MikaelBrigman
Golurk-Platinum
- Pronouns
- he/him
"Most people, trainers or otherwise, are only aware of Break Evolution due to its use as a mechanic in the Pokémon Trading Card Game. They assume that it is among the ranks of Lvl. X, EX, GX, and other fictional modifiers. While the island of Little Surrey, south of the Galar region (or Avalon region, depending on who you ask), is isolated from advances in Pokémon science, it seems that they have accurately portrayed this phenomenon for the most part. Notable differences include the mechanical exclusion of light mechanics.
As anyone who has seen a Break Evolution can tell you, a Pokémon must be in total darkness before the temporary change can occur. As well, Break Evolution breaks down over time, resulting in Compton scattering and the return to the initial form. The time period varies depending on the amount of light the Pokémon reflects.
It is theorized that the armor is made of photons infused with Infinity Energy, and that the breakdown is caused by external light taking photons as it reflects and compounds with the Pokémon's light. Of course, the obvious hole in that theory is that the photons have to come from somewhere, and that if total darkness is required, then the process becomes self-contradictory.
I would say that even if the shield isn't made of photons, well, the light has to come from somewhere, doesn't it?"
Professor Henry Johannson nee Walton, Ph.D., notable archaeologist and expert in Pokémon biology, circa 2011.
*For further information on Little Surrey's isolationist policies and physical distance from Pokémon, see Professor Mason's Pokémon Proclamation for Evading Terrifying Animals; or Pokémon PETA for short.
*For further information on the Galar/Avalon dispute, see H̶̲̬͈͚͑͐̚͘͜͝ɒ̷̨̛̠̠̣̣̅͛̄̾ɿ̵̨̞͎̟̪̒̂̓͘͝ɿ̵̨̣̱̮͊͊̈́̌͘ͅγ̵̡̨̭̗̯͊͗̄̇̚ ̸̢̢̺͔̾̎̔͛́͜Գ̷̦̠̱̥͔̾̈͂̇̅o̶͕̺̠̟̣̐̈́͛̓̏Ɉ̷̢͕̙̯͓̈́̋̔͑͊Ɉ̶̮̻̞͖̮̒̋̍͘͝ɘ̴̡̼͚̳̹͗̑̏̚͠ɿ̸̛̟̠̬͎̆͑̃̃͜:̸̲̠͕̱̻̄͒͑̓͘ ̶̘̠̥̝́́͊͆͝ͅԳ̵̧̛̗͈͇̖̀͒̌͝ǫ̸͈͎̪̔̋̃͊̚͜ʞ̴̡͔̙̬̩́̀̄̚̚é̶̜̦͇̻̅̑̉̓̑ͅm̴̡̤̱̻̟̃̾̎͝͝ȱ̴̱̗̭̟̥̆̐͐n̷̢͎͉͔̣̆̉́̑͂ ̵̫͍̭͉͍̅̃̈́͌͛M̸̰̯̜͇̟͊̇͌̎̈́ɒ̴̢͈̘̮̗̐̎̏͌́ƨ̸̡͕̥̙̻́̏̔͝͝Ɉ̷̱͓̖͙̥̉̀̃̎͘ɘ̴̡͚̥̼̙̈́̾̀̕̚ɿ̶̳̠͎̘̍̾̈́̄̕͜.
*If you have information on the recent disappearance of Professor Johannson, please contact his son at (XXX)-XXX-XXXX on cross-transceiver.
An ancient stone stadium was lit up by a thousand spotlights. Like the myth-birthing Dragonspiral Tower of Unova or the Sky Pillar of Hoenn, it stretched towards and seemed to reach the heavens. The only things above the many arches were the mountain and waterfall which granted Opole Colosseum its name. Even in mid-morning, the water spray glittered like a gem. The sun was still beginning to rise, and after the rocky press conference, there was a nervous energy among the crowd, even more so among the participants.
A screen embedded in a three-story slab of stone flashed away from a timer and towards a spinning star.
Guame Goodshow, a renowned commentator in the region, spoke. His voice rolled over, or rather, flattened the crowd's attitude, replacing it with a sense of anticipation.
Jones couldn't hear the words, nor could he feel their weight. He was still in the tunnel that led to the field, and all that he could hear was the blood pounding between his ears.
Standing in the middle of the darkness, just paces away from the light, he froze up. His knuckles strained against his skin and his palms turned clammy. His
A Pokémon pecked him on the scalp, just below the brim of his fath… his hat. He had grown far too accustomed to the clawed feet on his shoulder, and was surprised because of it.
Bravest, his Rufflet, his friend, stood proudly and glared at him. They flapped their tiny wings once, nearly throwing the hat from Jones's head.
As it had many times before, his hand shot up to keep it still, but in doing so, he had shaken himself out of his nerves.
"Thanks, bud," he breathed, before forcing a smile. "I needed that."
Bravest gave him a certain sort of look.
"Yeah, I know." Jones turned back towards his exit. He could only go forward from there. "We've come too far to stumble. I can't afford to lose here."
Bravest glared at him, their pink cowlick of a feather falling low over their eyes before they shook their head. Most of the time, they could speak the same language with only one set of words. Other times…
Jones walked forwards as Goodshow's voice thundered and echoed across the field. It was not the three-on-three matches of previous matches. Single battles with a full team of six from then on. That was, of course, assuming that he would go any further. If a Pokémon was still for ten seconds and unable to move afterwards, they were considered defeated. Change in environmental conditions was entirely allowed. If a Pokémon could hold it, they could bring it into battle.
Hundreds of Pokémon and their partners lined the seating sections, holding up Protects and Barriers against the inside of the arena.
The sand beneath Jones's cleats was black. The details of the field faded, having been nothing more than holograms used in their absence. It was an entirely level field with grates running off the side. Shields hung by their sides, designed to protect from the heaviest hails and the driest droughts.
His eyes narrowed as he made eye contact with Meryl Lee across the field, having just left the tunnel herself. She matched his motion, palming a Pokéball as her traveling cloak drifted in a light wind.
She mouthed something at him.
He signed for her to speak up, his face entirely still.
"It appears that Jones is flashing gang signs at his opponent! Is this some sort of mind game? I've never seen anything like this!" Goodshow shouted, the Sandshrew of a man clearly playing up the pre-show.
Meryl Lee sighed and signed back.
You. Change. What is. Wrong?
"Ah! Meryl Lee responds with sign language in an attempt at civility, would you look at that, folks?" called the commentator. The crowd bayed with laughter, and already, banners with her partner Pokémon on it were flying up.
He signed back.
You. Do not. Know.
He didn't bother with the final sign, instead pointing at himself then whipping his hand away.
Meryl Lee's brow furrowed.
Liar.
Jones looked out over the Scorick desert from the peak of the Treacherous Path. Bravest and Short Round, the Ralts he'd caught pickpocketing him within a week of entering the region, were by his side. The moon hung high over them, the time far past the latest Bronzor Surfers departed down the mountain range. He had neither a Bronzor nor the magnetic boots required to safely ride one. His boots from all of the time he spent traveling with… the time he spent traveling, they were just fine even if they were worn down.
The boots had grip in most cases, which is why he was so surprised by the fact he lost his purchase when he turned to leave. His legs flew out from under him and went over the cliff. He would have been fine if the rest of his body hadn't followed them.
Just barely keeping his head and arms above the ledge, he couldn't turn to look down, but he knew that while not being a long fall, it would certainly be a long tumble. Long, flat cliff faces that were perfect for skimming were not great for high velocity flesh-bags.
Bravest had squawked immediately, and by the feeling of claws on his back, they were trying to pull him up.
Jones suddenly felt much lighter as a pink glow surrounded his chest.
Short Round's arms were outstretched and there were two magenta lights beneath the green bowl cut, but he just couldn't lift all of Jones's weight.
He slipped further. His fingertips scraped through sand and grass, peeling away the plants as he scrambled for purchase. His head dropped below the cliff and his heart rate skyrocketed.
Was that it for him? Would he just be a footnote in a newspaper? A story of some stupid tourist that went surfing without a board?
A patch of grass was pulled out by the roots, dropping to the rocks below in seconds.
He really, really did not want that to be him.
Holding on with just one hand, he looked down for a branch he could latch onto. Nothing. It was entirely smooth all the way down. On one outcropping, there was a bit of a ramp he could try to land on. It would hurt, but…
He lost more of his purchase.
"Short Round! Get me a vine, damn it!"
"I'm trying!" came the Psychic-type's reply, though they focused more on lifting Jones back up.
Something green came over the ledge, flowing in the wind. Was it a bunch of kudzu? It didn't matter, Jones realized, as long as it held.
He heaved himself up, rolling onto the dirt and gasping for breath. It was at that point that he realized Short Round was only a foot tall, nowhere near the height of whoever was standing over him.
That was when he first met her.
Some would be unintimidated by a barely-four-foot-tall Gallade, allowing the exceptional shortness to distract them from the reputed power of the Psychic-type. Some would even laugh.
Short Round did not take kindly to that attitude.
Meryl Lee had sent out her Blissey; a handy Pokémon for hiking that could give one enough energy to push through to their destination.
Those that laughed in the audience clammed up as Short Round's fists glowed. Not the blades on their elbows, no, his fists.
After their run-in with the rogue Psychic-types, who had kidnapped him and demanded he take the label of Psyker, he had refused to be weak anymore. He refused to be slow enough to be caught by a Teleport.
And so, he had become faster than most could react, discarding his outward psychic power and inherent strength.
Some reported the sound of a Mach Punch reaching their ears only after Blissey had already impacted the wall.
The Normal-type dissolved into red light, recalled by Meryl Lee. She tapped her forehead to the Pokéball before placing it back on her belt.
She nodded her head at Short Round but leveled a flat look at Jones before reaching for her next Pokémon.
"What's your name, stranger?" she asked.
Her camp was a bit off the path on a lower plateau, a small clearing surrounded by trees. A fire was already crackling between them, lit up without too much trouble.
A Skiddo slept behind her, piled high with gear without any discomfort. She leaned back against the bag while pouring a flask of tea into two metal cups.
Jones piled two branded foil packages on the fire. While food wouldn't spoil in modern traveling bags, pre-cooked meals did not get better with time. Fresh cooked on an open fire; truly, the only way to eat on a journey.
That was close enough to the slogan, anyway.
"Jones," he lied, before catching himself. "Well, just call me Jones."
"Alright," she said. "I'm Meryl Lee. Both names, if you don't mind."
"Right," he answered. Fair was fair, after all. He continued watching the foil packages while Rufflet and Short Round slept. They had utterly exhausted themselves trying to help him.
He would have to restock a little sooner than he expected, but that was not as much of a problem as he may have thought. With a savior, a temporary companion, and someone to share a meal with, he was breathing just fine.
Her second Pokémon was one of the Polskan Aegislash variants. Far too many wars had been fought there, and far too many weapons had been possessed. Their existence was something of a black mark on the region's history, though nowhere near the scale of the glassing of the Scorick desert.
The shield on one end of their ribbon was boxy and was likely emblazoned with a sigil at some point. By then, however, it had worn down to a rectangle of wood and iron. From a gap in the shield, there was an unmoving black eye with a violet pupil.
On the other end of the ribbon was a spear, one that was longer than a normal Gallade was tall.
That did not discourage him, however, and Short Round raised his fists again.
"Short Round! Cover your blades in sand!" Jones called.
He knew better than to doubt Jones's plans. He had learned otherwise.
The Aegislash (colloquially referred to as Aegistab) shot forwards, thrust the polearm at Short Round.
The Fighting-type jumped back, flipping in the air and landing by dragging the tips of his arm… things along the ground.
Any wooden spear would snap under a large amount of duress. That particular spear was made of wood, and it would splinter easily without Aegislash's energy running through it. Unfortunately, it would be as durable as the steel that made up Aegislash's proper body, thanks to the aura running through the polearm. It would have been a target in any other situation, as it would cripple the offense, and yet its greatest weakness was nullified.
He would have to end the battle quickly; and it was in that moment of realization that Short Round saw the effectiveness of earth.
The Fighting-type energy running through him would be useless against any Ghost-type, with the Psychic-type energy making him a liability.
Black sand clung to the tips of his arms, where the blades narrowed into fingers though not hands.
Short Round shot forward, holding one arm out to parry the spear from the side before punching directly into Aegislash's eye.
The Ghost-type flew back, vibrating in the air with confusion.
He didn't let up the assault.
"Jones's Gallade just put dirt in the eye of Meryl Lee's Aegislash! Why, this reminds me greatly of Ariados-man 3, in which…"
Meryl Lee glared at him across the field.
It was starting to hurt more when he pretended it did not.
"You from around here?" Jones had asked her after their food finished cooking.
"No. Neither are you, clearly," she said, stating her observation as she pulled at the foil wrap. "There are plenty of warnings around the trail mouth."
"I was…" Jones scratched the back of his head, just below the brim of his hat, and tried his hardest to not look like the idiot he felt like. "I was just looking around."
"Hm." She closed her eyes and nodded. "Are you looking to get into Bronzor surfing?"
Jones shook his head. "No, I don't have enough time. I've got to win the Opal Conference as soon as possible."
"This coming conference?" she asked. "As in, the conference in eleven months?"
"Yeah," he said.
She paused. "I don't mean to be rude, but good luck with that. I've heard it's usually filled with Gym Leaders."
"If I beat them once, I'll be able to beat them again," he said.
"That makes sense, I suppose," she replied. "Are you one of those guys that wants to be the Very Best?"
"Nah," he said. "I don't care about any of that. There's just… something I need to do."
"Do you have something to prove?" she asked. "Oh, that was rude. My apologies."
Jones waved her off. "Don't worry about it. Something to prove…" he trailed off, his head dropping slightly. "I don't know. Maybe, if that's what it takes."
Meryl Lee laughed. "Then we're in the same boat. Foreigners looking for something in this dangerous new land."
Something about that confused him. Maybe it was not as accurate as she thought. Had he been in Polska before?
Not wanting to talk about himself, he asked, "What are you looking for?"
She pulled a line taut around her neck, revealing something attached to a necklace. It was a flute with two spokes on either side, such that it could lay flat.
"This is a…"
"Eon Flute," Jones said thoughtlessly.
She recoiled, stowing the medallion away again. "You-"
He waved his hand again. "I'm an archaeologist. Was. Am. In training," he said, stumbling over his words as he looked for the correct ones. "Is that a replica?"
She paused for a moment. "...Yes, it's not real. Where did you learn about it?"
"My… I sorta know a guy who knows a guy," he said. "I saw some pictures of it once while he talked about meeting with the Legendaries associated with it. Laceration and Licorice?" he offered.
"Latios and Latias," she said. "I suppose I should tell you the story."
"Feel free not to." Jones shook his head. "Really, it's none of my business if it's personal."
"It's actually something of a problem back home," she said. "The Latis of the Hoenn region disappeared a few months ago, and- that's where I'm from, of course- I've been looking for them since I was young."
"Why's that?" Jones asked. "You're not trying to catch them, are you? That doesn't go well for most people."
"I'm…" a bit of color crossed her face. "I'm an artist, actually. When I was younger…"
Short Round was breathing heavily as Meryl Lee sent out her third Pokémon.
The Crobat took to the sky, their four wings flapping rapidly in the late morning sun. They inhaled, puffing up with air, before a cone of sound waves became visible and shook the arena.
Short Round tried to dodge around the Supersonic, but he simply could not gather the speed after defeating Aegislash. He stumbled.
Crobat swooped low, tracing bluish light behind it.
Jones recalled him before the Aerial Ace could strike, nodding before sending out his substitute.
The ground shook as a Nidoking as broad as it was tall took the field.
Doom. Doom.
She stood atop a small island out to sea. It was small enough that she could see the water in all directions without moving.
It was late at night. Meryl Lee painted the moon where it reached out to the stars. The wild Pokémon watched her with a sort of fascination, though none left the small safety of the trees and approached her.
The sky in front of the moon shimmered, glittering and darkening.
It took her a moment to look up from her canvas. When she did, her body flinched and froze while her mind tried to capture the moment forever.
Latios and Latias, appearing just in front of her, haloed by moonlight with symmetry and synchronicity so great that it would be a crime to leave it unknown.
And just like that, after that single moment. They were gone. A heavy wind washed over her supplies, though nothing fell out of place.
Just behind her, beneath the trail in the stars, a wooden flute fell to the ground.
Crobat had speed and poison, the ability to out-maneuver and the ability to outlast.
It was hard to out-maneuver an Earthquake that thought exactly the same way a Flying-type did. To be more accurate, it was a rapidly-shifting Stone Edge, but the magnitude in which they came made that impossible to determine.
Doom. Doom.
The Nidoking, two steps closer, continued approaching the area where Crobat would fall.
Doom. Doom.
A Stone Edge cracked against Crobat from behind. Its wings failed, sending it into a tailspin towards the ground.
It fell directly into the Nidoking's open grasp. Each of their claws wrapped around Crobat's face. He raised the Poison-type to the sky, rearing back and beginning a wind-up.
"Yield! Meryl Lee called, sounding almost panicky as she recalled Crobat before the Nidoking could slam it into the ground.
"Good job, D2," Jones called.
Doom. Doom.
The Nidoking roared and slammed a rock into its chest. The small boulder shattered and crumbled back into black sand.
Meryl Lee had her lips pulled into a snarl, though she seemed to be holding it back the best that she could.
She sent out her fourth Pokémon, her throw filled with anger.
Jones pulled his hat low over his eyes.
"I know the flute's not real because it doesn't call them," she said, still trying to discourage him if he was a thief. "It was probably just some junk they needed to get rid of. Alto Marens say that Latias is a bit of a trickster."
"So I've heard," Jones said, nodding along with the story while not taking it too seriously. It was just a story, after all, and artistic types tended to embellish important details to the point where they lost their importance. "That's your thing, then? Trying to capture a moment?"
"Well, it's more than-"
Jones was getting tired of waving, yet he did it again before standing up. "Don't justify yourself to me. It's whiny. If you believe in what you're doing, then do it." He sat down between Rufflet and Short Round before leaning against the tree. A bit of padding and it was as good as a hammock. He pulled his hat down over his eyes. "Who cares what anyone else thinks?"
She looked away from him and up at the stars in thought, not quite sure how to reply to that.
"I suppose so."
"Don't use filler words, either. It makes people think you're a pushover," he added.
"You're Unovan, aren't you?" she guessed.
"Got it in one," he muttered.
Meryl Lee laughed. Maybe they would cross paths again one day.
As it turned out, Polska was something of a web of pathways. Truthfully, it was more an effect of journeying that Al, one of their mutual friends, had put into words.
All roads lead to home.
A Smeargle appeared on the field in front of D2. Immediately, it latched onto a boulder, attempting to find high ground. It whipped around its tail, holding it aloft like a sword.
D2 was a Pokémon. They could not speak. However, it did sound very much like they laughed at that moment.
There were two things that occurred in a single moment.
D2's expression shifted from jovial to serious and they raised their foot.
An Air Balloon unfolded from around Smeargle as it let go of the earth.
Doom.
An Earthquake shook the battlefield, making it seem to the audience that the sand was being blown around. Both Jones and Lucena stumbled.
The former chose not to palm his face, despite feeling very much like doing so. It would humanize him, meaning that people would sympathize with him. He did not need that. He needed them to hate him. He could not afford to crush them as a friend. It would not have been right.
Smeargle popped the balloon and touched down just as D2's Earthquake ended.
It seemed as if their tail had been dipped in Infinity Energy, as it still glowed blue and orange.
D2 raged, realizing that their attack had been worthless and that they were seemingly fighting a coward.
Smeargle matched their Earthquake with one of their own.
As the sand's shaking receded once again, Nidoking stood on their feet, fire practically pouring from their eyes.
Smeargle bowed in the very second a Hyper Beam left Nidoking's mouth. Purple chains appeared from nothingness and wrapped around the two Pokémon.
Blue fire blasted Smeargle from its paws, slamming it into the upper Barriers for a solid few seconds, before it dropped to the ground with a light thump.
Nidoking fell to the Destiny Bond in that exact same moment.
Meryl Lee recalled her fifth Pokémon, glaring at him across the field.
"What do you think you're doing?" she called, her breaths coming out in ragged pants.
"I have to win, Meryl Lee," he said, fighting to keep his tone even, despite how much he hated himself for it.
They both went for their last Pokémon, though neither of them knew it yet. Neither of them would accept that anymore, way away from doing so. They would never accept that if they were still breathing. If they did, neither of them could go home.
As anyone who has seen a Break Evolution can tell you, a Pokémon must be in total darkness before the temporary change can occur. As well, Break Evolution breaks down over time, resulting in Compton scattering and the return to the initial form. The time period varies depending on the amount of light the Pokémon reflects.
It is theorized that the armor is made of photons infused with Infinity Energy, and that the breakdown is caused by external light taking photons as it reflects and compounds with the Pokémon's light. Of course, the obvious hole in that theory is that the photons have to come from somewhere, and that if total darkness is required, then the process becomes self-contradictory.
I would say that even if the shield isn't made of photons, well, the light has to come from somewhere, doesn't it?"
Professor Henry Johannson nee Walton, Ph.D., notable archaeologist and expert in Pokémon biology, circa 2011.
*For further information on Little Surrey's isolationist policies and physical distance from Pokémon, see Professor Mason's Pokémon Proclamation for Evading Terrifying Animals; or Pokémon PETA for short.
*For further information on the Galar/Avalon dispute, see H̶̲̬͈͚͑͐̚͘͜͝ɒ̷̨̛̠̠̣̣̅͛̄̾ɿ̵̨̞͎̟̪̒̂̓͘͝ɿ̵̨̣̱̮͊͊̈́̌͘ͅγ̵̡̨̭̗̯͊͗̄̇̚ ̸̢̢̺͔̾̎̔͛́͜Գ̷̦̠̱̥͔̾̈͂̇̅o̶͕̺̠̟̣̐̈́͛̓̏Ɉ̷̢͕̙̯͓̈́̋̔͑͊Ɉ̶̮̻̞͖̮̒̋̍͘͝ɘ̴̡̼͚̳̹͗̑̏̚͠ɿ̸̛̟̠̬͎̆͑̃̃͜:̸̲̠͕̱̻̄͒͑̓͘ ̶̘̠̥̝́́͊͆͝ͅԳ̵̧̛̗͈͇̖̀͒̌͝ǫ̸͈͎̪̔̋̃͊̚͜ʞ̴̡͔̙̬̩́̀̄̚̚é̶̜̦͇̻̅̑̉̓̑ͅm̴̡̤̱̻̟̃̾̎͝͝ȱ̴̱̗̭̟̥̆̐͐n̷̢͎͉͔̣̆̉́̑͂ ̵̫͍̭͉͍̅̃̈́͌͛M̸̰̯̜͇̟͊̇͌̎̈́ɒ̴̢͈̘̮̗̐̎̏͌́ƨ̸̡͕̥̙̻́̏̔͝͝Ɉ̷̱͓̖͙̥̉̀̃̎͘ɘ̴̡͚̥̼̙̈́̾̀̕̚ɿ̶̳̠͎̘̍̾̈́̄̕͜.
*If you have information on the recent disappearance of Professor Johannson, please contact his son at (XXX)-XXX-XXXX on cross-transceiver.
An ancient stone stadium was lit up by a thousand spotlights. Like the myth-birthing Dragonspiral Tower of Unova or the Sky Pillar of Hoenn, it stretched towards and seemed to reach the heavens. The only things above the many arches were the mountain and waterfall which granted Opole Colosseum its name. Even in mid-morning, the water spray glittered like a gem. The sun was still beginning to rise, and after the rocky press conference, there was a nervous energy among the crowd, even more so among the participants.
A screen embedded in a three-story slab of stone flashed away from a timer and towards a spinning star.
Guame Goodshow, a renowned commentator in the region, spoke. His voice rolled over, or rather, flattened the crowd's attitude, replacing it with a sense of anticipation.
Jones couldn't hear the words, nor could he feel their weight. He was still in the tunnel that led to the field, and all that he could hear was the blood pounding between his ears.
Standing in the middle of the darkness, just paces away from the light, he froze up. His knuckles strained against his skin and his palms turned clammy. His
A Pokémon pecked him on the scalp, just below the brim of his fath… his hat. He had grown far too accustomed to the clawed feet on his shoulder, and was surprised because of it.
Bravest, his Rufflet, his friend, stood proudly and glared at him. They flapped their tiny wings once, nearly throwing the hat from Jones's head.
As it had many times before, his hand shot up to keep it still, but in doing so, he had shaken himself out of his nerves.
"Thanks, bud," he breathed, before forcing a smile. "I needed that."
Bravest gave him a certain sort of look.
"Yeah, I know." Jones turned back towards his exit. He could only go forward from there. "We've come too far to stumble. I can't afford to lose here."
Bravest glared at him, their pink cowlick of a feather falling low over their eyes before they shook their head. Most of the time, they could speak the same language with only one set of words. Other times…
Jones walked forwards as Goodshow's voice thundered and echoed across the field. It was not the three-on-three matches of previous matches. Single battles with a full team of six from then on. That was, of course, assuming that he would go any further. If a Pokémon was still for ten seconds and unable to move afterwards, they were considered defeated. Change in environmental conditions was entirely allowed. If a Pokémon could hold it, they could bring it into battle.
Hundreds of Pokémon and their partners lined the seating sections, holding up Protects and Barriers against the inside of the arena.
The sand beneath Jones's cleats was black. The details of the field faded, having been nothing more than holograms used in their absence. It was an entirely level field with grates running off the side. Shields hung by their sides, designed to protect from the heaviest hails and the driest droughts.
His eyes narrowed as he made eye contact with Meryl Lee across the field, having just left the tunnel herself. She matched his motion, palming a Pokéball as her traveling cloak drifted in a light wind.
She mouthed something at him.
He signed for her to speak up, his face entirely still.
"It appears that Jones is flashing gang signs at his opponent! Is this some sort of mind game? I've never seen anything like this!" Goodshow shouted, the Sandshrew of a man clearly playing up the pre-show.
Meryl Lee sighed and signed back.
You. Change. What is. Wrong?
"Ah! Meryl Lee responds with sign language in an attempt at civility, would you look at that, folks?" called the commentator. The crowd bayed with laughter, and already, banners with her partner Pokémon on it were flying up.
He signed back.
You. Do not. Know.
He didn't bother with the final sign, instead pointing at himself then whipping his hand away.
Meryl Lee's brow furrowed.
Liar.
Jones looked out over the Scorick desert from the peak of the Treacherous Path. Bravest and Short Round, the Ralts he'd caught pickpocketing him within a week of entering the region, were by his side. The moon hung high over them, the time far past the latest Bronzor Surfers departed down the mountain range. He had neither a Bronzor nor the magnetic boots required to safely ride one. His boots from all of the time he spent traveling with… the time he spent traveling, they were just fine even if they were worn down.
The boots had grip in most cases, which is why he was so surprised by the fact he lost his purchase when he turned to leave. His legs flew out from under him and went over the cliff. He would have been fine if the rest of his body hadn't followed them.
Just barely keeping his head and arms above the ledge, he couldn't turn to look down, but he knew that while not being a long fall, it would certainly be a long tumble. Long, flat cliff faces that were perfect for skimming were not great for high velocity flesh-bags.
Bravest had squawked immediately, and by the feeling of claws on his back, they were trying to pull him up.
Jones suddenly felt much lighter as a pink glow surrounded his chest.
Short Round's arms were outstretched and there were two magenta lights beneath the green bowl cut, but he just couldn't lift all of Jones's weight.
He slipped further. His fingertips scraped through sand and grass, peeling away the plants as he scrambled for purchase. His head dropped below the cliff and his heart rate skyrocketed.
Was that it for him? Would he just be a footnote in a newspaper? A story of some stupid tourist that went surfing without a board?
A patch of grass was pulled out by the roots, dropping to the rocks below in seconds.
He really, really did not want that to be him.
Holding on with just one hand, he looked down for a branch he could latch onto. Nothing. It was entirely smooth all the way down. On one outcropping, there was a bit of a ramp he could try to land on. It would hurt, but…
He lost more of his purchase.
"Short Round! Get me a vine, damn it!"
"I'm trying!" came the Psychic-type's reply, though they focused more on lifting Jones back up.
Something green came over the ledge, flowing in the wind. Was it a bunch of kudzu? It didn't matter, Jones realized, as long as it held.
He heaved himself up, rolling onto the dirt and gasping for breath. It was at that point that he realized Short Round was only a foot tall, nowhere near the height of whoever was standing over him.
That was when he first met her.
Some would be unintimidated by a barely-four-foot-tall Gallade, allowing the exceptional shortness to distract them from the reputed power of the Psychic-type. Some would even laugh.
Short Round did not take kindly to that attitude.
Meryl Lee had sent out her Blissey; a handy Pokémon for hiking that could give one enough energy to push through to their destination.
Those that laughed in the audience clammed up as Short Round's fists glowed. Not the blades on their elbows, no, his fists.
After their run-in with the rogue Psychic-types, who had kidnapped him and demanded he take the label of Psyker, he had refused to be weak anymore. He refused to be slow enough to be caught by a Teleport.
And so, he had become faster than most could react, discarding his outward psychic power and inherent strength.
Some reported the sound of a Mach Punch reaching their ears only after Blissey had already impacted the wall.
The Normal-type dissolved into red light, recalled by Meryl Lee. She tapped her forehead to the Pokéball before placing it back on her belt.
She nodded her head at Short Round but leveled a flat look at Jones before reaching for her next Pokémon.
"What's your name, stranger?" she asked.
Her camp was a bit off the path on a lower plateau, a small clearing surrounded by trees. A fire was already crackling between them, lit up without too much trouble.
A Skiddo slept behind her, piled high with gear without any discomfort. She leaned back against the bag while pouring a flask of tea into two metal cups.
Jones piled two branded foil packages on the fire. While food wouldn't spoil in modern traveling bags, pre-cooked meals did not get better with time. Fresh cooked on an open fire; truly, the only way to eat on a journey.
That was close enough to the slogan, anyway.
"Jones," he lied, before catching himself. "Well, just call me Jones."
"Alright," she said. "I'm Meryl Lee. Both names, if you don't mind."
"Right," he answered. Fair was fair, after all. He continued watching the foil packages while Rufflet and Short Round slept. They had utterly exhausted themselves trying to help him.
He would have to restock a little sooner than he expected, but that was not as much of a problem as he may have thought. With a savior, a temporary companion, and someone to share a meal with, he was breathing just fine.
Her second Pokémon was one of the Polskan Aegislash variants. Far too many wars had been fought there, and far too many weapons had been possessed. Their existence was something of a black mark on the region's history, though nowhere near the scale of the glassing of the Scorick desert.
The shield on one end of their ribbon was boxy and was likely emblazoned with a sigil at some point. By then, however, it had worn down to a rectangle of wood and iron. From a gap in the shield, there was an unmoving black eye with a violet pupil.
On the other end of the ribbon was a spear, one that was longer than a normal Gallade was tall.
That did not discourage him, however, and Short Round raised his fists again.
"Short Round! Cover your blades in sand!" Jones called.
He knew better than to doubt Jones's plans. He had learned otherwise.
The Aegislash (colloquially referred to as Aegistab) shot forwards, thrust the polearm at Short Round.
The Fighting-type jumped back, flipping in the air and landing by dragging the tips of his arm… things along the ground.
Any wooden spear would snap under a large amount of duress. That particular spear was made of wood, and it would splinter easily without Aegislash's energy running through it. Unfortunately, it would be as durable as the steel that made up Aegislash's proper body, thanks to the aura running through the polearm. It would have been a target in any other situation, as it would cripple the offense, and yet its greatest weakness was nullified.
He would have to end the battle quickly; and it was in that moment of realization that Short Round saw the effectiveness of earth.
The Fighting-type energy running through him would be useless against any Ghost-type, with the Psychic-type energy making him a liability.
Black sand clung to the tips of his arms, where the blades narrowed into fingers though not hands.
Short Round shot forward, holding one arm out to parry the spear from the side before punching directly into Aegislash's eye.
The Ghost-type flew back, vibrating in the air with confusion.
He didn't let up the assault.
"Jones's Gallade just put dirt in the eye of Meryl Lee's Aegislash! Why, this reminds me greatly of Ariados-man 3, in which…"
Meryl Lee glared at him across the field.
It was starting to hurt more when he pretended it did not.
"You from around here?" Jones had asked her after their food finished cooking.
"No. Neither are you, clearly," she said, stating her observation as she pulled at the foil wrap. "There are plenty of warnings around the trail mouth."
"I was…" Jones scratched the back of his head, just below the brim of his hat, and tried his hardest to not look like the idiot he felt like. "I was just looking around."
"Hm." She closed her eyes and nodded. "Are you looking to get into Bronzor surfing?"
Jones shook his head. "No, I don't have enough time. I've got to win the Opal Conference as soon as possible."
"This coming conference?" she asked. "As in, the conference in eleven months?"
"Yeah," he said.
She paused. "I don't mean to be rude, but good luck with that. I've heard it's usually filled with Gym Leaders."
"If I beat them once, I'll be able to beat them again," he said.
"That makes sense, I suppose," she replied. "Are you one of those guys that wants to be the Very Best?"
"Nah," he said. "I don't care about any of that. There's just… something I need to do."
"Do you have something to prove?" she asked. "Oh, that was rude. My apologies."
Jones waved her off. "Don't worry about it. Something to prove…" he trailed off, his head dropping slightly. "I don't know. Maybe, if that's what it takes."
Meryl Lee laughed. "Then we're in the same boat. Foreigners looking for something in this dangerous new land."
Something about that confused him. Maybe it was not as accurate as she thought. Had he been in Polska before?
Not wanting to talk about himself, he asked, "What are you looking for?"
She pulled a line taut around her neck, revealing something attached to a necklace. It was a flute with two spokes on either side, such that it could lay flat.
"This is a…"
"Eon Flute," Jones said thoughtlessly.
She recoiled, stowing the medallion away again. "You-"
He waved his hand again. "I'm an archaeologist. Was. Am. In training," he said, stumbling over his words as he looked for the correct ones. "Is that a replica?"
She paused for a moment. "...Yes, it's not real. Where did you learn about it?"
"My… I sorta know a guy who knows a guy," he said. "I saw some pictures of it once while he talked about meeting with the Legendaries associated with it. Laceration and Licorice?" he offered.
"Latios and Latias," she said. "I suppose I should tell you the story."
"Feel free not to." Jones shook his head. "Really, it's none of my business if it's personal."
"It's actually something of a problem back home," she said. "The Latis of the Hoenn region disappeared a few months ago, and- that's where I'm from, of course- I've been looking for them since I was young."
"Why's that?" Jones asked. "You're not trying to catch them, are you? That doesn't go well for most people."
"I'm…" a bit of color crossed her face. "I'm an artist, actually. When I was younger…"
Short Round was breathing heavily as Meryl Lee sent out her third Pokémon.
The Crobat took to the sky, their four wings flapping rapidly in the late morning sun. They inhaled, puffing up with air, before a cone of sound waves became visible and shook the arena.
Short Round tried to dodge around the Supersonic, but he simply could not gather the speed after defeating Aegislash. He stumbled.
Crobat swooped low, tracing bluish light behind it.
Jones recalled him before the Aerial Ace could strike, nodding before sending out his substitute.
The ground shook as a Nidoking as broad as it was tall took the field.
Doom. Doom.
She stood atop a small island out to sea. It was small enough that she could see the water in all directions without moving.
It was late at night. Meryl Lee painted the moon where it reached out to the stars. The wild Pokémon watched her with a sort of fascination, though none left the small safety of the trees and approached her.
The sky in front of the moon shimmered, glittering and darkening.
It took her a moment to look up from her canvas. When she did, her body flinched and froze while her mind tried to capture the moment forever.
Latios and Latias, appearing just in front of her, haloed by moonlight with symmetry and synchronicity so great that it would be a crime to leave it unknown.
And just like that, after that single moment. They were gone. A heavy wind washed over her supplies, though nothing fell out of place.
Just behind her, beneath the trail in the stars, a wooden flute fell to the ground.
Crobat had speed and poison, the ability to out-maneuver and the ability to outlast.
It was hard to out-maneuver an Earthquake that thought exactly the same way a Flying-type did. To be more accurate, it was a rapidly-shifting Stone Edge, but the magnitude in which they came made that impossible to determine.
Doom. Doom.
The Nidoking, two steps closer, continued approaching the area where Crobat would fall.
Doom. Doom.
A Stone Edge cracked against Crobat from behind. Its wings failed, sending it into a tailspin towards the ground.
It fell directly into the Nidoking's open grasp. Each of their claws wrapped around Crobat's face. He raised the Poison-type to the sky, rearing back and beginning a wind-up.
"Yield! Meryl Lee called, sounding almost panicky as she recalled Crobat before the Nidoking could slam it into the ground.
"Good job, D2," Jones called.
Doom. Doom.
The Nidoking roared and slammed a rock into its chest. The small boulder shattered and crumbled back into black sand.
Meryl Lee had her lips pulled into a snarl, though she seemed to be holding it back the best that she could.
She sent out her fourth Pokémon, her throw filled with anger.
Jones pulled his hat low over his eyes.
"I know the flute's not real because it doesn't call them," she said, still trying to discourage him if he was a thief. "It was probably just some junk they needed to get rid of. Alto Marens say that Latias is a bit of a trickster."
"So I've heard," Jones said, nodding along with the story while not taking it too seriously. It was just a story, after all, and artistic types tended to embellish important details to the point where they lost their importance. "That's your thing, then? Trying to capture a moment?"
"Well, it's more than-"
Jones was getting tired of waving, yet he did it again before standing up. "Don't justify yourself to me. It's whiny. If you believe in what you're doing, then do it." He sat down between Rufflet and Short Round before leaning against the tree. A bit of padding and it was as good as a hammock. He pulled his hat down over his eyes. "Who cares what anyone else thinks?"
She looked away from him and up at the stars in thought, not quite sure how to reply to that.
"I suppose so."
"Don't use filler words, either. It makes people think you're a pushover," he added.
"You're Unovan, aren't you?" she guessed.
"Got it in one," he muttered.
Meryl Lee laughed. Maybe they would cross paths again one day.
As it turned out, Polska was something of a web of pathways. Truthfully, it was more an effect of journeying that Al, one of their mutual friends, had put into words.
All roads lead to home.
A Smeargle appeared on the field in front of D2. Immediately, it latched onto a boulder, attempting to find high ground. It whipped around its tail, holding it aloft like a sword.
D2 was a Pokémon. They could not speak. However, it did sound very much like they laughed at that moment.
There were two things that occurred in a single moment.
D2's expression shifted from jovial to serious and they raised their foot.
An Air Balloon unfolded from around Smeargle as it let go of the earth.
Doom.
An Earthquake shook the battlefield, making it seem to the audience that the sand was being blown around. Both Jones and Lucena stumbled.
The former chose not to palm his face, despite feeling very much like doing so. It would humanize him, meaning that people would sympathize with him. He did not need that. He needed them to hate him. He could not afford to crush them as a friend. It would not have been right.
Smeargle popped the balloon and touched down just as D2's Earthquake ended.
It seemed as if their tail had been dipped in Infinity Energy, as it still glowed blue and orange.
D2 raged, realizing that their attack had been worthless and that they were seemingly fighting a coward.
Smeargle matched their Earthquake with one of their own.
As the sand's shaking receded once again, Nidoking stood on their feet, fire practically pouring from their eyes.
Smeargle bowed in the very second a Hyper Beam left Nidoking's mouth. Purple chains appeared from nothingness and wrapped around the two Pokémon.
Blue fire blasted Smeargle from its paws, slamming it into the upper Barriers for a solid few seconds, before it dropped to the ground with a light thump.
Nidoking fell to the Destiny Bond in that exact same moment.
Meryl Lee recalled her fifth Pokémon, glaring at him across the field.
"What do you think you're doing?" she called, her breaths coming out in ragged pants.
"I have to win, Meryl Lee," he said, fighting to keep his tone even, despite how much he hated himself for it.
They both went for their last Pokémon, though neither of them knew it yet. Neither of them would accept that anymore, way away from doing so. They would never accept that if they were still breathing. If they did, neither of them could go home.