The Walrein
Vicinal Dragging for the Truth
- Partners
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Violence (including briefly described eye-trauma), Death, Mind Control
Hitmontop Saves The Day
In a certain fighting-type dojo, a Hitmonchan unleashed a furious storm of fist-based attacks onto a battered punching bag. He inched closer and closer to it as the constant barrage of punches began pushing the dangling bag to a higher and higher angle away from its resting position.
This spectacle caught the eye of a passing Hitmonlee, who stopped in his tracks to observe the event. A bemused expression formed on the Hitmonlee’s face as he continued to stare at the Hitmonchan. Finally, he had enough and called out to the ‘mon. “Hey! What’s with those ridiculous...” - the Hitmonlee struggled to find a word - “…hand-kicks you keep doing? You’re supposed to kick with your feet, not with your hands!”
The Hitmonchan slowed his torrent of punches to a gradual dribble, then halted. “Huh? Hand-kicks? What are you talking about? All I’m doing is punching a punching bag here!” he said to the Hitmonlee, now equally confused.
“A ‘punching-bag’? I’ve never heard of such a thing! That’s obviously a kicking bag,” the Hitmonlee said. “Get out of the way. I’ll show you how to use it.” He marched right up to the bag, and, without even waiting to see if the Hitmonchan would move aside, delivered a sequence of three spinning roundhouse kicks that nearly knocked the bag off its tether. “Ha! That’s how you do it!” he declared, facing the Hitmonchan with hands proudly on his hips.
Hitmonchan (for that was his name, just as the Hitmonlee was named Hitmonlee) winced as the punching bag missed whacking Hitmonlee by millimeters as it came swinging back. “What kind of attack was that!? Some sort of ridiculous... foot-punch? How is that supposed to be better than punching with your hands? You were completely off-balance for almost the entirety of the attack!”
“Are you blind and deaf?” Hitmonlee demanded. “Surely you must’ve seen or heard how much more powerful my kicks were than your feeble arm-strikes! That bag went flying when I hit it! What were you trying to do, give it a gentle massage? And also, I was perfectly on-balance the whole time!”
“I could’ve gotten in ten real punches in the time it took you to do one of those fake foot-punches, which adds up to a lot more total force! Not as if your attack would even hit, though, if you were facing anything other than an inanimate object! Those big leg movements are visible from a mile away!”
“No, it’s your attacks that are too easy to see coming! You have to get so close to the target to use them, and even then, they’re still more limited in where they can hit than a kick is! ‘Oh no, is he going to shove his hand at the top of my face, or slightly lower down on my face? How am I supposed to know where to block?’” Hitmonlee mocked.
“The whole front of your body is your face! That doesn’t mean anything!” Hitmonchan shot back.
By now, the commotion had drawn the attention of a few other Pokemon. “What an absurd dispute,” a Sawk commented, a look of pity on his face.
“Mmm, agreed,” an aged Throh standing next to him said. “What are they teaching young fighting-types these days?”
“Perhaps I can help.” The Sawk marched in between the bickering Pokemon and thrust out his arms. “Stop! There’s no need to fight over something so basic! Punching is good in some situations, but kicking is good in others. Neither is better than the other!”
Hitmonchan and Hitmonlee paused in surprise at the sudden intrusion. Rejoinders to the Sawk’s ludicrous martial relativism leapt to their tongues, but then-
“That’s what you thought!?” the Throh shouted. “I thought we were agreeing that punching and kicking were both equally useless!”
“What!?” the other three Pokemon chorused.
Throh (for that was his name, just as the Sawk was named Sawk) strode forward and stomped the ground to punctuate his speech. “Yes, useless! The only moves worth training are grappling moves! A striker may have to land many blows to down an opponent, but if a wrestler manages to grab hold of them just once, the whole match turns into a contest of grappling skill! All your fancy kicks and punches won’t do you any good when you’re pinned on the ground in a chokehold!”
“Oh yeah? Well good luck grabbing me if my punches have swollen both your eyes shut!” Hitmonchan growled, shaking a fist.
“How are you going to put me in a chokehold when I don’t have a neck, huh? But kicking works on Pokemon of almost any anatomy!”
“Hmmph! Want to hear something better than throwing a kick? How about throwing your entire body! One good counter-move after your ridiculous and predictable jumping attack, and you’d go sailing out of the arena!”
“The only thing ‘predictable’ about my jump-kicks is how reliably they smash people’s faces in!” Hitmonlee shot back.
“Alright, enough of this arguing!” Sawk said. “I think it’s clear that there’s only one way we’ll be able to settle whose style is really the strongest...”
“A thorough literature review of all randomized controlled interventions studying different fighting techniques, followed by a detailed meta-analysis using pre-registered statistical tests and hypotheses?” Hitmonchan asked.
“Why, that’s exactly what I was thinking!” Throh declared.
Hitmonlee smirked. “With all my leg training, I’ll get to the library long before any of you losers! Unless you think you can just throw yourself there!”
“Actually, by swinging my arms in perfect synergy with my leg movements, I believe I’ll get there first. That’s the power of a balanced training regimen!” Sawk announced.
But as the four Pokemon were preparing to leave the dojo, they were approached by a wide-eyed Hitmontop. “Hey guys, are you discussing different fighting styles?” Hitmontop said. “All of your styles sound really cool, but I’ve also got one you should consider!”
“There are even more styles?” Hitmonchan asked. “Is it hitting things with your fists while your fists are on fire? I used to think that was a new style I discovered, but then I realized it was still just punching.”
“No, it’s totally different! See, what I do is I stand on my head, then I spin around really fast with my legs and arms outstretched! That way I’m constantly attacking and defending at the same time!”
Hitmonlee stared at the newcomer in disbelief. “What? That sounds even dumber than hand-kicks!”
“Are you sure you aren’t getting fighting techniques confused with ballet moves?” Sawk said. “I can’t see any result of that other than you getting dizzy and falling over.”
“No, really you guys!” Hitmontop insisted. “I swear it’s a super-awesome style! Come on, I’ll fight a sparring match against each of you so I can show you!”
“You want to fight to determine who has the superior style? Hmm… I suppose that would be faster than a literature review...” Throh muttered, rubbing his chin.
“You know, that just might be crazy enough to work! I’ll have a match against you, Hitmontop,” Hitmonchan said.
“Alright! I promise this is gonna be amazing!” Hitmontop and Hitmonchan climbed into one of the dojo’s many practice arenas. Each Pokemon assumed a fighting stance. “Ready… set… go!” Immediately, Hitmontop flipped onto his head and began pushing against the floor to build up rotational momentum. Limbs outstretched and whirling like fan blades, he slowly started to move towards an astonished Hitmonchan.
However, Hitmonchan quickly got over his shock at seeing Hitmontop’s absurd tactic actually get put into motion, and back-stepped away from the spinning fighter, easily outpacing his foe. He carefully studied the speed at which Hitmontop’s legs were moving, and then, at the perfect moment, fired a lightning-fast Mach Punch. It shot straight past Hitmontop’s defenses and nailed him in the crotch. The hapless Pokemon groaned and fell over, clutching at his privates.
“Errgghh, did you have to punch me there?” he moaned.
“Sorry, but your crotch was right at the perfect punching height!” Hitmonchan said.
“Okay, fair enough. I guess you win that match. But I’ve still got three more chances to prove myself! Who’s next?” Hitmontop asked, picking himself off the ground.
Hitmonlee jumped into the arena with a single bound. “Ooh, me next! This looks fun!”
Hitmontop once more flipped onto his head and began to spin around. “Alright, but don’t think I’ll go down so eas-”
Without a moment’s delay, Hitmonlee sprinted forward and kicked Hitmontop right in the face. “AHHHH! My nose!” he cried, toppling onto his back.
“Your face was right at the perfect kicking height!” Hitmonlee declared.
“Ow, ow, ow... alright! I admit you guys are pretty good, but I can still go two-for-two!” Hitmontop said, getting to his feet again.
“My turn.” Sawk entered the ring. As soon as Hitmontop started his spin, Sawk punched him in the crotch, and then kicked him in the face after he fell to the ground.
“I’m… I’m not crying! I’ve just got sweat in my eyes!” Hitmontop declared, curling into the fetal position. After a few moments of subdued whimpering, he yet again got up. “Okay! I may have lost three times in a row, but that just means I’m really determined not to lose a fourth time! Bring it on, Throh!”
“This is pathetic...” Throh muttered, but he climbed into the arena anyways.
“One last time! Get ready, I call this the ‘Hitmon Hurricane’! YAHHHHHHHHH!” Hitmontop roared, arms pumping furiously against the ground to spin him faster than ever before.
Throh sighed and stretched out an arm, catching Hitmontop’s leg mid-sweep. He proceeded to hold him dangling in midair.
“Uhm...” Hitmontop flailed wildly, but it was no use. Throh walked to the edge of the arena and dropped Hitmontop off the stage. Hitmontop was just barely nimble enough to flip so that he hit the ground with his side rather than face-first. “Ooof...”
“Hmm, I don’t think we really learned much from doing that,” Hitmonchan said. “Maybe we should’ve just stuck with the literature review.”
“Are you kidding? I took him out way faster than the rest of you fools!” Hitmonlee boasted.
“That doesn’t prove anything! You had the benefit of seeing me fight him first!”
Meanwhile, Sawk walked over to Hitmontop’s quivering form and helped him to his feet. “Look, there’s a nice yoga studio just down the street from here. Maybe that’d be more your speed?” he said, not unkindly.
“N-no! I know I didn’t do very well just now, but the headstand-spin style really is useful, just not against any of you guys’ styles! I swear there are times when it comes in handy!”
“Such as what, exactly?” Throh scoffed. “It’s certainly not as if there are any Pokemon about to barge down the door, saying-”
WHAM! The large double-doors to the dojo flew open, and a Malamar hovered through the entrance. Behind her stood and levitated a large group of psychic-type Pokemon, sneering with disdain at the musclebound Pokemon they surveyed. “Listen up, you lunkheads! I’m the leader of the Psychic Consortium, and we’re taking over this dojo unless one of you can defeat me in a standing-on-your-head contest!” the Malamar declared, gaze sweeping across the room.
“Oooh, ooh, I’ve got this! I’ve totally got this, you guys-” Hitmontop started, but was quickly drowned out by the uproar of every other Pokemon in the dojo.
“Ha! You’ll have to fight every last one of us before you can lay a single slimy tentacle on our dojo!” a Machamp cried, cracking two sets of knuckles.
“Us fire-fighting types alone will be enough to take care of you lot!” an Infernape yelled, head igniting into flame.
The Malamar smirked. “I expected as much. Which is why I’ve brought along these Pokemon,” she announced, and hovered to the side. Behind her, the gang of psychic Pokemon parted to make way for a disparate mob of Pokemon of all types. Snorlax, Lilligant, Rampardos and more all shuffled forwards, the only commonality between them being their vacant, soulless expressions and awkward zombie-like gait. “I know you fighting-types are too honorable to ever hurt an innocent Pokemon, so you won’t be able to fight back against our army of brainwashed hypno-slaves!” Malamar cackled as the crowd of hypnotized drones poured into the dojo.
“Hey! I bet if we hit them hard enough, it’ll knock the hypnosis right out of them!” a Blaziken declared, charging into the mob.
Other Pokemon followed close behind her. A Passimian snatched up a Minior and sent it hurling towards a group of Oddish like a bowling ball. “She’s right! Let’s beat the stuffing out of them!” To his left, a Bewear reached out and grabbed two heads of a Dodrio in order to smash them into the central head.
Malamar tsk-tsked loudly. “Oh, very well. I suppose we can deign to dirty ourselves in combat long enough to best you barbarians.” With that, the group of psychics advanced, levitating above the crowd so they could bombard the fighters with ranged attacks.
The ensuing combat was long and brutal. The residents of the dojo were outnumbered and out-typed, but they fought as ferociously as one might expect of a type of Pokemon literally named after fighting. Hypno-slave after hypno-slave were knocked out by their attacks. But, despite their lack of coordination or passion, the brainwashed Pokemon did their job, distracting the dojo members long enough for the psychics to take them out one by one with precision telepathic and telekinetic strikes. Finally, the last defender of the dojo, a nimble Heracross who’d managed to take down a Beheeyem and a Hatterene entirely on his own, collapsed to the ground, shot out of the air by a Gothitelle’s Thunderbolt.
All around the gym, Pokemon lay incapacitated in various states of injury. A certain group of five all found themselves close together. “Erghh…” Hitmonlee moaned, clutching a foot he’d unwisely launched towards a Toxapex. “I can’t believe this! We could’ve won that fight if we’d all been kicking instead of flailing around with non-leg limbs!”
“You mean if we’d all been sensibly wrestling rather than wasting time with foolish striking moves that those zombies barely even reacted to!” Throh said, rubbing a massive welt on his head.
A nearby Infernape rolled his eyes.“Hey, I’ve got an idea: what if you all just used the kinds of moves each of you are individually most suited to?”
“But that was exactly the strategy we were using when we lost!” Hitmonchan protested.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I thought I did pretty well that fight,” Hitmontop said. He’d taken no new injuries in the battle. All of the Psychic Consortium members had overlooked him once they saw him spinning wildly on his head, assuming he must’ve already sustained some kind of disabling brain damage.
Malamar floated to the center of the dojo, gazing down disdainfully at the defeated Pokemon below her. “What a tiresome battle. The result was eminently predictable, but of course you single-minded plebians insisted on fighting to the inevitable conclusion. Are there any among you who wish to engage me in a more civilized form of conflict, and test your head-standing skills against my own?”
“That’s still on? I’ll challenge you! I can stand heads with the best of them!” Hitmontop stood up and faced Malamar, eyes burning with determination. This time, none of the other dojo Pokemon interrupted him, instead just turning wearily to watch him.
“Oh? One of you claims to be skilled at the ancient art? Very well, I accept your challenge!” Malamar floated down to the ground, the tips of her mantle just barely brushing against the floor. “The rules are simple enough for even a fighting-type to understand: We each stand on our heads for as long as we can. The first one to fall over loses.”
“Alright! Don’t worry everyone, I totally got this! Hitmontop is gonna save the day!” Hitmontop backflipped into the air, twisting and landing on his head. Malamar gave a subtle nod, but did nothing. Several moments passed as Hitmontop waited with increasing uncertainty. “...so, uh, are you gonna get on your head?” he finally asked.
“I already am standing on my head,” Malamar replied coolly.
“Oh, uh, you are? But weren’t you already oriented like that when you came in here?”
“Yes. I’m always standing on my head. I can stay like this for days.”
“Well, that’s- that’s no problem!” Hitmontop said, a slight tremor running down his arms. “I can also do this for days… I think. Never done that before. But, uh, it’s not like I ever had a reason to before! So there!”
With that, the two Pokemon fell silent. Minutes passed. Sweat began to drip down Hitmontop’s body, gathering in little pools at the bases of his hands and his head-spike. Occasionally, he’d wobble slightly before correcting his balance. Malamar stood stock-still, only a few tentacles above her beak waving slightly.
“You know, you can, uh, feel free to forfeit any time you want,” Hitmontop said. No response. “I mean, you must be a pretty busy Pokemon, being the head of the Psychic Consortium and all. I’d hate for you to waste whole days doing this just to lose at the end anyways.” Silence.
The residents of the dojo muttered quietly among themselves, their expressions grim. Around them, teams of psychic Pokemon were already directing hypno-slaves to carry out exercise equipment to toss into a large garbage truck parked outside.
“Yep. Annnnnny time now,” said Hitmontop. More time passed. A fly landed on Hitmontop’s face, and began to crawl towards the dried blood on his nose. He shook as violently as he could without falling over, but the fly kept coming back within a few seconds. His nose wrinkled as the fly got dangerously close to a nostril. “Ah… ah… ACHOO!” Hitmontop was saved from the fate of having a fly up his nose, but realized too late that he was tilting out of control. He made a heroic effort, but after a single tense moment, gravity won out and he fell onto his backside. A hush fell over the dojo.
Hitmontop lay on his back for a moment, staring up at the ceiling of the gym, before flipping to his feet in a huff. “H-hey! You cheated! You were controlling that fly with your mind powers or something!”
“Even if I was, there’s no rule against doing so in a traditional standing-on-your-head contest,” Malamar said. “The outcome of this trial is clear. I – and therefore, the Psychic Consortium – have won, and this dojo is now officially ours.” She raised a single tentacle. “But! You held out much longer than I expected. Therefore, I will grant you a second chance.”
“Really?” Hitmontop said, perking up. “Could we have a standing-on-our-feet contest this time?”
“No. Instead, I will allow you to nominate four of your dojo’s strongest champions. They will be healed of their wounds in the previous battle, and each of them will engage in a one-on-one fight against a hypno-slave of my choosing. If all of your champions win, then I’ll let you keep your precious dojo. But if even a single one loses, then all of you fighting-types will become the newest additions to our army of hypno-slaves!”
Hitmontop’s face hardened. “I accept! I may be new to this dojo, but I know exactly who to pick as my four champions! They’re four Pokemon who defeated a style I thought was invincible, all without taking a single scratch! Hitmonchan, Hitmonlee, Sawk, and Throh!”
“What!? You’re choosing those four idiots?” Heracross yelled. “Hitmonlee has been in this dojo for years but he still doesn’t even know what a punch is! And the other three are barely better!” Several other Pokemon raised their voices to assent.
“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, guys!” Hitmonlee spat. “I mean, you’re right that we’re obviously doomed ‘cause Hitmonchan is one of the champions and he doesn’t use any moves other than those stupid hand-kicks, but at least I’m going to be winning my match!”
Malamar clicked her beak. “Ah, it seems you’ve made a rather unorthodox choice, little fighter. We’ll see if you have more wisdom than the rest of your kind… Alakazam! Bring full restores to the four Pokemon named, and clear out the casualties from the arenas! I’ve already decided exactly which slaves to pit in combat against these ‘champions’!”
Alakazam grumbled something about the indignity of being ordered around like a hypno-slave, but did as he was told. In short order, Sawk, Throh, Hitmonlee and Hitmonchan were all fully healed and facing off against Malamar’s chosen combatants in four different arenas. All the fights were to occur simultaneously, as Malamar was ‘already beginning to weary of spending time around all these sweat-drenched simpletons’.
Hitmonchan squared off against his foe, a glassy-eyed Ekans. The snake slithered around the arena, spitting sprays of acid at him. He was nimble enough to avoid most of these attacks, but occasionally a wide stream of the corrosive fluid would be too hard to dodge entirely, causing droplets to splatter against him and burn into his skin. And, unfortunately, Hitmonchan was having a hard time counter-attacking. Whenever he crouched low enough to get within punching range of the Ekans, the snake would immediately slither out of reach. Curses! he thought. If only there was some method of attacking that was good for hitting targets on the ground!
Meanwhile, Hitmonlee was facing down a Clefable. Ordinarily, it was the sort of soft Pokemon he’d immediately kick the crap out of, but the fairy had started the fight with a ridiculously strong Gravity move, and now it felt as if each of Hitmonlee’s kicks had to pass through a sea of molasses before they could reach their mark. His famous jumping attacks were straight out of the question. The only thing he had going for him was that something about the process of turning into a hypno-slave had ruined the Clefable’s ability to use fairy-type attacks, all of their Moonblasts coming out feeble and half-hearted. Still, with Hitmonlee feeling like his feet were glued to lead anvils, he couldn’t dodge many of them, and they were starting to wear him down. If only there was some sort of attack that started at the top of my body and went downwards, that could take advantage of this heavy gravity! he thought.
Sawk was also fighting a fairy-type foe, but a much more embarrassing one: An Igglybuff. Unlike any of the other champions, the arena he was in was surrounded by a steel cage. Whenever he struck the Igglybuff with a kick or punch, the rubbery Pokemon would simply bounce away from him and go ricocheting off the walls of the cage without being harmed. Throughout all this, the Igglybuff was singing the sleep-inducing song their evolved form was famous for. The Igglybuff’s singing wasn’t particularly on-key, but still Sawk found himself wearying, a deep tiredness entering his bones. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to remain conscious. Blast, if only there was some style of fighting that would allow me to hold my foe still so I could hit them without sending them bouncing around everywhere!
Throh had perhaps the most dangerous opponent of all, a Magmar who kept launching powerful Flamethrower attacks at him. It took all of Throh’s agility to avoid getting burned by the scorching streams of fire. And he was completely at a loss for how to fight back, as the Magmar’s flaming skin was so hot that he couldn’t bear to grab onto them for more than a split-second, not nearly long enough to perform any pins or throws. He knew he couldn’t keep evading the Flamethrowers forever. If only there was some method of attacking that minimized the time I spent in contact with their body!
Hitmontop stood in between the four arenas, glancing back and forth to each one with increasing worry. “Guys! You have to change up your styles!” he yelled. “Hitmonchan! Try kicking or stomping that Ekans! Punching isn’t working!”
“NO! Punching is always the best solution for any situation!” Hitmonchan grit his teeth as the Ekans got a direct hit on his chest with a spurt of acid, but still refused to change tactics.
Seeing a lost cause, Hitmontop turned to another arena. “Throh! Please, you have to using striking moves against that Magmar! It’s the only way!”
“Bah! I’d rather be turned into a hypno-slave than use any of those lesser attacks!”
“But if they turn you into a hypno-slave, they might just force you to use non-grappling moves anyways!”
“Don’t care!” Throh said, ducking under a Fire Punch from the Magmar, who apparently had no such compunctions about using direct strikes.
“It’s no use, Hitmontop,” Malamar declared. “I’ve looked into their minds and seen that they’re all completely incapable of change. That is the ultimate weakness of you fighting-types: You all share a single-mindedness that allows no creativity, no flexibility beyond trying to solve every problem with brute force in the only way you know how. Truly, your minds will barely have to be changed at all to turn you into hypno-slaves. All I need to do is turn that single-mindedness towards a desire to serve me.”
“No! That’s not true! I- I came up with the idea of fighting by standing on my head and spinning around! That’s creative, right? That’s flexible!”
Malamar turned to regard Hitmontop coldly. “And did you change your strategy when your style failed you four times in a row?”
Hitmontop was silent.
“I thought not. Now, any bets on which of your ‘champions’ will fail first? Will it be the one who’s too stupid to realize he can use his legs for anything other than walking? The one with the reverse problem, who might as well have no arms at all for all he uses them? Or will it be the Sawk who can’t- who… just what is he doing?” Malamar scowled and squinted in the direction of Sawk’s arena.
Inside, Sawk had changed his focus from attacking the Igglybuff to launching a barrage of kicks and punches at the steel bars encaging the stage. The bars bent and warped under the strain, until finally Sawk had formed an Igglybuff-sized hole in the cage. He turned and unleashed one final attack on the bouncing fairy-type, sending them ricocheting right out of the hole. “Ha! Out of bounds! I win!” Sawk declared.
Meanwhile, Hitmonchan had started pounding his fists together, using an Ice Punch with his left fist and a Fire Punch with his right fist. The combination caused the ice to melt into water that collected in a puddle on the arena floor. Once the puddle had gotten large enough, Hitmonchan stepped back, luring the Ekans into the water, then dove to the ground, fist sparking with a charged Thunder Punch. The Ekans was fast enough to avoid getting hit directly, but not quick enough to move out of the water. Electricity sparked through the Ekans’ body, stunning them long enough for Hitmonchan to get up and punch their head repeatedly, knocking the snake out.
Not to be outdone, Throh stamped his feet and faced down the Magmar. “You’ve forced me to my limit!” he called. “I now have no choice… but to get naked!” With a single fluid motion, Throh whipped off the white robe his species always wore, then approached the Magmar. He wrapped the robe – which had a certain degree of fire resistance – around the flaming beast’s body, allowing him to grip the Magmar long enough to spin them around and toss them over the side of the arena.
In the last remaining fight, Hitmonlee glanced away from the action just long enough to yell out to Hitmontop. “Hey, I learned this trick from you!” he said, and then rolled onto his head, or rather, the end of his body that had eyes on it. With two powerful motions, he brought his legs crashing down onto the Clefable’s forehead. This time, his kicks were working with the enhanced gravity rather than against it, and they struck with devastating effect, knocking the fairy-type out cold.
“Unbelievable...” Malamar muttered as she watched her chosen slaves get defeated one by one. The members of the dojo whooped and cheered, calling out the names of their four saviors.
“Ha! Guess you were wrong about that whole fighting-types not having creativity stuff!” Hitmontop said triumphantly.
For a long moment, Malamar stood frozen. But then her beak clattered together in raucous laughter. “Oh, was I, now? Because there’s one possibility that you fools entirely overlooked.”
“Um, we did?”
“Yes. See, you assumed that I would keep my word and let all of you go simply because of a few trivial little matches. But I never intended to let you go at all! The whole contest was simply a ploy to get you to name who your strongest fighters were, so I’d know which four to add to my own personal collection of hypno-slaves!”
“WHAT!?” Hitmontop yelled, echoed by many of the other fighting-type Pokemon.
“Your fate was sealed the moment I floated through those doors! I wasn’t even really standing on my head in that little contest we had!”
“You-!” Hitmontop launched himself at Malamar, arms swinging without even bothering to flip onto his head first, but she simply shoved him back with a burst of telekinetic force.
Malamar chuckled. “The sad thing is, you actually came closer to hitting me than any of the other supposed great fighters among you. So, how about I give you the honor of being the first Pokemon here to be converted into a hypno-slave?”
At Malamar’s mental beckoning, an enslaved Granbull and Electabuzz came up and each grabbed one of Hitmontop’s arms, holding him in place.
“Wait! What about my winning personality? I’m funny, right? Wouldn’t I be so much more boring as a brainwashed drone?” Hitmontop said, struggling futilely.
“I’ve already grown bored with you,” Malamar said, pulling a sinister-looking set of metal hooks out from a bag she carried, designed to force a Pokemon’s eyes open involuntarily. “Now, will we be doing this the easy way, or the fun way?” The skin on her chest began to pulsate and change color in strange patterns. Hitmontop squeezed his eyes shut and looked away. “Stubborn to the last, I see. Slave, tilt his head towards me. Yes, like tha-AAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!” Malamar screamed as the Granbull and Electabuzz thrust the tip of Hitmontop’s pointy head right into her eye socket. She staggered back as the two Pokemon dropped Hitmontop and then launched follow-up attacks, beating on her with Thunder Punch and Play Rough moves.
All around the dojo, former hypno-slaves were suddenly rebelling against their psychic masters. The Magmar Throh had fought blasted an Alakazam into a wall with a Fire Blast. A Simisage scampered around delivering potions to the injured dojo members, who quickly rallied and joined in the fight.
“HOW IS THIS HAPPENING!?” Malamar roared, lashing out with psychic power wildly, half-blind.
“That Blaziken was right!” declared the Electabuzz. “All that was needed to knock the brainwashing out of us was getting hit hard enough! It just had a delayed effect!”
Caught off-guard, and now outnumbered by an array of Pokemon they didn’t have type advantages against, the Psychic Consortium was swiftly routed. Those who could teleport made a hasty egress, while those who couldn’t ended up getting ejected from the Dojo by more violent means, getting hurled through glass windows or drop-kicked out the front door. The only fatality was Malamar, whom Heracross flew up to and stabbed in the heart with a broken-off Toxapex thorn. “That was for mind-controlling that innocent fly in the head-standing contest!” he growled.
Once the situation had settled down and the most urgent wounds were treated, the Pokemon of the dojo gathered together in the middle of the floor. A previously hypno-slaved Rampardos cleared his throat and stomped for attention. “Ahem! On behalf of all the Pokemon who were previously under the control of the Psychic Consortium, we’d like to thank all the members of this dojo who helped us to get our freedom back.”
“It was no problem! We’re always ready to help any Pokemon in need who have issues that can be resolved with heavy amounts of physical violence!” a Machamp declared.
“But of course, there’s one Pokemon who we must pay special gratitude to. One who did more than any other to help save us, even though we didn’t believe in them at first...”
Hitmontop swallowed nervously and started to make his way towards the front of the gathering.
“...Blaziken, for realizing that our hypnosis could be removed simply by hitting us hard enough!”
Hitmontop slumped to the ground.
“BLAZ-I-KEN! BLAZ-I-KEN! BLAZ-I-KEN!” the crowd cheered as the fire-fighting type got up and performed a blazing front flip to get to the head of the crowd. She made a perfect landing and pirouetted to face the audience, taking a deep bow.
“Thank you, thank you! But, I must admit that there was one other Pokemon who was essential to our victory today. Hitmontop, I don’t think there was any other Pokemon who could’ve stood on their head as long as you did in that phony contest of Malamar’s. And then your clever idea to pick the four worst fighters here so that they’d take much longer to win than any competent Pokemon bought us even more time! Without your stalling, Malamar could’ve brainwashed half the dojo by the time the delayed knock-the-hypnosis-out-of-them effect kicked in!”
“Oh, wow, I’m so honored, you guys!” Hitmontop said, finally making his way to the front. “I guess I really did end up helping to save the day, huh?”
“It also helped that your head was so pointy and good for stabbing with,” Granbull commented.
After all the previously-brainwashed Pokemon left the dojo and the debris from the battle had been cleaned up, Hitmontop, Hitmonchan, Hitmonlee, Throh, and Sawk were the last Pokemon remaining.
“You know, I suppose we learned something today,” Hitmonchan said. “Even skills that seem useless at first can occasionally, very rarely, come in handy. Although your fighting style is still complete garbage, Hitmontop. Sorry.”
“Ah, that’s okay. I think I’m going to switch to a style centered around head-butting now,” Hitmontop said.
“We never did settle the question of which of our fighting styles is best, though,” Sawk noted.
“Hey, what if we just asked Arceus which is the best?” Hitmonlee said. “I can jump really high so it’ll be easy.” He coiled his legs and sprang into the air, yelling “Hey Arceus! Tell these fools that kicking is the best style!” at the apex of his leap.
A moment later, time and space split apart and Arceus walked through a glowing portal in the air. The ancient deity was currently in fighting-type mode, appropriately enough.
“IT’S GUNS,” Arceus said. “SHOOTING GUNS IS THE STRONGEST MARTIAL ART.”
“Is that really true?” asked Throh.
“YES. WHY DO YOU THINK I GAVE SO MANY OF YOU FIGHTING-TYPE POKEMON USABLE HANDS? IT’S SO YOU CAN PULL THE TRIGGERS.” With that, Arceus stepped back through the portal, which closed behind them.
“Huh. Who knew that the secret to ultimate martial power was contained in the humble rifle in my gun cabinet all this time?” Hitmonchan said.
“A rifle? Excuse me? Obviously shotguns are the best guns!” Hitmonlee said. “They shoot like way more projectiles per shot than a rifle ever can!”
Hitmonchan scoffed. “Yeah, if you don’t mind having to reload after every second shot and having half the range of a decent rifle!”
“There are plenty of shotguns that can carry more than two rounds at a time! And if you want range, you can always load in a slug round, unlike your boring old rifles which can only use one kind of bullet!”
“Oh, big deal, so you can have six shells in a magazine instead of two. Well how about having thirty rounds to shoot in an assault rifle, huh? And you can fire them all off in the same time it takes you to shoot one shell from a shotgun!”
“Actually, if I may interject,” said Hitmontop, “I think the real best gun style is holding two submachine-guns while spinning around firing them in a circle-”
THE END
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