapters, so after this one, they will all be larger.


Neal sighed dejectedly as he climbed out of his bed. His eyes were storm-cloud gray, with flecks of yellow- a bad sign for anyone who decided to annoy him. Today, he had to battle another new recruit and evaluate her battle skills. Bah… Neal was really not in the mood for such antics. His temper was short- Axioprepeia had run off in the middle of the night, and Neal had had to spend an hour searching for him. The damn Pokémon had crossed the line; Neal would leave him in his Pokéball for a week or so, and then see how he felt about obedience.

Neal stumbled into the shower, shampooed his hair, and climbed out after half a minute of basking in the warm water. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stood in front of his mirror. Mechanically shaving the stubble off his chin, Neal turned, sighing. He pulled on a different pair of black jeans, a red muscle shirt, and a black t-shirt with red dragon patterns. He wore the t-shirt unbuttoned and loose, as always.

It was all Neal ever wore- jeans, a muscle shirt, and an unbuttoned t-shirt. He had never been one for fashion- he wore what he found to be comfortable. Of course, he had several different pieces of each of his three clothing items. Shaking his head and not bothering to comb his hair, Neal adjusted his belt to his favored position, grabbed his pair of black battling gloves from the nightstand, and stopped for a moment. Picturing a still lake in his mind’s eye, he concentrated on making his face reflect the image. Satisfied that he was expressionless, he stepped out the door to look for his newspaper. No newspaper. Neal swore. No newspaper was always bad.

As strange as it sounded, that was a bad sign. Maxie always withheld the newspapers when there was something he wanted to tell the group himself… usually, it was something very, very bad. At least, bad for Team Magma. Maxie could care less about the rest of the world. Neal’s eyes changed from their previous oppressive gray color to a light pink as he remembered what Magma had started out as. An environmentalist’s group. He would never have guessed, had not Maxie himself told him. The fact that the original group had once been completely defeated by a young boy was even more humorous, and the color in Neal’s eyes became more defined. Of course, that boy had went on to become the greatest Pokébattle champion of all time, so it was excusable… partly. Still, it had been twenty or so years since then, and the group had moved into a new region and started a new reputation. Rocket and Aqua had migrated with Magma, and all three Teams had grown in power over the past years.

Banishing his thoughts, Neal focused on keeping his familiar mask in place. Satisfied, he continued his trek down the familiar hallway, nodding at the faces he recognized- pretty much everyone. Today was not going to be a good day.

(+)-(+)

As Neal grabbed a tray from the breakfast line, he ignored the fact that everyone parted to let him through. It was routine; it happened every day. It didn’t matter. He grabbed a single biscuit and some jam—all that was needed to satisfy his meager appetite—and went to sit at his usual table, in his usual seat. He had always sat at the end of the mess hall and the end of his table. From there, he could watch and measure everyone’s behavior.

He quickly found the new girl. Neal’s eyes coasted along her body, and he resisted the urge to shake his head. That was another one; beautiful, but completely useless for battling. Maxie must have a break in plan involving a female distraction, because the past five recruits certainly hadn’t been chosen for their battle prowess. Neal’s eyes changed to bright green, in resentment, even as the girl looked up to find him examining her. She blushed, then gasped as his eyes changed colors. His face stayed impassive, as usual, but his eyes had shifted once more, this time to a light amber color, his equivalent of a smirk. She gasped again, then hurriedly looked away.

Apparently, no one had told her any stories about him. Yet.

The amber color deepened as Neal’s smugness grew. There were many stories about him, many of which he had started himself. There was only one that was true, and it was more of a statistic than a story. Number of women in Team Magma under the age of thirty that had spent a night or two with Neal: 100%. The new recruit would be next. Possibly. The ironic thing was, even though it was the only rumor that was true, it had started a host of rumors even more ridiculous than the ones about his eyes.

Neal had always wondered what it was about him that women found attractive. His body wasn’t all that great, to his knowledge, and he wasn’t extremely handsome, in his opinion. Neal certainly wasn’t the most compassionate person you’ll ever meet, and he was—in his opinion—rather moody and standoffish. And, quite frankly, if he met a girl whose eyes changed colors, he’d give her a wide berth.

The rumors about his eyes had mostly been started by himself, in an attempt to hide the truth- he had no clue why they changed color, but he knew when. They changed, of course, with his emotions. He had been born that way. Some of the more common rumors ran along the lines of ‘Neal is fused with a legendary Pokémon,’ and, ‘Neal is cursed by God,’ or, ‘Satan has blessed Neal.’ None of these were true—to Neal’s knowledge, at least—and were entirely ludicrous. Of course, not that he minded. It was quite nice to be treated like a god, at times.

“She’s mine.” Neal turned to Markus, who had just spoken, and his eyes turned light orange- Neal’s commensurate of a raised eyebrow.

He shrugged, putting aloof carelessness into his voice. “Fine with me. I’m leaving soon, anyways.”

“What? You’re leaving? Why?”

Carefully putting a small amount of disgust into his voice, Neal replied, “Not leaving leaving. There was no newspaper today.” Controlling the emotions in his voice and keeping his face blank was one of the many ways Neal kept people from understanding his true emotions- he had gotten extremely good at both, and now that he was fully awake, he didn’t even think to keep his mask on.

“Oh? Oh.” Markus understood now. Markus never read his newspaper anyway, so Neal had assumed he wouldn’t understand at first. Markus lowered his voice. “Maxie’s sending you? Again?”

Neal nodded. “I think so. He always sends me, doesn’t he?”

“True,” he replied, grinning his usual lopsided grin, “but we’ll find out for sure right now.” He motioned towards the front of the room; Maxie had climbed onto a table and raised his hand for silence.

Slowly, the cafeteria noticed him and began to quiet, and the Magma members within focused their attention towards their long time leader. Maxie had been showing signs of age, recently. Gray streaks could be seen in his previously completely red hair, and his height had diminished slightly. He stood as proudly as ever, however, and his voice was young and defiant as it filled the room. “Team Rocket has fallen.”

Errr… well, a few people on the first website I post this on were confused. Cheesedude (a reviewer) asked a good question, so here it is.

Cheesedude: So he resents the newer girls that can't fight but still slept with them?

Well, from what you've said, he dosen't seem like the type that actually tries to get laid. It just seems to happen to him.......a lot.

Me: No, he resents Maxie for hiring them, and then making him fight with them. That doesn't keep him from taking his pleasure.

Yeah, he doesn't try to get laid. It just happens, and Neal goes along with it. He has self esteem issues, (because of some past problems in his life) and he doesn’t realize a lot of things about himself… he’s also an ass, sometimes, lol.

~IGC
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Old 04-20-2007, 10:13 PM
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Default Re: Administration of a Legend

Me likey. Gang fights. Though, why in the world are they gassing (are they?) Rocket members if Chrono could just do some sort of blackmail or mind-control or whatever to make them work for Chrono? Plus Rocket could still be held up as a front...

Anyway, me like!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah. The Aqua/Magma/Rocket/Chrono relationship is fascinating. Those pokemon names are latin, right? I'm not sure about the irony in them, but they're interesting, if rather long...
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Old 04-20-2007, 11:43 PM
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Default Re: Administration of a Legend

Yay, fights and bloodthirstiness! >:)

Anyway, I really like this so far. Especially how you described the importance of the Persians' duty to protect Giovanni! And there's a Scyther in it, hooray! ^____^

Pertaining to the content of the fic itself, it was very good. I would like to point out however that in the Prologue, you spelled Giovanni "Giocanni" at one point. Probably just a typo, but I don't know, perhaps you'd like to fix that. I really like the plot: Fresh, lucid, exciting, and original. And I'm TRULY looking forward to reading more. And you don't know how uncommon it is for me to honestly like a fic. Great job so far! :)

~ *Kayden
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Old 04-21-2007, 12:29 AM
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Sceptile Frost: I'm glad you like it. =D They aren't gassing them; they actually are using 'technology's implements' to control them... that's explained in a later chapter.

And the names aren't Latin, although you're very close...

Kayden Javlaíakín: Thank you for your kind words! =D Oh, and, oops, 'Giocanni.' Fix'd. I'll probably be posting more of Thursday/Friday of next week.
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Old 04-26-2007, 11:20 PM
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A/N: Here you go, another chappie… Longer, this time! =D

VirusLord gets credit for helping with the battle choreography.

A few questions came up regarding the color scheme of Neal’s Pokémon; no, he will not be the only one with strangely colored Pokémon, and it is not an effort to make him different. It’s been 20 years since the games, and I figured that Pokémon, just like modern day animals, would develop more coat colors through the process of evolution. Pokémon with different color schemes in my fanfiction are far more common than shinies have been.


A roar of frantic whispers filled the room, along with a host of surprised cries. Maxie continued, ignoring the disturbance. “Giovanni’s Pokémon were slaughtered in an involuntary Death Match. The Rocket members disappeared, and there was nothing found that could lead authorities to the perpetrators. The only clue was a message written in the blood of Giovanni’s dead Pokémon. ‘Chrono has collected Retribution.’ No one, as of yet, knows what it means. Tire tracks of several large trucks led from the scene, but their trails were lost.” Maxie nodded his head to the electronics booth in the back of the cafeteria, and they turned on the overhead projector.

The cafeteria was also the room that Maxie used for team wide meetings, mainly because everyone was there at the same time, and he didn’t have to hassle people. For that reason, it had been equipped with everything needed to make an informant presentation.

At the moment, the projector showed the newspaper article focused on Rocket’s disintegration. How the media had found out so soon, Neal didn’t know. The media always found out everything… Apparently, Rocket had disappeared just last night. Neal’s eyes scanned the page, and they darkened to a deep, extremely dark gray with large slashes of yellow. “Cowards…” his voice betrayed his anger, and for a moment, his practiced mask slipped.

Markus quickly glanced at Neal in concern; Neal rarely betrayed his emotions in public- the fact that he had slipped was alone enough to cause worry. Markus carefully edged away from Neal at the tone of his voice, hoping he wouldn’t explode. Such thing had only happened twice—in public—in the ten years that Neal had worked for Magma, and neither time had had a pleasant outcome. That didn’t count the number of times that Markus had entered Neal’s room to find clothing strewn on the ground and slight depressions in the wall indicating where Neal’s fist had made contact with it.

Neal’s anger was not for Giovanni’s death. A dead human meant nothing to him; Neal himself had washed his hands in the blood of numerous people. That in itself partly caused Neal’s anger- only a coward made his Pokémon do his dirty work. Neal’s Pokémon had no one’s lives on their claws, hands, or whatever appendages they happened to have. He would not force his Pokémon to pay for the crimes he committed. Not that anyone would be paying any time soon. Neal hadn’t killed any Pokémon, either, for that matter.

Still, a small amount of grudging admiration worked its way free, showing itself in the scarlet color that crept into the corners of Neal’s irises. Whatever had attacked Giovanni and his Pokémon had been strong- frighteningly strong. It had cleanly sliced through Giovanni and his Persian, although there appeared to have been some trouble with the larger Pokémon. And its blades, claws… whatever they were, had to have been wickedly sharp.

The thought brought unbidden images to Neal’s mind- Giovanni’s Pokémon, fighting for their cold, uncaring master to the end. A lot of good it had done them. The anger flared in Neal’s eyes once again.

Quickly picturing a still lake, he regained his expressionless expression and, completely ignoring Giovanni’s decapitated body, he continued to examine the bloody remain of Giovanni’s Pokémon.

Each one had been slashed into multiple pieces, and, as Maxie had said, the words ‘Chrono has collected Retribution’ were etched onto the floor in the blood of Giovanni’s Pokémon. A clichéd and slightly ineffective method, but it got the point across. Giovanni had ticked the wrong person. Apparently, this person called him or herself Chrono, and the world would likely be seeing more of said person.

Maxie’s eyes found Neal and decided it was time to move on to a safer subject. He clapped his hands, exclaiming boisterously, “Well, that was the bad news. The good news: The Chrysafi is finished!”

Neal’s eyes shifted to become light orange at the abrupt subject change- he got the feeling that he would be hearing more on this subject from Maxie, at a later time.

That snapped all of the Magma members—with the exception of Neal—out of their shock at the untimely downfall of Rocket. They broke out in cheers, grinning widely. “We will be sending five of our members to the opening tournament to participate together in a team. Those five will be Neal, Markus, Myra, Terra, and Zane. The grand opening is in three days, so be ready!”

Neal resisted the urge to groan. First Rocket, and now this… The Chrysafi was a large, luxury hotel that had just been built in the region of Shiga. A large, lengthy tournament with a mystery prize was being thrown at its opening, encouraging battlers all over the world to come and make use of the fifteen high tech Battle Arenas on the Chrysafi’s roof. The participants were supposed to enter in teams of five, and there were various forms of battles, some of which had been designed specifically for the tournament itself.

Supposedly, they had an experienced—and well known—scientist who worked for them, developing a host of new technologies to suit the needs of the Chrysafi’s tournament. Neal doubted this; the Chrysafi’s owner had not been willing to disclose the name of the scientist, which meant there probably was no ‘experienced and well known’ scientist or lab group working for them. The technologies would be their, certainly. But you couldn’t be sure about their sources.

Shaking his head, Neal wolfed down his food and crept out of the cafeteria, leaving Markus behind to celebrate with the others. A tinge of amused pink crept into his eyes- Markus had no idea how much debating Neal had done with Maxie to get him to allow Markus to come, when the Chrysafi was finally finished. The debate had ended months ago, but several of their sessions had ended with a series of colorful insults.

Now, it was time to prepare to fight the dumb beaut’.

(+)-(+)

Neal slid easily into his end of the Normal Battle Arena and faced his opponent, mentally checking that his emotion mask was in place. His irises became amber as the girl’s eyes widened in recognition, and he fought back a smirk, noting the shift of his eye color. Taking his black, fingerless gloves off of his belt, Neal pulled them on and clasped them.

Allowing himself a savage grin, he said, “Okay then. Let’s start this.” He unclasped Doxa’s Pokéball from his belt and brushed his finger over the symbol engraved on its surface, then threw it out into the Arena. “Go, Doxa, kata inantion!”

Doxa stood in the ring, stretching her wings, as the chip implanted inside her skull activated at Neal’s words. A summary of her statistics briefly appeared on the screen above the ring, along with a photo of Neal and his trainer information. Neal’s half of the screen then changed to show the current level of Doxa’s energy.

All Pokémon used for Contests and Tournaments, along with anything else that could prove harmful, were injected with a chip. The chips, called Vitality Aureoles, were programmed with the details of a Pokémon and its owner. VA’s—as they are called in abbreviation—were programmed to activate with a certain word phrase that is chosen by the Pokémon’s owner. Neal’s phrase of choice was ‘kata inantion.’ When a Pokémon’s energy level becomes dangerously low, the VA returns it automatically to its Pokéball. VA’s were originally used to prevent theft of Pokéballs, but such efforts were deemed useless once a method for overriding the information was discovered.

If a VA was never activated, it was considered a Death Match. Most Death Matches ended with the death of several Pokémon, hence the name. They were considered illegal, lending a certain irony to the death of Giovanni and his Pokémon. Even in death, they defied the law.

The girl grinned nervously and threw her own Pokéball into the ring. According to her stats, her name was Emma. “Here we go, Houndour! Let's show him what we got!” A grey Houndour with dark blue stripes emerged from the Pokéball, howling loudly, obviously excited for the upcoming battle.

The crowd cheered wildly- if you could consider jeering, hooting, and whistling ‘cheering.’ All of them were rooting for Neal; they didn’t want to root for the loser. Neal ignored their calls and focused his eyes on Doxa. “Alpha.” Neal’s voice, as it usually was in battle, was calm, cool and collected. He spoke barely loud enough for his Pokémon to hear; trying to hear what he said always got the crowd relatively quiet, giving him better concentration. Neal had never been able to concentrate well when there was a large amount of noise- he fared well enough in battle, but he did all he could to help.

Neal had never much been one for major strategies. He preferred simply to confuse and distract his opponent. One such way he did this was by giving each move a letter in the Greek alphabet, instead of simply saying the move’s name. It was a slightly strange technique, but it got the job done, and that was all Neal cared about.

Doxa, hearing the word ‘alpha,’ knew that this meant she was to attack with Dragonbreath. Doxa leapt into the air, flying towards the Houndour, and released a large yellow burst of energy, otherwise known as a Dragonbreath.

Emma’s brows creased in incomprehension, then panic. “Houndour, dodge!” The Houndour dashed to the side, barely dodging the attack. Apparently, this battle wouldn’t last very long.

Neal resisted the urge to sigh. He would go easy on her, just because. The past few ‘dumb beauties’ had been promptly beaten with a series of one hit knockouts. Neal would give the crowd a bit of a show today, but in order to get it over with faster, he wouldn’t waste his time dodging Emma’s attacks.

“Delta.” Neal’s face remained as impassive as ever as Doxa climbed into the sky. Emma watched nervously; she had just realized what an extreme disadvantage she had. Not only was Neal’s Pokémon extremely more powerful than hers, but she had no idea what attack his Pokémon was going to use until the attack was actually executed, making it extremely difficult to dodge.

Doxa suddenly dropped straight down at the Houndour, aiming a powerful Steelwing at its legs.

“Use Ember, Houndour!” Neal knew what she was doing; she wanted him to cancel the attack in order to dodge. Not gonna happen.

Without any prompting from Neal, Doxa swerved around the flames the tumbled from the Houndour’s mouth, dropping the attack, and then immediately came at it from behind with another Steelwing. The attack made contact, and the Houndour was immediately drawn back into its Pokéball by its VA as its energy levels plummeted.

“Pathetic,” Neal growled under his breath. No one heard, but a few noticed Neal’s eyes shift to a pale green color. He was disgusted by Emma’s weakness. Their weakness was no fault of her Pokémon; their master was to blame. She had clearly done little to enhance their strength, and what little training she had given them was clearly not effective.

Neal could barely make out Emma gritting her jaw as she called a purple Cyndaquil out of its Pokéball, shouting, “Flame Wheel!” as soon as it was free to move.

The dull green strengthened, becoming the prevalent color in Neal’s eyes- he was disgusted. Completely and utterly disgusted. Doxa didn’t even bother to dodge the attack; it made contact, leaving a small, painless burn and making her energy levels drop unnoticeably. Emma should have known flame attacks wouldn’t do any good. “Beta.”

Doxa ran forward, beginning to slash at the Cyndaquil with a Dragon Claw. “Smokescreen!” She was obviously stalling for time, trying to think of a decent strategy. Neal resisted the urge to groan.

Doxa veered away, hovering outside of the grey smoke cloud, waiting for Neal’s command. Neal said nothing as Emma once again shouted, “Flame Wheel!”

Neal gritted his teeth in annoyance, and his eyes shifted to an irritated grey as Doxa swerved out of the way. “Alpha again.” He had several strategies to remove the smoke, if he had wished, but Neal honestly didn’t want to waste Doxa’s energy.

Doxa sent a Dragonbreath towards the hazy outline of the Cyndaquil, just visible through all the smoke. “Endure!” The attack should have made the Pokémon faint, but the Endure prevented that. “Reversal!”

Neither Doxa nor Neal bothered to dodge the attack; it slammed into Doxa, and she arched her neck, growling angrily. It had done a small amount of damage, because of its fighting nature, but it was enough to hurt, and Neal glanced at the screen displaying Doxa’s energy levels. She could keep going for quite awhile…

“Beta…” Boredom lingered on the edges of Neal’s mind, revealing itself with the drab veins of brown that worked their way into his eyes.

Doxa leapt towards the Cyndaquil, digging her claws into its flesh. It shrieked in pain, even as Emma shouted, “Endure!” The Cyndaquil held on once again, practically bleating with the pain it was in.

Neal’s eyes darted away from the Pokémon, and his eyes flashed once more back to green. The only reason he ever let his Pokémon go through that much pain was if the stakes were high… this was a battle testing her skills, for God’s sake, not a tournament, or a Death Match! He would put it out of his misery, and quickly. “Beta! Use Alpha if that fails!”

Doxa’s claws slashed once more through the Cyndaquil’s hide, and its Vitality Aureole drew it back into the Pokéball before it was damaged beyond repair.

“Let’s give this a shot, Growlithe!” Emma’s Growlithe cowered backwards, staring at the huge form of Doxa. Neal hadn’t noticed it before, he was so caught up on trying to go easy on Emma, but all of her Pokémon seemed to be quite afraid of Doxa. Of course, she usually had that effect on Pokémon—not to mention people—so it was to be expected.

“Alpha again.” Doxa’s tail lashed as she ran forward, opening her mouth to release a large Dragonbreath.

“Dodge and use your own Dragonbreath, Growlithe!” The irritated grey in Neal’s eyes reappeared as he realized what she was trying to do. She hoped the element of the attack would give her extra damage… if the Growlithe could dodge the attack.

The Growlithe did, in the end, manage to leap nimbly out of the way in time, catching Doxa in the back with a Dragonbreath of his own. Despite the fact that it caused more damage than usual, it still did a minimal amount of harm. “Beta.”

Doxa’s claws sank viciously into the Growlithe’s hide, but it was obviously stronger than Emma’s other Pokémon; it survived the attack, just barely. “Take Down!” Emma was clearly getting desperate; the Take Down hit Doxa when Neal ignored it, and the Recoil brought Growlithe’s energy down even further.

“Beta as rapidly as you can, Doxa.” Doxa had practiced this technique frequently; she could pull off about twelve Dragon Claws in a row, slashing fast and hard; she did no worse now than she had in practice. The Growlithe fainted in the onslaught of attacks, before the VA had time to retrieve it.

Neal bit his lip, briefly hoping the Pokémon would be okay, as Emma called out her final Pokémon. “Eevee, Double Team, then Bite!”

The Double Team could prove annoying, but it was nothing Neal couldn’t handle. He ignored the Bite attack, and Eevee’s fangs sank into Doxa’s hard flesh. She lashed out reflexively with her claws, catching it on the side and throwing it away from her. “Epsilon.”

Doxa’s maw gaped wide as a huge Hyper Beam came hurling from the back of her throat. Here, Neal would take a risk. If it hit, the Eevee would faint. If it didn’t, the Eevee would have a free shot- it didn’t matter, though.

“Eevee, use Sand Attack!” Emma started to panic- if it hit, she would lose. A flash of pink briefly made its way through Neal’s eyes- she obviously hadn’t realized she would lose whether the attack hit or not.

“Ignore it.” Sand splattered into Doxa’s face, but she ignored it and continued the attack. It was a useless effort; thanks to the sand, smoke, and Double Team, the attack didn’t even get close. Too bad.

“Use Return!” A splash of orange appeared in Neal’s eyes- the attack wouldn’t be very strong, even if the Eevee was loyal to Emma. He knew Doxa would be unable to move, so he didn’t even waste his breath telling her to dodge. The attack made contact; it was sure to leave a bruise—if a small one—come morning.

It was time for Neal to bring Doxa back; he didn’t like his Pokémon suffering too much pain, and he only fought them until their energy was depleted if the battle mattered. “Doxa, ypochoro.” Doxa’s VA disengaged at Neal’s phrase, and Doxa was returned to her Pokéball. Neal grabbed Peripsema’s Pokéball, ran his finger over the figure carved into the side, and released him into the rink. “Peripsema, kata inantion.”

Peripsema, Neal’s Charizard, emerged from its flame-patterned Pokéball with a roar, and the Eevee shrank back. “Alpha.” Peripsema gave another resounding roar, then released a Flamethrower at the same time.

“Eevee, dodge i-” Too late. The Eevee was hit by the Flamethrower, and the VA promptly drew it into its Pokéball before it could be burnt too severely.

Cheers erupted throughout the crowd, and Emma hung her head. Neal nodded at the stands and stepped out of his ring, heading towards the door. Maxie, hidden in the shadows of the stands stepped out and grabbed Neal’s shoulder. “See me in my office.” Neal, unsurprised, simply nodded and continued on his way.

There ya go. No one knows the irony around Neal’s Pokémon names?

Yes, Growlithes can learn Dragonbreath. Don’t ask about that here, too. The last website did.

I hope the battle was satisfactory; I found it difficult to make it bloody when it was a quick battle, and each enemy Pokémon was knocked out with a few attacks. It seemed a rather boring battle to me; I will make an effort to keep them interesting, or summarize them quickly, in the rest of the chappies. Only the battles that matter shall be explained step-by-step.

~IGC

Last edited by Scourge of Amaranth; 05-01-2007 at 07:42 PM.
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  #8  
Old 05-05-2007, 09:27 PM
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Default Re: Administration of a Legend

A/N: A question came up concerning the battle process that is rather important; I didn’t make it very clear in the last chapter, so here’s the question, courtesy of Capybara 773.

Q: …if attacks like slash can kill, how come flamethrower and dragon claw only faint them? It seems to me that Peripsema is perfectly capable of incinerating that Eevee in one go.

A: …if you read the paragraph closely, it says '...the VA promptly drew it into its Pokéball before it could be burnt too severely.'

The VA is the reason behind that- they're programmed to retrieve the Pokemon before it can be killed- even if its energy is not fully depleted at the time, the VA will withdraw a Pokemon if the intensity of the attack is so high that the Pokemon would die with a few more seconds of exposure. Sometimes, VA’s fail to do their jobs- such was the case with Emma’s Growlithe; it fainted before the VA could retrieve it, which caused more damage than the ‘safe standard.’


After feeding his Pokémon and grabbing a small dinner for himself—a slab of cafeteria meat and a glass of orange juice—Neal had headed towards Maxie’s office. He now sat in one of the plush chairs in Maxie’s office. His elbows rested on his thighs and hands were clasped between his knees. Neal leaned forward slightly, curious as to what Maxie had called him to his office for.

Maxie himself sat in a large, broad armed leather chair—he seemed to like clichéd things like that—and stared at the wall across from him, his mouth lancing downward in a grim line. Maxie spoke suddenly, almost causing Neal to jump. “Chrono entered the Golden Pokéball Tournament.” Neal’s eyes shifted to orange. The Golden Pokéball Tournament was the tournament that the Chrysafi was throwing- everyone would be there. Pokémon, pockets, and bank vaults were ripe for the picking- it was one of the main reasons Magma was appearing there in the first place.

“Chrono is a team.” It was a statement, not a question- Neal was sure of it now; whoever had destroyed Rocket had a way to control them. Rocket wouldn’t have been taken unless it was attacked by a considerable number of people, and the only logical explanation was another team, or, at least, something resembling a team. If the team wanted to gain a name for itself, it would do something at a big event- something like the Golden Pokéball Tournament, that people in countries all over the world would be watching. They would need a large number of followers to do that, just as they would have needed a large number of people to decimate Rocket. Of course, many of the people had most likely been Rocket members drawn away with promises of fame and fortune. It had happened before, ten years ago- Rocket had almost been destroyed by a fourteen year old traitor.

Giovanni had, unfortunately, discovered the traitor before the plans could be completed. Although the boy had been involved in the plans, he was—presumably—ignorant as to exactly what he was doing. Giovanni had dealt with the boy; his body was never discovered. It was a shame, in a way- if the plans had been successful, it would have saved Magma so many years of hassle trying to keep out of Rocket’s way. Giovanni had always ignored Magma, considering them to be beneath the notice of ‘a man of his importance,’ but Magma needed to retain that appearance.

Annoyed grey crept into Neal’s eyes, and Maxie visibly fought the urge to shiver- it had been no secret to Neal that his eyes disturbed Maxie. He didn’t care- Neal secretly enjoyed the ‘humbling affect’ they had on him.

The moment passed and Maxie nodded, his mouth forming into a frown and his brows knitting together. “I think so. They entered twenty teams and paid the entrance fee up front—up front!—five thousand dollars each; one thousand per person in a team of five, for twenty teams… —one hundred thousand dollars—and it was paid up front!”

Ignoring Maxie’s implications that whoever led Team Chrono was an idiot, Neal asked the more pressing question. “Speaking of which, how are we dealing with our entrance fee? I haven’t heard that anyone’s hacked it yet, and we don’t have the funds to spare. We spent too much on the break-in at the Hiko Power Plant.” At least, if the financial records that Neal had seen were correct. One could never be sure, with Magma’s mathematicians. Of course, Neal wasn’t supposed to have seen the records at all… He had realized his mistake too late, but he attempted to keep his eyes from changing colors once again. As usual, it didn’t work, and small veins of a worried bluish purple color crept into the corner of Neal’s eyes.

Maxie grinned slightly as he answered. “Yes, we spent too much on the helicopter fuel used in the Hiko Power Plant sabotage. But we sold a few captured Pokémon, which earned us back about two thirds of the money. However, that’s beside the point. We’re not paying- you should know that by now, my boy.”

Neal nodded slowly. Good; Maxie wasn’t upset. He actually seemed… amused. “Markus is hacking it, soon, then. Reserving our rooms, saving a spot for team…”

Maxie supplied the answer for him. “Pyro; those damned Shigo Tribune reporters discovered our previous tournament alias.”

That was new news, but Neal ignored it for the moment. “Pyro, then, and telling the database our fees have been paid.”

Maxie grinned widely and clapped his hands. “You’ve got it!” The all familiar wicked gleam appeared in his eye, and Neal resisted the urge to grin with him. “Gah, you distracted me from my earlier topic!”

Grey once again crept into Neal’s eyes, but he waited silently for Maxie to continue.

“Chrono entered twenty teams, all under the name ‘Chrono’ with a numeral after them. Ten of the teams did not have subtitles. However… ten had the subtitle ‘Rocket.’”

Neal understood now why Maxie seemed so sure it was the same Chrono- ten teams named simply ‘Chrono’ and some with ‘Rocket’ as a subtitle… “They found a way to control the Rocket members that they took.” Rocket had had about two hundred fifty members; assuming all were taken, that meant Chrono had at least three hundred men, one way or another, and probably more. Just to be safe, five hundred would be a good number. Magma itself only had two hundred six members, and Aqua somewhere around the same number. If it came to all-out war, the odds weren’t good. Until Chrono did something to directly violate Magma, Chrono would be left alone.

“Or negotiate with them.” Maxie’s face returned to the previous grim line it had been set in, and Neal couldn’t help but agreeing. People involved in Magma and Aqua had a tendency to be disloyal, but Rocket… now that was a whole different story. Team Rocket’s history was littered with rebellions and ambitious criminals, and although only one of them had been on a large enough scale to do any damage, it still said a lot. Rocket was where you went if you wanted to be known in the world- everyone was afraid of Rocket and their infamous cruelty. Aqua and Magma were just as cruel, at times, but somehow, every major, anonymous break in or theft was credited to Rocket. Not that any of the teams minded- Maxie and Archie were more than happy to let Rocket take the blame for their works, continuing with their plots and conniving without the watchful eyes of the police looming over them, and Rocket greatly appreciated the fear it stimulated among the common people.

With a nod of confirmation, Neal spoke the question that had been nagging at him the whole time. “So we’re not just at the Chrysafi to steal. We’re going to be watching Chrono, and seeing how good they are, along with searching for signs of how they control Magma.”

You’re going to be watching Chrono. The others can’t know,” Maxie replied, looking down at the floor.

Wincing slightly, Neal knew better than to ask questions. Despite himself, his eyes became a curious light blue, but he didn’t act on it. The conversation was over and done with- his questions wouldn’t be answered, and Maxie had given Neal all the instructions he had ever needed.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Maxie spoke up once again. “The Black Lucario has been deemed gone- forever. By the Shigo Tribune reporters.” Mirth sparkled in his age-wizened eyes.

Neal looked up, startled, and his eyes changed color accordingly. “You’ve got to be kidding me- the press is getting more idiotic by the hour. No criminal like the Black Lucario would pull a stunt like that then just… disappear for good.” Pausing for a moment, he then said, “I should know.”

“That you would boy; that you would…” Maxie chuckled. “Anyways, I just thought I’d tell you that, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when you hear it from someone else- I know you like to do that to people.”

Neal, in turn, relaxed his mask enough to allow a grin, although his eyes had shifted to dark blue. The Black Lucario was a well known gang leader- he had lived in the Underground city for a few years—nine, if Neal remembered correctly—and quickly risen to the top. Apparently, he had just shown up ten years ago, no name, no money, no family- just a single Pokémon and a body covered in wounds. Someone had taken pity to him, and brought them into their gang. The Black Lucario hadn’t told his real name to anyone the whole time he had been underground; at first, he had been nameless. About a year in the streets, though… he became well known among criminals and law-abiding folk alike.

The Shigo Tribune had given him the name ‘Black Lucario,’ after a cunning Pokémon that greatly resembled a fox—a well known fictional creature—that inhabited another part of the world. Soon, though, the name went from indicating the man’s guile, to his savage cruelty and trickery- the Lucario became more of a wolf—another fictional creature—than a fox. The name in itself was unique, but it was made even more unusual by the fact that there was no such thing as a ‘black Lucario.’ Pokémon could be found in almost any color pattern these days, due to advancements in Pokémon breeding and natural species evolution processes. Lucario’s themselves could be found in almost every single color known to man- every color but black. Lucario’s have been found with black bases—the original Lucario coloring was blue with a black base, in fact- but there was no black with a black base- a dark, dark grey hadn’t even been achieved. The point being, the Black Lucario was everything any criminal would ever want to be. His very name was illusive; impossible- inexistent! Dark, fleeting, and untraceable as the shadows; impossible as a black Lucario; savage and cruel as a renegade Mightyena. The man was an enigma, a penumbra… a legend.

A few months back, the Black Lucario and his gang had staged a major theft- an entire shipment of almost every precious material known to man- evolution stones, gold nuggets, heart scales, pearls, star fragments… along with the Pokémon of the men guarding them. Then, bang, the Black Lucario and his gang disappeared, just like that. No one knew what had happened; they had covered their tracks completely. The Black Lucario obviously had friends high up.

Maxie fidgeted slightly at Neal’s sudden silence, and after a few moments, once again decided to end it. “Shall we see how Markus is fairing?”

As his only answer, Neal stood and crossed the room to the door.

(+)-(+)

Neal and Maxie entered the technology room to find Markus occupying one of the large chairs that worked with several monitors. Numbers crossed their screens in seemingly random patterns, and Markus’s steady fingers flew across the keyboard, tapping in code phrases whose meanings Neal could only begin to guess. Neal himself had never been one for computers; he was more of an ‘action’ type of person.

“I’m surprised you can see the screen through that mop-of-a-hair-do you have, Lily,” Neal said, grinning slightly as he did so. His eyes were a relaxed misty blue, and it showed in his face as tension was released from the corners of his eyes.

Markus answered without missing a beat; his fingers never once slowed, and his eyes never turned from the monitors. “I manage just fine seeing through my mop, thank you very much. And, for future reference, it’s Lelle.” Neal couldn’t see Markus’s face, but it was evident from the sound of his voice that he was smiling, and his light blue eyes were most likely twinkling with glee- if you could see them beneath the layers of blond hair that fell into his eyes.

“Ah, yes, but seeing as it’s pronounced ‘lily,’ it doesn’t make a difference, now does it? Your last name is still a flower, no matter how it’s spelled.” The topic was a familiar argument between the two, and it usually repeated the same points over, and over, and over… it was more of a joke, now, than an argument.

Markus would have shrugged, but his arms were busy holding up his rapidly moving fingers, so he instead settled for silence. Neal respected his wishes; he was grinning more openly, now that he was in the presence of two of the few people he knew and trusted.

Maxie ruined the moment by asking, “How’s the progress?”

Back to business now, Markus answered quickly. “I’ve secured us rooms and a spot in the tournament. I didn’t bother to use false names, seeing as several dozen wannabe punks entered the tournament under the names of various Magma officials.” Judging by the laugh that he visibly fought down, Markus’s lopsided grin now dominated the lower side of his face. “They don’t even realize how helpful they are… I’m having a bit more trouble accessing the financial records, but they’ll open before my skills eventually.”

Neal grinned once more at the smugness that permeated Markus’s voice. “Of course.”

“You don’t think they will?” Markus answered immediately, his voice shrill with the indignity of Neal’s statement.

Remaining silent, Neal crossed the room and grabbed a chair, then pulled it close to Markus’s side to peer over his shoulder. “Got it!” Markus practically shouted his success; Neal wheeled back, surprised, and a splash of bright yellow made its way through his eyes.

“Do you have to be so loud when you’re successful?” Neal asked, wincing as a small cloud of black appeared in his eyes- Markus shouted loudly. Maxie, too, recoiled at Markus’s exuberance.

Markus remained silent, and after a few more moments of key-tapping, he slapped a button on the keyboard, wheeled away from the monitors, and proclaimed, “Done!” Various documents began spitting out of the printer, and Markus ran across the room to grab them. “We have room keys—don’t worry, they’re real—and our tournament ID’s—also real—along with… well, in your case, Neal, a room mate.”

What? I can’t share a room!” Cold veins of stormy grey throbbed tempestuously through Neal’s eyes, and he fought to regain control of his emotions.

Markus, knowing he was pushing it, couldn’t help but putting in an edgewise comment. “It was either you or me, bud.” He knew Neal’s position- what with his eyes, and everything… but it would do Neal some good to be around people that were… well, frankly, normal. “Besides; this guy supposedly helped design some of the ‘surprise technology’ used in the tournament. You could probably get a sneak peak.”
Neal nodded ruefully, and even though he refused to accept it, he knew he had lost this argument- as short as it had been. An irritated dull grey overrode the previous storm clouds that had gathered in Neal’s eyes, and he sighed. “Fine…”

Markus’s blond head bobbed in agreement, and Maxie ushered them both out of the room, telling them to go rest up for the tournament. It was late, by now- about ten o’clock. Neal hurried to his room after leaving Markus and Maxie, hoping to avoid any women seeking to warm his bed for the night- he simply wasn’t in the mood for such things.

(+)-(+)

Settling down in his room for the night, Neal ran the day’s happenings over in his head, making a list of what he would have to do tomorrow. The battle, the tournament, the Black Lucario…

First off, Neal would have to take his Pokémon to the grooming facilities- most of his Pokémon needed various types of trimming before the tournament, whether it be claws, wing tips, or fur, and it couldn’t hurt to have Doxa’s scales cleaned. He mentally cursed himself for forgetting to have his Pokémon checked up on- Doxa had taken damage in the battle, and he had been so busy that he hadn’t had time to see if she would need any major healing… Peripsema should be fine; he hadn’t fought for very long. All his Pokémon could use all the rest he could give them, though, before they had to fight.

And while he was in the Infirmary, it wouldn’t hurt to check up on that fool girl’s Growlithe, just to see if it would live. He would hate to have the death of a Pokémon on his conscience. Not that it would make much of a difference; Neal’s conscience was so heavy as it was that he doubted he had one anymore, and if he did, he certainly wouldn’t notice it.

He should probably talk to the other three members participating in the Golden Pokéball tourney and give them their papers; he still had them, although he hadn’t yet bothered to look them over. He could save that for the morning.

The Black Lucario could be worth some looking into, although it would have to be done after the tournament. Neal was sure he had found all that he could with his current information, but he could have overlooked something. It wasn’t that important now, anyways. The only reason Neal was interested in finding him was the hope that he could meet the legend in person. Assuming he wasn’t killed, that is.

Neal’s busy thoughts flashed before his closed eyelids, but eventually, sleep claimed him.

Review... please?

~IGC
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Old 05-06-2007, 01:19 AM
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Default Re: Administration of a Legend

Excellent in my opinion. The only thing I'd have a problem with is the lack of description on Doxa and in general really. Other than that, this fic looks highly promising.
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  #10  
Old 05-06-2007, 05:15 AM
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Default Re: Administration of a Legend

LordZangoose: Thanks. =D I'll keep that in mind.
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Old 05-11-2007, 10:54 PM
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Default Re: Administration of a Legend

This shows you a bit of Neal’s infamous (and slightly strange) temper… Markus shall get some more attention in this chapter; you get a section from his POV, and a battle with him involved, although it’s just a quick battle against two Pokémon… (Markus seems to have gathered quite a few fans :D)

Err… and a few GG people asked me (over PM) if there’d be smut in this fic. Current answer: no. This might change in the future, but Neal’s policy is to stay ‘focused on the job’ while on a mission, so he avoids women. And Neal isn’t the type to fall in love… obviously.

Plus, I couldn’t write good smut if my life depended on it, and you GG folks all know it.

Also, after the recent ‘everyone thought Lanner’s sister was his lover for some strange and unexplained **coughs nervously** reason’ incident… along with the ‘Fiona the Perv’ thing resurfacing… (I can’t believe Kijo didn’t fully explain the illusionary sex thing! I’m gonna kill him for making me explain it…) I have decided not to spend hours of my time purposefully misleading my GG readers into thinking things that are not true. So, I am making no attempt to hide the villain’s identity, when you finally meet him. I don’t want another replay of the ‘Dara has a gay pride ring’ either, lol. Or, for that matter, the ‘Kavi is Lanner’s son, not his nephew- incest, FTW!’ … that was not started by me… actually, I can’t even remember who started that joke. Of course, it was probably related to the afore mention completely unexplained **coughs nervously** confusion.


Neal grabbed some food and headed to the Pokémon Center/Boutique. Maybe that was what Maxie had hired all those idiots for… he needed more workers for the Boutique! Neal dismissed the notion. If that was true, why the hell had he been forced to battle the powder puff?

Coming to the door, he pushed his way in. Neal unbuckled his belt and settled it carefully—so as not to harm his Pokémon—set it down on the counter. “I’ll need a check up and the regular grooming, along with standard tournament preparations.” His Pokémon would be given physical exams, have their hair, scales, claws—whatever they had—clipped and cleaned, and be given special treatments to prepare them for the tournament.

The nurse nodded, took the Pokéballs and handed Neal his belt. He nodded and fastened it back onto his waist, then headed to the infirmary patient rooms. Casting his gaze around the area, he quickly found what he was searching for- Emma’s Growlithe, lying on a table. Alone. Emma was nowhere in sight. Neal frowned in displeasure, and his eyes changed to a peachy color. A trainer should be there for his—or her—Pokémon while they’re in pain. Not off… doing whatever she was doing.

He walked to the table and reached out a hand to gently stroke the Growlithe’s fur. It tensed, at first, but then relaxed as he wove his fingers through its fur softly. Neal’s face softened.

“What are you doing here?” Neal spun angrily, his eyes flashing stormy grey, as a sharp voice came from behind him. Emma.

“Checking on your Growlithe,” he replied, calm and cool, his mask once more in place.

“I know that! I’m not stupid!” Neal resisted a sudden urge to snort. “Why are you here?”

Neal shrugged. “I wanted to make sure I hadn’t killed it; you really should have your VA’s updated more often.” Despite his outward façade of calm, Neal could feel his blood boiling in his veins. He paused for a moment to reign in his rising temper, then spoke once more. “This one’s about four years old, and it has a defect,” he hissed angrily, despite his best efforts to control his displeasure. According to the systems monitors by the Growlithe’s bed it had several defects, in fact. It should have been replaced long ago, in order to prevent unnecessary harm to her Pokémon. Bolts of yellow anger shot through Neal’s eyes.

She, in turn, shrugged uneasily, noting Neal’s eyes. “Why bother to pay for the damned things when they don’t even work! They don’t keep Pokémon from dying, so why bother!”

“Don’t speak of things you clearly know nothing about. It makes you seem even more inane than you clearly are.” His voice was cool, cold, and hard as ice, but his eyes blazed angrily. She had no right to say such things- she knew nothing of the truth, obviously. Any fool knew the invention of the VA had saved hundreds upon thousands—possibly even millions—of Pokémon lives! “Without the Vitality Aureole, all of your Pokémon would be dead by now, you being the foolish trainer that you are,” he growled. Even so, he winced slightly. VA’s had failed often in the past; something he knew all too well.

“Vitality what? What the hell are you talking about?” Her voice was genuinely puzzled, and Neal resisted the insane urge to laugh. How quaint- she didn’t even know what ‘VA’ stood for!

Neal ignored her question, hissing, “If I had any choice in the matter, your Pokémon would be taken from you right at this moment, and you would be charged for Pokémon abuse and mishandling, along with improper care.” Fortunately for Emma, it wasn’t up to Neal. He knew this, and he knew there was no way to avoid it. Neal spun and stalked stiffly out of the room, his eyes blazing dark orange with angry yellow and red splashes.

(+)-(+)

Neal spent the remainder of the morning sliding angrily through the shadows of the Magma headquarters, deep in thought. He hated to admit it, but the place was feeling too empty. There were usually only seventy-fix to ninety Magma members in the Headquarters at one time; the other hundred sum were off in various areas, doing various things. Maxie preferred to keep his forces spread out; they attracted less attention this way.

Now, though, there were only about sixty-two members in the main base, for a variety of reasons. They had recently lost almost forty of their members when a break-in on Kanto was botched by the official in charge; all thirty-six of the involved members had been caught by authorities and had either gotten themselves free, killed, or caught.

In response, several members had been sent out from the base to seek out new people willing to join Magma. They had brought in about seven, and Maxie’s five divas had brought their member count up to two hundred and six active field members. That didn’t include those that worked outside of Magma, but still offered help, or the group of Magma members that simply couldn’t fight with Pokémon and helped in other ways. And there were always the informants…

But still, the Magma headquarters were unusually empty, and as a result, Neal had nothing to do. Usually, he would slide around the base, watching and observing members from the shadows, keeping tabs on what was happening around the base, as was his duty as Maxie’s second in command. When there were few members, though, that was no fun.

It was during his desperate quest of searching for something to do that he found himself at Markus’s door. It couldn’t hurt to go work out a bit; he would train his Pokémon any other day, but they needed to be rested for the tournament, so, why not train himself?

He tapped the door, and Markus came to it, opening it and grinning when he saw Neal. He immediately knew what Neal wanted and nodded, saying, “Sure, I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes.”

(+)-(+)

Markus watched Neal’s back enviously as he jogged effortlessly down the track. Markus wasn’t the only one, although most of the other eyes weren’t focused on Neal’s back- he and Neal were the only men using the workout room at the moment. Neal moved with litheness that even an Espeon could envy. His muscles, lean and smooth, although not exactly large, tensed and coiled at a steady pace as he loped gracefully around the track. He moved with a masculine grace and a predatory power; every movement was that of perfection. Despite the gracefulness of his movements, every motion seemed… contradictory. A strange, barely concealed aggressiveness was contained in every action, yet, each movements seemed to whisper ‘trust me; I’m harmless.’ His power was at once barely controlled, yet completely reined.

Markus had never been able to move like that, and he never would be. He was far too awkward and bulky. He himself was lifting weights; something that, to his satisfaction, Neal couldn’t do as well as him. That was one thing, at least. Neal had always been better than him in most aspects, although he didn’t mind… at least, didn’t mind too much.

Neal gracefully leapt a hurtle, landing effortlessly and proceeding to jump the next one… and the next one… and the next one… and the next one… Oh, who was he kidding! Markus was downright envious of Neal. He would trade Neal’s beautiful, almost dance like movements than his own bulky strength any day!

Sitting up as Neal crossed the room towards him, Markus withheld a sigh. It was rather hard to be Neal’s friend, at times. It wasn’t Neal’s temper that scared him, as was the case with many. Nor was it his eyes- they were intimidating, at times, but Markus didn’t care. No, the hardest thing about being Neal’s friend was the fact that he made everyone around him jealous, and didn’t even realize it. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he possessed such grace, such refinement. Neal seemed to resent it, in fact. One can’t even begin to imagine how irritating it was.

Markus wiped his brow and stood, replacing the weights on the shelf and wiping down his equipment before leaving with Neal. He pushed his long bangs impatiently out of his eyes, watching Neal out of the corner of his eyes. The dangerous fire that had raged in them earlier had seemed to have disappeared- Markus found himself wondering what had caused such anger.

He cast his curiosity aside- Neal would never answer his questions; he would simply say something that distracted Markus, leading him off the subject and making him forget what his question was altogether. Instead, he waited for Neal to speak.

“Let’s get some food.”

Markus nodded. “And then… I have a battle.”

Neal raised an eyebrow. “What? Before the tournament? You’re insane, and your Pokémon need rest.”

“No I’m not…” Markus grinned slightly, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “I haven’t battled in awhile, thanks to the strip club incident with Team Aqua’s second in command… and your restraining order. I had to get Maxie to lift it for me today.” It was a rather humorous incident, actually. Neal, Markus, and a few others were preparing to steal a shipment of gambling coins from a casino that had a night club attached. Apparently, Aqua had similar commands, and they had encountered a few of the Aqua women… posing as strippers. After the chain of unfortunate incidents that had ended in the total destruction of the casino and strip club, Neal had ordered Markus to stay at the Magma base until the newly implemented restraining order was lifted. That had been about three and a half weeks ago.

“Oh.” From the look that flashed briefly across Neal’s face before he concealed his expression, he had completely forgotten.

Markus shrugged, saying nothing, and proceeded to enter the cafeteria.

(+)-(+)

Markus strode into his end of the battle field, grinning slightly. His opponent, a young man whose name Markus didn’t care about, stepped into his area cautiously. Markus could hear the man swearing at his bad luck, and his grin widened. Markus himself was one of the best battlers in Magma, and his opponent—apparently—knew it.

The battles at Magma were chosen randomly; those that wanted to battle at a certain point in the day filled out a form and turned it in, and two random people were matched up, as long as they were available at the same time.

Unclasping one of his Pokéballs from his side—he only carried two with him at one time, usually—he threw it into the ring. The black Pokéball spun, and the green hack codes blurred together as it flew. A red beam shot out of the Pokéball, and Markus’s Jolteon emerged, shaking its fur and sending crackles of electricity into the air around it. “Perun, Vitality online!”

The details of Markus and his Jolteon spun across the screen as Markus’s opponent released a Furret. “Go, Furret, activate!” The creature hissed at Perun, leering at him menacingly as his own statistics were displayed on the large screen. Perun, in return, flat out ignored the Furret, taking the quick moments before the battle began to lick his fur. Perun’s coloring was several shades darker than the natural shading of a Jolteon. He had had all his Pokémon bred to appear in that way- it gave them a natural look, coupled with flair; an unusual combination.

Quick thoughts emerged in Markus’s mind. Furrets were weak to Fighting type moves… Perun only knew a single Fighting move, but it could work. “Perun, Double Kick!” Perun ran jauntily forward, preparing his assault as he picked up speed.

“Furret, Iron Tail!” The Furret charged up energy into his tail, ready to slam it onto Perun as soon as he was in range.

Markus didn’t even need to say anything; Perun had been strictly drilled to keep going in a situation like that, taking the hit and dealing one of his own. As Perun neared the Furret, it jumped at him, slamming the hardened tail into Perun’s side. He hissed slightly at the pain, but it did little damage, leaving only a small bruise.

Perun’s feet slammed into the Furret’s side, and the sound of the impact reverberated throughout the Arena. It reeled back, trying to collect its wits and ignore the throbbing pain the attack had caused. Markus grinned in satisfaction; one more hit, and the Furret would be out for the count.

“Furret, Ice Beam!” Perun didn’t even need to be told to dodge; he lithely flitted out of the way.

“Another Double Kick, Perun,” Markus shouted, his grin widening. Perun sped to the Furret’s side and spun on his forepaws, lashing out with his hind legs. The kick made contact and the Furret flew across the rink, landing face down in the dirt.

The Vitality Aureole quickly drew the Furret in, and Markus’s opponent reluctantly released a Dugtrio. “Dugtrio, Earthquake!”

Markus lazily shoved his hair out of his eyes, before calmly stating, “Swagger, then time your Rest…” This was an old maneuver that he had put together, but Perun still had difficulty with the timing. He was an impatient Pokémon, and he frequently used Rest too early.

Perun Swaggered towards the Dugtrio as it used the attack. The Dugtrio, in turn, struggled to keep his sights focused on Perun as he executed the attack. A violent tremor spread through the Arena, and at the same second the attack hit Perun, he used Rest.

Markus nodded his head, reminding himself to congratulate Perun on the successfully timing of the move. Perun was healed as soon as he was harmed, and he fell asleep in the middle of the Arena.

The trainer on the opposite end of the Arena opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then closed it. “G-g-g…Good move.”

“I know!” Markus’s hair had fallen into his eyes once more, and he shoved it out again, even as he flashed a grin towards the stupefied man.

“Dugtrio… Dig!” Diving down into the ground, the Dugtrio began to burrow deeper. Markus winced- that couldn’t be good for the floor. Shooting quickly upwards, the Dugtrio barreled into Perun.

With a muffled squeak, Perun woke at the impact, managing to land had on his feet. His knees buckled with the impact, and Markus winced slightly. “Double Team, then Hyperbeam!”

Perun shut his eyes momentarily, and a large group of copies appeared in a cluster around him. The Dugtrio turned around in confusion, searching for the correct Pokémon to attack. Opening his mouth, a huge beam of energy shot straight towards the Dugtrio. “Dugtrio, Dig!” More than happy to oblige, the Dugtrio shot into the ground, narrowly avoiding the scathing beam.

“Dig, Perun.” Hopefully, when the Dugtrio came up, he wouldn’t notice that one of the Jolteons was missing… although the images were already beginning to waver. Perun shot down into the ground a moment before the Dugtrio came up.

Looking around the Arena in confusion, the Dugtrio was the perfect picture of befuddlement, and the expression on its face was classic. Markus bit his lip to prevent himself from laughing. Feeling the tell-tale tremors of Perun emerging from the underground, he waited silently.

“Protect…” The Dugtrio’s trainer chewed the inside of his cheek nervously and gave a cry of alarm as, right before the Dugtrio was going to protect itself, Perun slammed into it from underground. Surprised, the Dugtrio almost flinched.

The hit was hard, but it did little damage and left no visible mark. Perun now had a trickle of blood coming from his paws from all the digging and kicking he had done, and he alighted carefully on the ground. “Try Slash!” the Dugtrio’s trainer shouted.

“Dodge, Flash, then Iron Tail, Perun!” Perun skipped lightly, almost gloatingly—and a bit painfully—to the side, chattering something at the Dugtrio. A noise somewhat resembling a rock slide emerged from the Dugtrio’s throat, and its eyes darkened in what Markus presumed was anger. The Dugtrio Slashed viciously at Perun once more, only to, once more, come in contact with empty air.

Perun used Flash, momentarily blinding the Dugtrio, then skirted around its side to slam its Iron Tail onto its back. The Dugtrio growled in pain, and its trainer quickly shouted, “Dugtrio, Earthquake!”

“Flight Agility, Perun!” Markus was satisfied by an extremely bewildered look surfacing on his opponent’s face. Perun, unlike Markus’s opponent, immediately knew what Markus meant.

Running quickly, Perun leapt high into the air, using several Agilities to keep in flight for as long as possible. Touching down on the shaking ground for less than a second, Perun immediately leapt up again, repeating his previous movements. After several repeats of this maneuver, the Earthquake subsided and Perun touched down on the ground lightly, looking mournfully at his bloodied and slightly torn paws. The bruise on Perun’s side had grown, and a small trickle of blood made its way out of his mouth. Markus knew Perun wouldn’t be able to fight efficiently for much longer; he would have to win the battle or switch Pokémon.

“Body Slam!” Taking a flying leap towards Perun, the Dugtrio attempted to pound its weight down upon the smaller creature, only to find himself hitting the hard ground as Perun skipped out of the way.

“Toxic, Perun!” Perun nodded acquiescence, then opened his mouth to shoot a large ball of poison in the Dugtrio’s direction. The vile toxins slammed into the Dugtrio, dripping over his head and into his mouth and eyes. It grunted as the poison seeped into it, slowly draining its energy.

Grinning triumphantly, Markus issued his final command. “Perun, use Return!” Perun ran at the Dugtrio, gathering his energy into a single blow. Leaping into the air, he spun, then slammed the attack down on the Dugtrio’s head with all his force. The Dugtrio’s VA activated, drawing it back into its Pokéball.

Perun nodded his head at the crowd in the Arena stands, then proceeded to lick his paws gingerly. “Vitality offline. Perun, return.” Markus deactivated Perun’s VA and called him calmly back into his Pokéball, then carried him to the Magma Pokécenter.

CONTINUED ON NEXT POST
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  #12  
Old 05-11-2007, 10:54 PM
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Default Re: Administration of a Legend

(+)-(+)

After watching Markus’s battle, the rest of the day passed at a sluggish pace- Neal found himself almost wishing that the tournament day would arrive. As it was, he would have to wait another whole day before beginning his journey with the other four participants in his group.

At least the tournament would provide him with some amusement, and perhaps his room mate would have a head that was fun to mess with…

Neal was in no mood for female companionship, at the moment, and he knew he would not have any for quite some time; he preferred to stay focused during his jobs, which left several past times—such as drinking and finding pleasurable company—out of the question.

He drifted off to sleep slowly.

When writing from Markus’s point of view, I do not note Neal’s eye color, because Markus doesn’t notice stuff like that.

~IGC
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