Persephone
Infinite Screms
- Pronouns
- her/hers
- Partners
-
Ground 9.2: Den Mother
Red the Pyroar
You were the largest and healthiest daughter of your litter. You studied diligently at your mother’s side for as long as you were allowed to remain. Learned to fight and nurture. Excelled in all the ways a cub could. You were rewarded with exile and purpose. A child to protect. A human child. A human child living in the human world. The only members of your kind you would meet from then on were opponents, mates, and your own cubs. None stuck around for long.
You struggled to accept this at the time. It is still not the life you would have preferred. No matter. You had a purpose and you would fulfill it as best you could. To do any less would be a disservice to your parents, your species, and yourself.
You guided the child as he set off from home and built his own little coalition around him. You fought the enemies that were placed in his path. Trained his team to protect him when you could not. Ensured that he was sheltered from all threats. Nurtured him when he needed care.
You were by his side when he returned home and assumed control of a pride. You were there when he met his mate. You watched over his cubs as if they were your own. (Your actual cubs were whisked away as soon as they had shed their spots.). Ernest was there when you were a cub fresh from her mother’s pride and he was still there when your bones began to announce themselves after every pounce. He was your purpose. Service was your world.
You knew what the rest of your life would hold. Less combat and active protection, more nurturing cuddles and gentle support. That was fine. He was well protected and there were things you could no longer do. You would grow weaker with time until one day you were too weak to open your one good eye again. Then your duty would be fulfilled. Perhaps in the next life you would be allowed to remain with a pride.
Then Ernest, his mate, and the other pokémon in his coalition were torn apart while you were powerless to stop it.
You still don’t understand why this happened. At first you assumed this was a new ruler taking over the pride and killing those who would oppose her. She claimed his daughter as her mate, slaughtered the dangerous threats, and tolerated the presence of the remaining sibling who was too young to challenge her.
She did not find you threatening enough to kill. She was right; you posed no threat to her. Yes, you could have rent her limb from limb for what she had done. Avenged the child entrusted to your care so long ago. Redeemed yourself. But there were still cubs who needed you. Your mission came before your feelings. It always does.
This theory made sense. It also seems increasingly wrong. The usurper kept denying she had intended to wipe out the pride’s leadership at all. Maybe the denial was a bid to win back her increasingly frustrated mate. It did not seem so. She clashed constantly with her strongest pokémon when you were in earshot. In time you began to suspect the metagross had usurped the authority of both your trainer and her own.
You cannot begin to guess what the rock’s purposes are. She has no heartbeat or breath. Her eyes are false. Why would her mind or soul to be any more familiar?
Whatever their motives, Cuicatl’s pride was good at survival. Your new charges were protected and fed. All you had to focus on was their comfort. You still have the fur and wisdom to do that, even in your advanced age.
Then the pride split. Perhaps Cuicatl abandoned her mate after she refused to moderate her demands and submit. Maybe Genesis believed she was capable of comfortably surviving on her own. She cannot. Her newly formed pride is lacking in both power and experience. Even a simple hunt almost ended in disaster.
You growl and focus on the world outside the window. Your charge was almost hurt taking care of you. Unacceptable. You must find a way to ensure that does not happen again.
Your pride is not well suited for hunting. Inferno, the ill-named fox, refuses to participate on principle. The dragon tree does not seem to understand what it means to actively take life for oneself rather than making it from nothing but the air. You respect the living cloud, for he has powers beyond your understanding; the fact remains that he cannot snap a neck with sunlight. The frog is too brash, too likely to ruin any plan they are enlisted in. The thing that looks like a duck but does not smell like one is not strong or experienced enough to pull his own weight, although you suspect he could be trained to if you had a translator or a battle-tested human to assist you. Even the humans who do try to teach Genesis and your newfound pride-mates to fight do so poorly. It is too ceremonial; the frog was discouraged from attacking your eyes. The killer instinct is actively being drummed out of your hunting partners.
The females of your kind work together to hunt the largest of prey. You do so in the open for you have nothing to fear. The kill is split because there is enough to share. Males hunt differently. They hunt alone and concealed in grass. When something worth eating comes close, they lunge and take it in one strike.
This is likely how you will need to hunt. There is simply not enough large prey to justify a full-pride hunt even if you could train your new coalition into killers. You will have to content yourself with smaller kills taken alone. But you were not built for taking small prey. They could run circles around you even before age took its toll.
Mid-size prey. Just small enough that you can reliably take it, not so small that it can outmaneuver you. You must not let it know that you are on the prowl until you are in pouncing distance. Now, how to turn these goals into a real plan?
Something moves beyond the rain-soaked glass in front of you. Oh. Yes. That will do nicely.
The humans have paws made for moving about small things. Yours are built for shredding a windpipe. Theirs cannot do what yours can. You struggle to match their natural talents as well. It starts with a slip of the plant-based fur they wear around themselves. You walk onto the sand during a lull in the rain and gather all the shells large enough that you can move them with your mouth. They are placed on the plant fur and moved together when you have gathered enough. A few still fall out. Enough stay in for your purposes.
Now you will try and reason with the frog.
You are not expecting success.
When you arrive at the frog’s favored pond you announce yourself with a half-hearted roar. It is enough for him, and all predators lurking nearby, to know you are here and unbothered. The lack of large prey means there are likely no predators large enough to challenge a pyroar for her territory. They need not know that you are far from your prime.
The frog emerges with his own attempt at a roar. You give it all the acknowledgement it is due: none. Instead, you display the pile of shells in front of you, hissing when he steps closer to look. Then you push one towards him. You wait three breaths and push another. When he steps closer, you snap again.
He gets bored and jumps back in the pond with no apparent understanding of your point. Unfortunate.
Someone snorts in amusement behind you. The fox. He simply shakes his head when you send him a look that means your patience is running thin. “What were you even trying to do there?”
“Show him that he could earn more by delaying a meal. My hunt would be easier if he was willing to catch the bait.”
He flicks his leaf back and forth. “It will rain again soon. Come inside before it seeps into your old bones.”
You moan in displeasure. It’s too early for rain. You were supposed to have another few weeks before the season of storms began in all its misery.
“I know, big girl. If the plants didn’t need their water, I would get Cloudy to brighten things up through the afternoon.”
You follow her to the door to the cubs’ room. Neither of them responds to your request for entry. Fine. You will have to wait in the lobby. There is a wide enough open space for you there, although the humans sometimes look at you warily when you take it. It is good that their instincts compel them to do so. Protecting them would be much harder if they had forgotten they are prey and they must keep a healthy respect for the predators of the world.
Inferno jumps onto the couch. The human watching you raises her voice at the fox. He reluctantly hops off to sit on the floor near you. The humans do not appreciate his scent. You find it to be invigorating and endlessly curious. Only basic decency keeps you from rubbing your snout in his fur whenever he draws near and rolling around on his former resting place when he leaves.
“I am curious why you are still here,” you huff. “You seem to hold neither your trainer nor your teammates in high regard. Surely it would not be too difficult for you to leave and avoid all consequences with the human elders distracted with their feud.”
He flicks his leaf. “You judging me?”
“You seem unwilling to contribute and…” Is there a polite way to accuse him of laziness? All foxes are to an extent. So are plants. So are you when your training slips. Perhaps he was always doomed to sloth through no fault of his own.
His eyes narrow. “You’re judging me, aren’t you? Trained starter. Want to know why I’m not tripping over myself to serve my trainer like you.”
“It was my understanding that many eevee are drawn to the same sort of service.”
“I was. Born and bred for it. Fought my way through two trials at Martin’s side. Then I evolved in the wrong way and he lost all interest.”
Ah. You cannot imagine a world where Ernest abandoned you. Not after all of the selection and training you went through. Your kind are not blessed with split evolutions, though, and even the few differences stemming from sex can be anticipated well in advance.
“Thought it was my fault for a while. Then I met Gen. She doesn’t want anything from me, you know? There used to be fights. I was good at those. Now? Nothing. She wants nothing and I see no reason to provide more.”
“She still needs things. If she did ask them of you, would you answer?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on what she wants.”
Your eyes narrow and you growl in annoyance. “You were trained better than this.”
“And what has being the perfect little pokémon got you, huh? You ever done anything for yourself, or are you living your life for someone else?” He arches his back in anger and shows you his pitiful little claws.
You show him one of yours in answer. Each is longer than his entire paw. If he wishes to brawl, you will indulge him. You will not even need your fire to put him in his place.
“I was treated well,” you say. “My work will outlive me. Will yours?”
“Your work outlives you, huh? Seems to me like decades of it just got ripped away in—”
You do not even need to lunge. Just swipe your paw and watch him trip over himself as he bolts away with a quick attack. You rise to your full height and spare the human only a glance as she draws her own pokéballs. This will be over shortly. There is no need for her to intervene.
“We were given purpose. You were rejected and you have my sympathies. That is no excuse to neglect your duty when another has given you the chance.”
Inferno tries to hold himself high. You see his limbs shake beneath him. “Isn’t that your job? Why do you even care?”
“My work will outlast me. I need another to ensure my charges are protected.”
“Doing a fine job of—”
You turn around and walk towards the doors while the fox continues speaking. It is not worth listening to whatever excuses he has to make. He had his destiny given to him, same as you. It is not one you can simply walk away from when it is convenient. He is dishonoring not only himself but his species. Someday you will make him understand that.
For now, you have work to do.
After a nap. Your work is best done after the rain.
You go once more to summon the humans. This time, one answers on just the first muffled roar. Thankfully it is the male, Leviticus. The girl grows squeamish on the hunt. Rejects her own natural diet to eat like prey. You will need to teach her the way of the world in time. However, you are hungry now. This will be easier to explain to him.
“Hello, Red. What do you need?” he asks. Very formal. Many humans forget themselves around you and address you as a foolish kitten rather than a great hunter of the vast plains. It irks you to no end. Genesis does, especially when no other humans are around. It has been allowed while she mourns the loss of her family and mate. You will need to assert yourself again shortly.
You cannot talk to the humans. Sometimes Ernest kept a translator on call. Usually, he did not. Instead, you must communicate with your body and a few basic calls stripped of all nuance.
First, you step into the den and sniff out your pokéball. You are told it is a comfortable thing. Perhaps it is compared to the others of its ilk. You have never appreciated it. What good are you as a guardian and mentor if you spend your days away from the world entirely? Even while sleeping you may be roused by the sounds of a fight. No. In that ball you are less than useless.
Unfortunately, today it is necessary. You knock it off its perch and nudge it towards Leviticus. He picks it up. Good.
You turn around and walk towards the common area, stopping only once to make sure the cub follows. He accompanies you all the way to the human watching over it. You stop before her, sit on your haunches, and run your tongue over your teeth. Hopefully she will understand what you want.
She does. You are allowed access to the last spoils of your hunt. You do not eat it. Instead, you hold it in your jaws as you would carry a cub. The humans are confused by this. Let them be. You will show Leviticus your intentions when you reach the beach.
The beach is still empty after the rains. The birds will need time to dry their wings and reconvene. That works to your advantage. You set the flank of meat down on the sand and turn back to Leviticus. He scrunches his face up in puzzlement. Fine. You slash your claws at some invisible threat just above the food and his eyes widen.
“Oh! This is a trap.”
You nod. It is one of the most useful gestures you know as the humans rarely, if ever, misinterpret it.
A few short steps bring you to Leviticus and you press your nose towards the pokéball in his hands.
He smiles when he understands. “You want me to send you out the moment something takes it?”
Another nod. It is close enough to your intentions. Very small prey should be ignored as they may themselves serve as bait for a larger bird or mammal. You do not know how to convey this to Leviticus. Humans are capable of brief moments of cleverness, but they are not smart enough to understand the language of your kind. You mastered theirs long ago.
Leviticus finally gets around to withdrawing you after fumbling with the pokéball. He clearly lacks experience with them.
There is a light mist of water hitting your fur. Waves crash nearby. The sun hangs low in the sky. A loud bird with a bulging throat pouch is backing away, wings flared.
You are called Red by the humans. Your mother named you Quick-Minded. This is a hunt. The bird is your prey. The world snaps back into focus.
You lunge in and the bird trips over himself trying to walk backwards. One slash with extended claws tears through the skin and feathers of the left wing and shatters the fragile bones holding it upright.
It has been so long since you were allowed to fight as your kind were intended to, claws and jaws unrestrained.
The bird and its fellows bombard you with shots of water. The cold seeps into your skin but you power through. It could smother your flames if you were using them. You will not: fire burns away the flavors of blood and victory.
It takes you time to line up a perfect shot to the thing’s neck. Its pouch obscures the angle. That is fine. The water barely bothers you and it has nothing sharp enough to deal you real harm. It takes you but a few breaths to find your opening.
The bird perishes with one bite to the neck. Its comrades hesitate. A roar drives them all into the sky. Cowards.
“Are you okay? The boy asks.
Why would you not be? You are wet with water, not blood. The feeling is more displeasure than pain. A bird tried to bite your haunches and only succeeded in scratching your back with its bill. You are a pyroar. These birds meant nothing to you. A full pride would see them as beneath their dignity to hunt. You decide to lower your head and shoulders as you stretch your forelegs. There is a similar human gesture of lowering the upper limbs to demonstrate they are emotionally or physically unaffected. Hopefully he is clever enough to understand your meaning.
Whether he is or is not, he does leave you to your feast without much more trouble. You lap up the dripping blood first before tearing away flesh in chunks. You crunch on the fragile bones to extract the marrow.
The humans will make you drain it before they allow it into their storage. It is best to eat as much now as possible and then spend the next few days resting. Then you will need to hunt again. But what should be used as bait? The birds were disloyal; you still doubt they would eat the flesh of their own kind. It would be easier if you had the assistance of the frog. An injured, struggling bug would attract more attention and appear less suspicious than a strip of raw meat with nothing else around it. Perhaps you will see if he is willing to trade one of his meals for the last morsels of this bird. Barter may prove easier to explain than the rewards of patience.
After another nap. Combat, however brief, is exhausting.
An unfamiliar human has visited the cubs. He appears to be an old acquaintance of Genesis and has brought food with him. Good. The cub refuses to eat the meals you acquire and the humans here are steadily running out of their preferred food. This will quickly pose a problem and it is not one you are well-suited to solve. The girl’s silly diet is likely an affliction of the mind that will require words with complex meaning to solve. She does not understand your meanings beyond the obvious. Even those signals are often misinterpreted.
The human is of little interest once you have learned there will be no more deliveries in the future. His guardian is far more curious. Why is the metagross accompanying him? Has he replaced Genesis as Cuicatl’s mate? Is this, perhaps, another metagross entirely? The pokémon will be better able to understand and answer your questions than the human. Whether they are willing is a separate question entirely.
You find them resting by a human’s den with a computer hovering nearby. Components fly in and out of it quickly enough to blur together. How curious. The human thinking machines have always held little interest to you. They may hold great knowledge, but even the most delicate movements of your claws risk tearing them apart.
The computer finally locks back into place and is hovered up towards an open window and back into the den. The window slides shut and locks behind it.
Finally, the metagross turns its unliving eyes towards you.
[Are you here for revenge? I thought you were too cowardly but would be happy to be proven wrong. Perhaps I could finally learn how many ways there really are to skin a cat.]
Ah. It is Nocitlālin then. She delights in controlling conversations by upsetting those around her. You will not give her the satisfaction.
She paws the ground and flexes the claws on one leg. They are longer than yours. Sharper, too. Let her threaten. She will kill you or she will not.
“Why did you kill Ernest?”
[He tortured his daughter for months on end and then almost killed both her and my own trainer.]
Could this be true? You knew the girl was sick. Even knew the boy was not allowed to see her. You assumed this was due to a contagion. Could it have been a deliberate wounding? To what end? The girl never challenged Ernest. You only knew him to be sadistic to his enemies. His daughter’s condition was clearly causing him stress. Why would he not stop?
It would also explain a few things you had not yet known how to connect. The strange woman. The horrid starmie. Genesis being allowed to be around Ernest and his mate without the slightest care for the spread of disease. The strange fire where all the items marked with her scent were burned. The strangers in your home before Genesis abruptly left. The unexpected aggression between Ernest and his son. All were easy to dismiss as unimportant at the time. Human diseases and medicines are beyond your understanding. The items could have been infected. The boy could have simply been shedding his spots and preparing for his own exile, perhaps forming a coalition with his sister.
You never smelled blood on Genesis. Only ozone from the metal on her leg. She never sneezed or coughed. Her stomach roared in displeasure, but there was never vomit.
She screamed before she left. Like prey that knows their own end is inevitable, but hopes that others may hear their warning and be spared. This way they will die with purpose.
You have corrected your cubs with claws retracted. Disciplined them with an ember at most. Usually only a roar or a lazy swat to let them know what was forbidden. You are not sure you loved your cubs as a mother should. How could you, knowing that they were not truly yours? You still cherished every moment with them. You would only make one bleed after your fiercest roars had gone ignored and your own blood was drawn. Even then you are unsure you could find the will to truly fight back. Males fight their sons. Females never clash with their daughters. Any male who tries to kill them will be fought, however futile it may be Perhaps human instincts are different.
…or, perhaps, it is wrong for them, too.
He starved, maimed, and harassed a cub who never fought back. His reasons for doing so are irrelevant. He was in the wrong. As were you. You should have raised him better.
“You said he almost killed your trainer. Did she order revenge? Was she eliminating a rival in her territory?”
[Revenge is beneath me and Cuicatl had nothing to do with it. I killed him on my own accord. I did it to send a message to the world that my trainer and I were not to be trifled with. It also gave me a nice pair of test subjects for another project.] There is a moment’s pause as a small stone flies into her claw and is sliced in half. Was this a loss of control? Or did she simply intend for you to think it was. [Everyone wins. Except for some humans that would have died in the next fifty years regardless. I simply made their lives more efficient.]
She means to drive you to anger and engage in social games. She will win if you play along, of that you have no doubt. You will instead ignore her and ask only the questions you wished to be answered.
“Why were the boy and I spared when all others were hunted?”
Her false eyes roll around in their cages. [Having survivor’s guilt, are we?]
“I feel no guilt.” Not over survival, at least. You do feel some over your failures with Ernest. It is unconnected to being spared. “I simply wish to understand.” It will help you know what to expect of her in the future.
She sinks a little lower to the ground before answering, claws relaxed. [I have no use for the Gage children at present. This may change in the future. I trust you to keep them alive in the meantime with minimal complications. You have the competence of an old cat and the docility of a kitten. I undid all of your life’s work and you can’t even be bothered to roar.]
You could rage against her. Find out if your flames can melt her skin. Break your claws and your teeth just to make her feel a fraction of the suffering she has inflicted upon others. It would be a pointless death. She tore through the rest of Ernest’s coalition and lived to see the sun rise the next morning.
You will not rob yourself of purpose for a moment’s satisfaction.
[Good girl.]
You do not snarl. You will not play her games. She will answer your questions rather than the other way around.
“What is your purpose?” You know yours. She knows yours. It lets her predict your every action. Knowing hers would let you adjust your course and keep the cubs safe. Even a pyroar, mighty as you are, knows to mind the dragons soaring above.
[The same as yours, I assure you, just with a few diversions to ease the boredom. Gods forbid a girl have hobbies.]
Diversions. Ernest was not a direct threat to her trainer. The attack was not ordered. She claims to be a loyal servant and mother but has taken a course that made enemies for her daughter. Ernest has kin outside the islands. Human respond to outside attacks collectively. To challenge them is to provoke an entire species, not merely a single pride.
“Then we do not share a mission. Not truly. Not with the same devotion. You only serve yourself so long as you maintain these ‘diversions’ of yours. If you truly do walk the path of the ace pokémon, you must tame yourself before the one you love pays the price.”
A single stone flies into one of her claws and splits in half. Curious. Was this a sign of feeling beneath her skin? Or were you merely meant to witness it and believe there is.
[Would you also like to caution me about the coming of necrozma? The sinking of The Titanic? The impending doom of the dinosaurs?]
Oh. Poor thing. She has already seen her cub come to harm and understood that she was the only one to blame. There must be real pain inside her shell. The kind you can only imagine. “And have you learned?”
[I have improved my methods.]
She has not. You find yourself pitying your master’s killer. She is doomed to harm her own charge worse than you ever could.
A pressure slams into the back of your head as the ground crumples beneath the metagross. Dirt rises up and is torn into smaller and smaller pieces until you can only see a fine haze around her. The pain grows more and more severe until you fear that this is where you will perish.
No.
There is no one to carry on your work.
You will not fall here. You brace yourself and snarl.
The pressure abates and all of the dust slams down into the ground in the span of a heartbeat. The only sign the metagross lost control is the fineness of the soil around you.
“Imagine if you lost control like this around—”
[Finish that thought and I will skin you alive and mount you in a museum so future generations may learn from your mistake.]
Poor. Girl. Did she have anyone to teach her? Do stones have mothers?
[You live only because you are useful to me. I look forward to the day that changes.]
She flies away to her next failure.
This is why there is no room for error on your path. It is a noble calling. It is a lonely one. A territorial thing that will tolerate no other purpose.
You must teach this to Inferno before he follows in the machine’s path. To delay is to risk ruin to the cubs and the complete dismantling of a lifetime’s work.
You have sacrificed enough on the promise that your work will endure beyond your passing. You will not sacrifice that promise as well.
Red the Pyroar
You were the largest and healthiest daughter of your litter. You studied diligently at your mother’s side for as long as you were allowed to remain. Learned to fight and nurture. Excelled in all the ways a cub could. You were rewarded with exile and purpose. A child to protect. A human child. A human child living in the human world. The only members of your kind you would meet from then on were opponents, mates, and your own cubs. None stuck around for long.
You struggled to accept this at the time. It is still not the life you would have preferred. No matter. You had a purpose and you would fulfill it as best you could. To do any less would be a disservice to your parents, your species, and yourself.
You guided the child as he set off from home and built his own little coalition around him. You fought the enemies that were placed in his path. Trained his team to protect him when you could not. Ensured that he was sheltered from all threats. Nurtured him when he needed care.
You were by his side when he returned home and assumed control of a pride. You were there when he met his mate. You watched over his cubs as if they were your own. (Your actual cubs were whisked away as soon as they had shed their spots.). Ernest was there when you were a cub fresh from her mother’s pride and he was still there when your bones began to announce themselves after every pounce. He was your purpose. Service was your world.
You knew what the rest of your life would hold. Less combat and active protection, more nurturing cuddles and gentle support. That was fine. He was well protected and there were things you could no longer do. You would grow weaker with time until one day you were too weak to open your one good eye again. Then your duty would be fulfilled. Perhaps in the next life you would be allowed to remain with a pride.
Then Ernest, his mate, and the other pokémon in his coalition were torn apart while you were powerless to stop it.
You still don’t understand why this happened. At first you assumed this was a new ruler taking over the pride and killing those who would oppose her. She claimed his daughter as her mate, slaughtered the dangerous threats, and tolerated the presence of the remaining sibling who was too young to challenge her.
She did not find you threatening enough to kill. She was right; you posed no threat to her. Yes, you could have rent her limb from limb for what she had done. Avenged the child entrusted to your care so long ago. Redeemed yourself. But there were still cubs who needed you. Your mission came before your feelings. It always does.
This theory made sense. It also seems increasingly wrong. The usurper kept denying she had intended to wipe out the pride’s leadership at all. Maybe the denial was a bid to win back her increasingly frustrated mate. It did not seem so. She clashed constantly with her strongest pokémon when you were in earshot. In time you began to suspect the metagross had usurped the authority of both your trainer and her own.
You cannot begin to guess what the rock’s purposes are. She has no heartbeat or breath. Her eyes are false. Why would her mind or soul to be any more familiar?
Whatever their motives, Cuicatl’s pride was good at survival. Your new charges were protected and fed. All you had to focus on was their comfort. You still have the fur and wisdom to do that, even in your advanced age.
Then the pride split. Perhaps Cuicatl abandoned her mate after she refused to moderate her demands and submit. Maybe Genesis believed she was capable of comfortably surviving on her own. She cannot. Her newly formed pride is lacking in both power and experience. Even a simple hunt almost ended in disaster.
You growl and focus on the world outside the window. Your charge was almost hurt taking care of you. Unacceptable. You must find a way to ensure that does not happen again.
Your pride is not well suited for hunting. Inferno, the ill-named fox, refuses to participate on principle. The dragon tree does not seem to understand what it means to actively take life for oneself rather than making it from nothing but the air. You respect the living cloud, for he has powers beyond your understanding; the fact remains that he cannot snap a neck with sunlight. The frog is too brash, too likely to ruin any plan they are enlisted in. The thing that looks like a duck but does not smell like one is not strong or experienced enough to pull his own weight, although you suspect he could be trained to if you had a translator or a battle-tested human to assist you. Even the humans who do try to teach Genesis and your newfound pride-mates to fight do so poorly. It is too ceremonial; the frog was discouraged from attacking your eyes. The killer instinct is actively being drummed out of your hunting partners.
The females of your kind work together to hunt the largest of prey. You do so in the open for you have nothing to fear. The kill is split because there is enough to share. Males hunt differently. They hunt alone and concealed in grass. When something worth eating comes close, they lunge and take it in one strike.
This is likely how you will need to hunt. There is simply not enough large prey to justify a full-pride hunt even if you could train your new coalition into killers. You will have to content yourself with smaller kills taken alone. But you were not built for taking small prey. They could run circles around you even before age took its toll.
Mid-size prey. Just small enough that you can reliably take it, not so small that it can outmaneuver you. You must not let it know that you are on the prowl until you are in pouncing distance. Now, how to turn these goals into a real plan?
Something moves beyond the rain-soaked glass in front of you. Oh. Yes. That will do nicely.
*
The humans have paws made for moving about small things. Yours are built for shredding a windpipe. Theirs cannot do what yours can. You struggle to match their natural talents as well. It starts with a slip of the plant-based fur they wear around themselves. You walk onto the sand during a lull in the rain and gather all the shells large enough that you can move them with your mouth. They are placed on the plant fur and moved together when you have gathered enough. A few still fall out. Enough stay in for your purposes.
Now you will try and reason with the frog.
You are not expecting success.
When you arrive at the frog’s favored pond you announce yourself with a half-hearted roar. It is enough for him, and all predators lurking nearby, to know you are here and unbothered. The lack of large prey means there are likely no predators large enough to challenge a pyroar for her territory. They need not know that you are far from your prime.
The frog emerges with his own attempt at a roar. You give it all the acknowledgement it is due: none. Instead, you display the pile of shells in front of you, hissing when he steps closer to look. Then you push one towards him. You wait three breaths and push another. When he steps closer, you snap again.
He gets bored and jumps back in the pond with no apparent understanding of your point. Unfortunate.
Someone snorts in amusement behind you. The fox. He simply shakes his head when you send him a look that means your patience is running thin. “What were you even trying to do there?”
“Show him that he could earn more by delaying a meal. My hunt would be easier if he was willing to catch the bait.”
He flicks his leaf back and forth. “It will rain again soon. Come inside before it seeps into your old bones.”
You moan in displeasure. It’s too early for rain. You were supposed to have another few weeks before the season of storms began in all its misery.
“I know, big girl. If the plants didn’t need their water, I would get Cloudy to brighten things up through the afternoon.”
You follow her to the door to the cubs’ room. Neither of them responds to your request for entry. Fine. You will have to wait in the lobby. There is a wide enough open space for you there, although the humans sometimes look at you warily when you take it. It is good that their instincts compel them to do so. Protecting them would be much harder if they had forgotten they are prey and they must keep a healthy respect for the predators of the world.
Inferno jumps onto the couch. The human watching you raises her voice at the fox. He reluctantly hops off to sit on the floor near you. The humans do not appreciate his scent. You find it to be invigorating and endlessly curious. Only basic decency keeps you from rubbing your snout in his fur whenever he draws near and rolling around on his former resting place when he leaves.
“I am curious why you are still here,” you huff. “You seem to hold neither your trainer nor your teammates in high regard. Surely it would not be too difficult for you to leave and avoid all consequences with the human elders distracted with their feud.”
He flicks his leaf. “You judging me?”
“You seem unwilling to contribute and…” Is there a polite way to accuse him of laziness? All foxes are to an extent. So are plants. So are you when your training slips. Perhaps he was always doomed to sloth through no fault of his own.
His eyes narrow. “You’re judging me, aren’t you? Trained starter. Want to know why I’m not tripping over myself to serve my trainer like you.”
“It was my understanding that many eevee are drawn to the same sort of service.”
“I was. Born and bred for it. Fought my way through two trials at Martin’s side. Then I evolved in the wrong way and he lost all interest.”
Ah. You cannot imagine a world where Ernest abandoned you. Not after all of the selection and training you went through. Your kind are not blessed with split evolutions, though, and even the few differences stemming from sex can be anticipated well in advance.
“Thought it was my fault for a while. Then I met Gen. She doesn’t want anything from me, you know? There used to be fights. I was good at those. Now? Nothing. She wants nothing and I see no reason to provide more.”
“She still needs things. If she did ask them of you, would you answer?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on what she wants.”
Your eyes narrow and you growl in annoyance. “You were trained better than this.”
“And what has being the perfect little pokémon got you, huh? You ever done anything for yourself, or are you living your life for someone else?” He arches his back in anger and shows you his pitiful little claws.
You show him one of yours in answer. Each is longer than his entire paw. If he wishes to brawl, you will indulge him. You will not even need your fire to put him in his place.
“I was treated well,” you say. “My work will outlive me. Will yours?”
“Your work outlives you, huh? Seems to me like decades of it just got ripped away in—”
You do not even need to lunge. Just swipe your paw and watch him trip over himself as he bolts away with a quick attack. You rise to your full height and spare the human only a glance as she draws her own pokéballs. This will be over shortly. There is no need for her to intervene.
“We were given purpose. You were rejected and you have my sympathies. That is no excuse to neglect your duty when another has given you the chance.”
Inferno tries to hold himself high. You see his limbs shake beneath him. “Isn’t that your job? Why do you even care?”
“My work will outlast me. I need another to ensure my charges are protected.”
“Doing a fine job of—”
You turn around and walk towards the doors while the fox continues speaking. It is not worth listening to whatever excuses he has to make. He had his destiny given to him, same as you. It is not one you can simply walk away from when it is convenient. He is dishonoring not only himself but his species. Someday you will make him understand that.
For now, you have work to do.
After a nap. Your work is best done after the rain.
*
You go once more to summon the humans. This time, one answers on just the first muffled roar. Thankfully it is the male, Leviticus. The girl grows squeamish on the hunt. Rejects her own natural diet to eat like prey. You will need to teach her the way of the world in time. However, you are hungry now. This will be easier to explain to him.
“Hello, Red. What do you need?” he asks. Very formal. Many humans forget themselves around you and address you as a foolish kitten rather than a great hunter of the vast plains. It irks you to no end. Genesis does, especially when no other humans are around. It has been allowed while she mourns the loss of her family and mate. You will need to assert yourself again shortly.
You cannot talk to the humans. Sometimes Ernest kept a translator on call. Usually, he did not. Instead, you must communicate with your body and a few basic calls stripped of all nuance.
First, you step into the den and sniff out your pokéball. You are told it is a comfortable thing. Perhaps it is compared to the others of its ilk. You have never appreciated it. What good are you as a guardian and mentor if you spend your days away from the world entirely? Even while sleeping you may be roused by the sounds of a fight. No. In that ball you are less than useless.
Unfortunately, today it is necessary. You knock it off its perch and nudge it towards Leviticus. He picks it up. Good.
You turn around and walk towards the common area, stopping only once to make sure the cub follows. He accompanies you all the way to the human watching over it. You stop before her, sit on your haunches, and run your tongue over your teeth. Hopefully she will understand what you want.
She does. You are allowed access to the last spoils of your hunt. You do not eat it. Instead, you hold it in your jaws as you would carry a cub. The humans are confused by this. Let them be. You will show Leviticus your intentions when you reach the beach.
*
The beach is still empty after the rains. The birds will need time to dry their wings and reconvene. That works to your advantage. You set the flank of meat down on the sand and turn back to Leviticus. He scrunches his face up in puzzlement. Fine. You slash your claws at some invisible threat just above the food and his eyes widen.
“Oh! This is a trap.”
You nod. It is one of the most useful gestures you know as the humans rarely, if ever, misinterpret it.
A few short steps bring you to Leviticus and you press your nose towards the pokéball in his hands.
He smiles when he understands. “You want me to send you out the moment something takes it?”
Another nod. It is close enough to your intentions. Very small prey should be ignored as they may themselves serve as bait for a larger bird or mammal. You do not know how to convey this to Leviticus. Humans are capable of brief moments of cleverness, but they are not smart enough to understand the language of your kind. You mastered theirs long ago.
Leviticus finally gets around to withdrawing you after fumbling with the pokéball. He clearly lacks experience with them.
*
There is a light mist of water hitting your fur. Waves crash nearby. The sun hangs low in the sky. A loud bird with a bulging throat pouch is backing away, wings flared.
You are called Red by the humans. Your mother named you Quick-Minded. This is a hunt. The bird is your prey. The world snaps back into focus.
You lunge in and the bird trips over himself trying to walk backwards. One slash with extended claws tears through the skin and feathers of the left wing and shatters the fragile bones holding it upright.
It has been so long since you were allowed to fight as your kind were intended to, claws and jaws unrestrained.
The bird and its fellows bombard you with shots of water. The cold seeps into your skin but you power through. It could smother your flames if you were using them. You will not: fire burns away the flavors of blood and victory.
It takes you time to line up a perfect shot to the thing’s neck. Its pouch obscures the angle. That is fine. The water barely bothers you and it has nothing sharp enough to deal you real harm. It takes you but a few breaths to find your opening.
The bird perishes with one bite to the neck. Its comrades hesitate. A roar drives them all into the sky. Cowards.
“Are you okay? The boy asks.
Why would you not be? You are wet with water, not blood. The feeling is more displeasure than pain. A bird tried to bite your haunches and only succeeded in scratching your back with its bill. You are a pyroar. These birds meant nothing to you. A full pride would see them as beneath their dignity to hunt. You decide to lower your head and shoulders as you stretch your forelegs. There is a similar human gesture of lowering the upper limbs to demonstrate they are emotionally or physically unaffected. Hopefully he is clever enough to understand your meaning.
Whether he is or is not, he does leave you to your feast without much more trouble. You lap up the dripping blood first before tearing away flesh in chunks. You crunch on the fragile bones to extract the marrow.
The humans will make you drain it before they allow it into their storage. It is best to eat as much now as possible and then spend the next few days resting. Then you will need to hunt again. But what should be used as bait? The birds were disloyal; you still doubt they would eat the flesh of their own kind. It would be easier if you had the assistance of the frog. An injured, struggling bug would attract more attention and appear less suspicious than a strip of raw meat with nothing else around it. Perhaps you will see if he is willing to trade one of his meals for the last morsels of this bird. Barter may prove easier to explain than the rewards of patience.
After another nap. Combat, however brief, is exhausting.
*
An unfamiliar human has visited the cubs. He appears to be an old acquaintance of Genesis and has brought food with him. Good. The cub refuses to eat the meals you acquire and the humans here are steadily running out of their preferred food. This will quickly pose a problem and it is not one you are well-suited to solve. The girl’s silly diet is likely an affliction of the mind that will require words with complex meaning to solve. She does not understand your meanings beyond the obvious. Even those signals are often misinterpreted.
The human is of little interest once you have learned there will be no more deliveries in the future. His guardian is far more curious. Why is the metagross accompanying him? Has he replaced Genesis as Cuicatl’s mate? Is this, perhaps, another metagross entirely? The pokémon will be better able to understand and answer your questions than the human. Whether they are willing is a separate question entirely.
You find them resting by a human’s den with a computer hovering nearby. Components fly in and out of it quickly enough to blur together. How curious. The human thinking machines have always held little interest to you. They may hold great knowledge, but even the most delicate movements of your claws risk tearing them apart.
The computer finally locks back into place and is hovered up towards an open window and back into the den. The window slides shut and locks behind it.
Finally, the metagross turns its unliving eyes towards you.
[Are you here for revenge? I thought you were too cowardly but would be happy to be proven wrong. Perhaps I could finally learn how many ways there really are to skin a cat.]
Ah. It is Nocitlālin then. She delights in controlling conversations by upsetting those around her. You will not give her the satisfaction.
She paws the ground and flexes the claws on one leg. They are longer than yours. Sharper, too. Let her threaten. She will kill you or she will not.
“Why did you kill Ernest?”
[He tortured his daughter for months on end and then almost killed both her and my own trainer.]
Could this be true? You knew the girl was sick. Even knew the boy was not allowed to see her. You assumed this was due to a contagion. Could it have been a deliberate wounding? To what end? The girl never challenged Ernest. You only knew him to be sadistic to his enemies. His daughter’s condition was clearly causing him stress. Why would he not stop?
It would also explain a few things you had not yet known how to connect. The strange woman. The horrid starmie. Genesis being allowed to be around Ernest and his mate without the slightest care for the spread of disease. The strange fire where all the items marked with her scent were burned. The strangers in your home before Genesis abruptly left. The unexpected aggression between Ernest and his son. All were easy to dismiss as unimportant at the time. Human diseases and medicines are beyond your understanding. The items could have been infected. The boy could have simply been shedding his spots and preparing for his own exile, perhaps forming a coalition with his sister.
You never smelled blood on Genesis. Only ozone from the metal on her leg. She never sneezed or coughed. Her stomach roared in displeasure, but there was never vomit.
She screamed before she left. Like prey that knows their own end is inevitable, but hopes that others may hear their warning and be spared. This way they will die with purpose.
You have corrected your cubs with claws retracted. Disciplined them with an ember at most. Usually only a roar or a lazy swat to let them know what was forbidden. You are not sure you loved your cubs as a mother should. How could you, knowing that they were not truly yours? You still cherished every moment with them. You would only make one bleed after your fiercest roars had gone ignored and your own blood was drawn. Even then you are unsure you could find the will to truly fight back. Males fight their sons. Females never clash with their daughters. Any male who tries to kill them will be fought, however futile it may be Perhaps human instincts are different.
…or, perhaps, it is wrong for them, too.
He starved, maimed, and harassed a cub who never fought back. His reasons for doing so are irrelevant. He was in the wrong. As were you. You should have raised him better.
“You said he almost killed your trainer. Did she order revenge? Was she eliminating a rival in her territory?”
[Revenge is beneath me and Cuicatl had nothing to do with it. I killed him on my own accord. I did it to send a message to the world that my trainer and I were not to be trifled with. It also gave me a nice pair of test subjects for another project.] There is a moment’s pause as a small stone flies into her claw and is sliced in half. Was this a loss of control? Or did she simply intend for you to think it was. [Everyone wins. Except for some humans that would have died in the next fifty years regardless. I simply made their lives more efficient.]
She means to drive you to anger and engage in social games. She will win if you play along, of that you have no doubt. You will instead ignore her and ask only the questions you wished to be answered.
“Why were the boy and I spared when all others were hunted?”
Her false eyes roll around in their cages. [Having survivor’s guilt, are we?]
“I feel no guilt.” Not over survival, at least. You do feel some over your failures with Ernest. It is unconnected to being spared. “I simply wish to understand.” It will help you know what to expect of her in the future.
She sinks a little lower to the ground before answering, claws relaxed. [I have no use for the Gage children at present. This may change in the future. I trust you to keep them alive in the meantime with minimal complications. You have the competence of an old cat and the docility of a kitten. I undid all of your life’s work and you can’t even be bothered to roar.]
You could rage against her. Find out if your flames can melt her skin. Break your claws and your teeth just to make her feel a fraction of the suffering she has inflicted upon others. It would be a pointless death. She tore through the rest of Ernest’s coalition and lived to see the sun rise the next morning.
You will not rob yourself of purpose for a moment’s satisfaction.
[Good girl.]
You do not snarl. You will not play her games. She will answer your questions rather than the other way around.
“What is your purpose?” You know yours. She knows yours. It lets her predict your every action. Knowing hers would let you adjust your course and keep the cubs safe. Even a pyroar, mighty as you are, knows to mind the dragons soaring above.
[The same as yours, I assure you, just with a few diversions to ease the boredom. Gods forbid a girl have hobbies.]
Diversions. Ernest was not a direct threat to her trainer. The attack was not ordered. She claims to be a loyal servant and mother but has taken a course that made enemies for her daughter. Ernest has kin outside the islands. Human respond to outside attacks collectively. To challenge them is to provoke an entire species, not merely a single pride.
“Then we do not share a mission. Not truly. Not with the same devotion. You only serve yourself so long as you maintain these ‘diversions’ of yours. If you truly do walk the path of the ace pokémon, you must tame yourself before the one you love pays the price.”
A single stone flies into one of her claws and splits in half. Curious. Was this a sign of feeling beneath her skin? Or were you merely meant to witness it and believe there is.
[Would you also like to caution me about the coming of necrozma? The sinking of The Titanic? The impending doom of the dinosaurs?]
Oh. Poor thing. She has already seen her cub come to harm and understood that she was the only one to blame. There must be real pain inside her shell. The kind you can only imagine. “And have you learned?”
[I have improved my methods.]
She has not. You find yourself pitying your master’s killer. She is doomed to harm her own charge worse than you ever could.
A pressure slams into the back of your head as the ground crumples beneath the metagross. Dirt rises up and is torn into smaller and smaller pieces until you can only see a fine haze around her. The pain grows more and more severe until you fear that this is where you will perish.
No.
There is no one to carry on your work.
You will not fall here. You brace yourself and snarl.
The pressure abates and all of the dust slams down into the ground in the span of a heartbeat. The only sign the metagross lost control is the fineness of the soil around you.
“Imagine if you lost control like this around—”
[Finish that thought and I will skin you alive and mount you in a museum so future generations may learn from your mistake.]
Poor. Girl. Did she have anyone to teach her? Do stones have mothers?
[You live only because you are useful to me. I look forward to the day that changes.]
She flies away to her next failure.
This is why there is no room for error on your path. It is a noble calling. It is a lonely one. A territorial thing that will tolerate no other purpose.
You must teach this to Inferno before he follows in the machine’s path. To delay is to risk ruin to the cubs and the complete dismantling of a lifetime’s work.
You have sacrificed enough on the promise that your work will endure beyond your passing. You will not sacrifice that promise as well.