The first thing that Jiei Enoki, Heavenly Medium of the Indigo League’s Elite Four, did upon awakening was look deep inside himself.
More than any conscious decision, the action was simply a habit; as a monk entrusted with containing innumerable malicious ghosts, it was simply good sense for him to be aware of his internal state at all times, especially following a bout of unconsciousness. The spirits – have the spirits escaped? Still groggy, it took the young man of seventeen a long moment to complete the ritual and determine that no, though his charges-slash-benefactors were incredibly unsettled, none had decided to break their compact and escape the confines of his body. He sighed, relieved – and then, after an even longer moment, remembered that he should probably take note of his surroundings.
I am… in a hospital? But not any normal hospital; the walls were plated in unpainted metal, and the lighting was even harsher than the stark-white of the most austere medical centre Jiei had ever stepped foot in. And these machines look much too expensive…
He blinked, placed his metaphorical head back atop his shoulders, and came to a conclusion. I am in the League headquarters – in fact, this is probably the Champion’s private medical suite. The confusion ebbed away, replaced with relief – and, under the soft blanket of what must be anesthetic, hints of pain. That feraligatr – Silver! Silver was a member of Team Rocket! Had anyone else-?!
Grasping dark tendrils threatened to erupt, and with effort Jiei becalmed the storm of his heart. Do not panic. Whether Silver’s defection is known or not is not something I can effect right now; I must focus on the small things. A breath, and then he grit his teeth and assessed the damage.
His arms could move, as well as his legs, but his sense of them was dim and far-away – the intravenous drip inserted under the skin of his left hand’s back must have been filled with something serious to impact him so greatly. Based on the bandages, I am still quite injured… how troublesome. The understated thought brought a twitch to his lips, but the smile was soon cleared away as he attempted to leave the elevated bed he’d been lying upon for however-many days… and simply failed. His muscles were too weak, and he dearly hoped that was simply the painkillers rather than anything more permanent.
The urge came to release a ghost to help him move, but that would be foolish with so many complicated machines around; while the penchant for spirits to fiddle with buttons and levers was, to Jiei’s experience, soundly overstated, it was still a stereotype rooted in truth. I suppose I’ll simply have to continue resting, and hope that-
A sudden dull sproing-oing-oing, the sound that only a spring-style doorstop could make, cut through the various beeps of the machinery, and the Elite’s attention was caught by the Champion’s flapping cape as she entered the room.
…That someone is monitoring my vitals.
To his dismay, Clair Blackthorn – titled the Dragon Empress by the League’s propaganda department, much to her cousin’s chagrin – looked even more frazzled than the last time he had seen her. She still stood tall and proud, of course, stalking forward with enough force that her shoes made tiny thunderclaps against the tiled floor, but the details told a different story.
It is the arm, voiced a thought Jiei would have never allowed himself to think under a less compromised position – at least, not while the Champion was present. She leans away on that side, as if she’s still not used to the loss of weight despite it being three years.
“Enoki,” Clair barked, thankfully remaining ignorant of his thoughts and wandering eyes. “Thank the Creator, we weren’t sure when you’d wake up. We shipped in three monks from your hometown, but even they couldn’t say – something about-”
“About the dark energy interfacing poorly with my ghosts, yes.” Ah… I see my state of being in a state hasn’t abated. “Pardon, I shouldn’t interrupt – but while I am, how long was I out? Also, Silver’s mother is a lead member of Team Rocket and he has turned his coat.” The words slipped from his lips in a stream, and Jiei would’ve gladly blamed the anesthetic if he thought it were supplying anything close to the bulk of the fuel for his continuing rudeness. He swallowed. “Again, pardon.”
Clair’s nose wrinkled, but based on where her eyes were pointing that was likely because of his wound, rather than his words. “You’ve been out for two days,” she calmly stated, and as the words processed themselves inside his head Jiei found himself calming slightly as well.
Only two. Not nearly as long as I might’ve feared. “I will… be well enough to make an appearance in the Nationals then, will I not?”
Her mouth moved, but paused before any sound could come out. As the silence began to linger, Jiei could easily track her line of thought; Clair’s first instinct was to refuse him, but then the more practical part of her had chimed in to remind the woman of the state of the nation. “Let us be reasonable, Champion,” the monk offered, “We cannot be down an Elite while the tournaments are happening. Let me stand with you, at the very least – the actual challenges will not be until the end of next month, so-”
“Two,” Clair interrupted with incredible strain. “We will be down two Elites. Will suffered a sound defeat by a trio of Rockets, and only narrowly escaped possession.”
The silence returned, and despite racking his brain for a more substantive response, all Jiei could reply with was a startled “Oh. Oh my.”
Clair Blackthorn did not consider herself a politician.
No, though the bulk of her days were taken up by paperwork and listening to old men and women drawl on about economics, the office of Champion was not one that had been created for the purposes of rule. That aspect of things had started quite close to the beginning, admittedly, but they had not been there from day one.
It’s Oak’s fault, really, she thought as she sat next to the young Elite, unable to draw her eyes completely away from the bandages encircling his scrawny bare chest. He was the king of Pallet, in practice if not name, long before he was Champion of the Pallet League. Carrying all that over when he kicked Gramps’s ass and made the Indigo League must’ve made good sense at the time, but all the rest of us aren’t exactly suited to that side of things. It must’ve seemed like a miracle that Kanto’s greatest battler was also a deft hand at nation-level politicking, but tying those two roles together had, with the benefit of hindsight, been kind of a misstep.
The closest they’d come to a second Oak was, in fact, the literal second Oak – Blue Oak, the Pokémon Professor’s very grandson, who’d taken the reins from her when she’d been Interim Champion and become the first proper Champion since Gold – real name Ethan Hibiki – at the dawn of the millennium. Clair and the other holders of the title had been – were – pure battlers, not statesmen, though Lance had done his best. Heck, maybe the two kids could’ve turned things around – nobody would’ve taken anything an eleven-year-old said about taxes seriously, no matter how strong their Pokémon were. That would’ve been so convenient; just having the leadership divorced from the act of being Indigo’s chief protector, and letting the League’s democratically-elected president take care of all the paperwork.
But no, Red and Gold had both disappeared shortly after their instatements, her cousin had been accused of making them disappear so he could retain his rank, and Blue had retired after three years to return to being a family man and take over what remained of Oak Labs following his grandfather’s passing. And the position had fallen to her – to a headstrong, short-tempered woman whose only notable skill was Pokémon training.
Jiei’s face contorted into a grimace, and after a moment Clair shook off her doldrums. Stop that. Putting yourself down won’t do a thing; the reality is that Indigo needs a leader, and you’re the one in the big chair. So harden the fuck up.
And relax, you’ve managed to get at least a few wins here and there.
“Hey,” she sent out, attempting to inject some levity into her voice – and succeeding. “Don’t be too glum. Will’s gonna be back on his feet in no time, and you should be fine to walk around by the time the preliminaries are done – think of it as a long-overdue vacation. And there’s good news, too!”
“But Team Rocket-! Silver-!”
“Hey!” Clair barked, stopping her subordinate’s whining before it could get going. “Silver’s my problem okay? Rocket is basically done; Apollo’s behind bars, we took out all their main bases… that old dragon’s finally been put down. If my apprentice ever shows his face, I’ll be around to teach him a lesson.” She felt she was doing an admirable job in keeping the hurt from her voice; she’d known since basically the beginning that Silver had ties to Rocket, but whenever he talked about his old man it was clear that the kid hated his guts. But I guess he was closer to his mom… Fuck, that’s a whole fucking issue. Don’t have anybody lined up to replace him, can’t look too hard or it’ll spoil the narrative we need…
Well, maybe she’d just make Lance do it. The jerk needed something to do all day anyway.
“Champion, I apologize again,” her other kid continued to whine. “But I think you may be taking this too cavalierly. Silver had a suppressor, and-”
Oh. Oh, okay. “Yeah, that’s on me.”
The ghost specialist turned an incredulous look her way, and Clair couldn't help but let the sheepishness she was feeling touch her face. “I authorised him one way back, just in case Giovanni ever showed back up. We both figured, well, if he’s gonna come back he’ll at least check on his son, right?”
A beat of silence, Jiei’s face contorting even further. “Silver is Giovanni’s son?”
“Do ho! What grace, what grand sparks illuminating the battlefield, valour and instinct combining into the very picture of life’s beauty! Come, my opponent, join our dance with your own movements!”
“Why will you not shut up?! Hypno, target the man, the man!”
The fat assassin was infuriating to fight, and not only because he kept stopping to pose like a cartoon character. He was startlingly fast, moving as though the debris-strewn remains of Daniel’s office were an ice-skating rink to be frictionlessly slid across. His Pokémon, meanwhile, may as well have been an artillery piece; the alakazam completely upended the fighting style its species was known for, refusing to Teleport and instead simply blasting any attacks out of the air with frightening power. The only thing providing even a spark of hope in Daniel’s chest was the fact that it was barely trying, obviously disengaged from the fight itself – its attacks were enough to completely overpower his entire team, yet they came sparingly enough there was time to reset the layers of screens afterwards.
Such stupendous power! Why, why is it in the hands of such an utter buffoon?!
The minister was forced to discard his thoughts as said buffoon showed his unseemly grace once again, sliding in and swinging his sword. “Psycho Cutter!” he cried, either mis-naming the Pokémon move or having converged on it through the whims of language. The focus in Daniel’s hand twitched, and once again he was forced to call on its power to stave off the glittering edge of the blade.
“Argh! Everyone, Expanding Force! Alakazam, keep it up!”
Daniel Jitsu considered himself to be one Kanto’s premiere psychic talents, head and shoulders above hacks like Will – indeed, if he considered only pure depth of ability, he had the brown-clothed assassin beat twice over. And yet his abilities were strongest in the realm of prediction and intuition, and long-term predictions at that.
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They were all but useless in a melee, and when it came to combat his opponent held the obvious upper hand.
The sword cut, drawing blood from his face, and Minister Jitsu decided enough was enough. His hand went into his robes as he leapt away, closing on a trump card more impactful than any crystallised remains, even those of a slumbering god. “You’ve forced my hand, whoever you are! Don’t blame me for what happens!” Forced to reveal it so early – curse you to the depths of hell!
He threw the Master Ball given to him by Silph Co.’s very president, and unleashed a storm.
Jiei listened incredulously as Clair, a woman he would describe as serious to a fault and steadfast to the point of stubbornness, explained in clipped sentences how she had met and eventually come to mentor the man named Silver Capo.
It was barely comprehensible – Clair was not a good speaker, and the awkwardness of her feelings did her diction no favours – but the gist of it came across.
“So you knew from the very start?” he asked, and received a half-shrug in return.
“I did. It was half the reason I gave the kid any attention at all – Giovanni was a monster on the field. If literally any amount of that rubbed off, I figured he’d make a great Dragon Priest.” A glimmer of regret-tainted pride. “And I was right. Kid was a damn good Gym Leader for almost a year there.”
Jiei stared, and as a second passed he felt the confusion ebb away. “Ah. I am sorry, I’ve been going on about his actions without giving a single thought to your own emotions. I apologise again, Champion.” He was unable to bow from his prone position, but the monk did his best to incline his head.
Clair, for her part, looked away with embarrassment. “That’s not necessary…” Yet another moment of silence, and then she sighed. “Anyway, I’m tired of talking about Silver gods-damned Capo. I actually had some good news to share – I’ve been-”
Sproing-oing-oing!
The Champion’s face fell as a man in a rather well-cut suit burst into the room, his eyes concealed by a pair of opaque sunglasses. “Champion-! Sorry to interrupt, but-!”
Jiei watched his superior close her eyes, count to ten inside her head, and turn. “What is it?”
“Ch-Champion! We’re so sorry, we have no idea how this could’ve happened, it was under constant surveillance, and-!”
“Out with it.”
The League official hesitated, as though he believed the Dragon Empress would bite his head off for simply delivering a message. “The… The cave we’ve been monitoring, the one the Articuno was nesting in…”
Jiei took notice of the word was – and from the stiffening of her shoulders, Clair had made the same conclusion. “It’s escaped again,” she said with another sigh. Then her expression firmed, and the monk could even detect a hint of battle-lust. “Very well, I’ll prep my team. Get Karen and Tatsujin too, if you haven’t already; we’ll need to drive it back into hibernation quickly or people’s vacations will be ruined.”
“A-about that…” Yet again, the man hesitated. “The cave… The reason we didn’t notice…” A more natural pause, the official needing to catch his breath as Clair glared his way – he must’ve sprinted all the way here. “The snowstorm around the peak hadn’t dissipated – someone smuggled in a large number of the Sinnoh Pokémon snover, and…”
With a sinking heart, Jiei voiced the obvious conclusion. “Sabotage. Has the legend been captured?”
“That… that is almost certainly the case, Elite.”
Clair stepped towards the door, and the sound was even louder than when she’d approached. “Damn it all, can we not have one slow day?” Her cape billowed despite the still air of the room, and to Jiei’s admittedly-compromised senses she seemed for a moment to loom ten feet tall. “Where is it? I assume you only started looking into the cave because whoever’s captured it is doing something.”
“The- the middle of Celadon, Champion.”
The curse Clair let out shook the walls.
Once again, Koichi Tatsujin, master of the Saffron City Karate Dojo and newest member of the Indigo League’s Elite Four, was flying on the back of a great serpent – and once again, its motions, which most closely resembled those of a fish rather than anything close to normal flight, were greatly displeasing to his stomach.
Though I suppose what we’re flying towards is contributing as well. Koichi enjoyed a good fight, and under normal circumstances he would be positively glowing at the thought of facing one of the Three Heavenly Generals… but his thoughts could not help but turn to the many people of Celadon whose days, weeks, months, and perhaps years had been irrecoverably ruined by the appearance of what was likely the worst snowstorm the city had ever experienced. Not to mention those unlucky few whose days have been cut short…
Ahead of him, the Champion was expressing similar thoughts, rather a lot more verbally than the Karate Master was. “Idiots! Morons! Who catches the Articuno and lets it out in the middle of Kanto’s biggest gods-damned city?! I’m gonna rip their fucking heads off, whoever they are!”
Karen Rosewood’s reply was much more subdued, to the point it was uncharacteristic – she sounded almost afraid, a tone Koichi had never heard from the woman’s mouth. “We should be preparing for even more resistance; this might be Rocket’s dying gasp.” She, too, was riding on a dragon’s back – no glider could hold up to the winds generated by one of the Generals, no matter how deftly guided by her honchkrow.
And then the final member of their strike force spoke; the owner of the dragonite Karen was riding atop and former Champion himself, Lance Blackthorn. “Do you think that’s likely? If Apollo had access to the Articuno, wouldn’t he have used it to avoid capture?”
“Who else could get their hands on a Master Ball?” came Karen’s shouted reply.
“The Doksu,” Lance immediately countered. “The Ankoku. Anyone willing to schmooze with Bill. A disgruntled Silph scientist who’s heard the news somehow, and decided to express themselves…”
The last comment had been aimed at the dragon specialist’s cousin, and Clair snarled back. “Don’t try and turn this into my fault, you ass!”
“I wasn’t! I’m simply saying that the things might be more complicated than-”
“A few months! That stupid restriction on catching Pokémon was supposed to last a few months, just long enough to ban those idiot-killing superballs! But fucking Silph Company-!”
The Champion devolved into muttered curses that only barely carried over the wind, and Koichi sighed. Yes, that really did spiral out of control. The whole thing had been – was continuing to be, in fact – a gigantic mess. In order to limit deaths among young and inexperienced trainers, Clair had instituted the horrendously unpopular piece of legislation completely banning people from catching Pokémon without a license. She had then put pressure on Silph Co., the ultimate cause of the deaths, to rescind the sale of their dangerous – and incredibly profitable – products.
But in a move none of them had seen coming, the company president, one Chancy Unsuki, had completely and utterly refused. The situation had devolved into a cold war of sorts; Silph was the only provider of Pokéballs in Indigo, save for a few traditional apricorn carvers in rural Johto, and any attempt that foreign manufacturers made to break into the market was repelled with an almost… religious zeal. And beyond its role as the main supplier of trainer equipment, Silph was a financial juggernaut that held a monopoly over vitamin supplements, medical equipment, and military hardware – the League couldn’t just force the company to capitulate, lest they move out of the region and render Indigo destitute, vulnerable to invasion, and tarred in the public eye all at once.
And thus that cold war dragged on for nearly two years, neither side capable of budging.
“It could still work,” Koichi sent out. “We have no concrete reason to believe this is Silph, but it would be a touch convenient. If anything, this disaster might help the public swallow the news.”
Clair’s flow of curses cut off. “That’s morbid, using it to our advantage. I’m kind of surprised you’d say that, musclehead.”
“The ban affects everyone. If you recall, I argued quite staunchly that we should’ve just slapped Silph down at the beginning, consequences or no.”
The conversation died as his words flew away on the wind, the other elites processing the situation. Koichi himself simply tried to tried to keep his gorge down as the gyarados made a particularly jolting movement, but he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit to agreeing with the Champion’s words – it would be unseemly to pin this latest disaster on Silph Company, just so that people would accept Clair’s declaration that Devon Corp, Hoenn’s premier manufacturer of Pokéballs, would be entering the fray as a government-approved provider for all of the League’s supplies.
No doubt there would be more blood spilled over the matter, regardless of how it shook out… But Koichi would also be lying if he didn’t admit, in the privacy of his own head, that he would prefer that return to open warfare to the more underhanded dealings that had been going on.
The four elites flew on the backs of dragons towards Kanto’s capital city, where a living god was waiting for them.
This cold… Abratwo thought as he dug in the snow, lifting it telekinetically with subtle motions of his spoons. So familiar. I didn’t expect to meet one of them today, much less in the hands of such a milquetoast creature…
Memories of his mentor’s battle against the trio of legendary birds flashed through the background of his expansive mind as he continued to toil, the bulk of his mental effort dedicated to vibrating his shell at the proper frequency to keep warm without weakening the fragile keratin. The seven trophies secured around his neck provided additional focus, and his clothing contributed a small amount to keeping the arctic temperatures at bay – but still, some of the Articuno’s chill managed to penetrate.
Even having left the field, the bird was a damn nuisance. At least it was only the one… Minutes passed as the alakazam dug downwards, the tunnel stretching to reach exactly eight metres and eight-point-two-eight centimetres before Abratwo began hearing a familiar bellow.
“My brother!” exclaimed his partner, the fat human’s voice reaching up through another three metres of powder. It was impressive, actually; he must be truly straining his vocal cords. “Our quarry has fled! How cowardly – not that I can blame him!” Abratwo merely rolled his eyes and arranged his internal energy for a Teleport, ignoring Kiribo’s bluster. “After all, when faced with two warriors of our calibre, even a legendary being could not possibly-” A soft pop as air pressure equalised, the alakazam’s fatigue great enough that he’d decided not to put in the extra effort to make the transition perfect. ”-Compare-! Ah, magnificent! Well, it seems we’ve failed… I vote we cut our losses, and quickly away! What say you, partner?”
[Yes. This was a complete waste of time.]
The shivering, nearly-frozen man frowned, deciding to argue rather than simply let them Teleport somewhere that wasn’t colder than the inside of a freezer. “Not so! Our orders were quite ironclad – and a true man never gainsays his liege-lords!”
As though those buffoons and Meowthtwo, of all people, could be considered lords of any kind. But it was impossible to argue with Kiribo Kimigawa when the man got a foolish notion, and so the alakazam simply rolled his eyes once again and pulled together another Teleport. [Fine, it was a chivalrous deed worthy of song. Let us ‘away’ before the other two show up and kill us.]
He completed the move before his partner could get the last word in, dragging the energy into a pattern even more efficient than the one his EPI desired to make, and with another soft pop the two disappeared.
They came out on the city’s outskirts, and were treated to the sight of the full breadth of the Articuno’s Blizzard. Much of Celadon’s centre was white, obscured by thickly-falling snow, and Abratwo felt a shiver going down his spine that was completely separate from the temperature of the air. Still not enough. Even with the power I’ve accrued, I’m still not even close to avenging Mewtwo’s loss. The frustration built and built, iterating upon itself as his immense brainpower turned to the task of incriminating itself. As Kiribo hugged his own shoulders and stomped in an attempt to shake off the chill, Abratwo felt the hydraulic muscles of his fingers tighten.
He holstered his spoons – then drew them and let off a Quick-Draw Psychic, blasting a stand of nearby trees. Holster, draw, holster, draw, and as the landscape was churned up and his fatigue redoubled, the frustration began to bleed away.
“Ah, partner, I feel your frustration as well! To lose in such a fashion – we must pursue this churl Jitsu, and reclaim our honour!”
[No.]
“Yes, I’m sure he’s headed north; the mountains separating us from Sinnoh would be the perfect place to hide out-”
[No.]
“-While gathering strength. The minister is surely planning to disrupt the Nationals the same as our illustrious instructors, so-”
[Kiribo, no.] The telepathic word, strong enough it probably counted as an attack, glanced off his partner’s mental shield and finally grabbed his attention. The Psychic Hunter turned a petulant expression Abratwo’s way, and stomped again – this time out of his own frustration rather than the chill still clinging to the both of them.
“But my partner! Our honour!”
[You just said you wish to obey our orders… Well, our orders are to go to Saffron following the attempt. We have failed, and that man’s abilities were strange. I doubt he’s without a way to evade us.]
Kiribo stilled, his face going blank for a moment – and then his hand went to his sword. “We are in disagreement, my brother on the warrior’s path. Shall we settle it the usual way?”
Sigh. Expelling air from his nostrils, the alakazam rolled his eyes yet again – but deigned to place his hands near the holsters at his waist. [As you wish. But don’t be surprised if I’m too tired to carry you all the way to the city.]
“Oh ho, in that case it will simply have to be me who carries you! But enough talk, have at you!”
