DISCUSSION: Progress & perseverance: how far we've all come

unrepentantAuthor · Jul 14, 2018

I recently bought a new laptop, and in the process of moving across all my files (and taking the opportunity to discard some trash) I rediscovered my cache of old fanfiction and other writing. It got me thinking about how much I've improved in the twelve or so years I've been interested in writing.

This thread is the result of that train of thought. It's a bit messy, my apologies. I hope it's worth a read! I'm going to provide a few examples of my writing over time, talk a little bit about what's helped me improve as a writer in the last decade, and offer some ideas about how to develop your own skills.

Everyone is welcome to post their own "before and after" excerpts and discuss personal development in the craft! Alright, here we go.

Below is the first piece of fanfic writing I ever published online. I used to feel physical pain looking back at it, but it's been long enough now that I can chill out about it and share it with you lovely folks. And yes, as you might expect, it was about pokémorphs.

“My name is Ember.”
The Sandslash morph chuckled.
“And you are what?” he asked.
“A Charmeleon morph,” the golden lizard answered. He lay on the narrow, crude bed, his flaming tail hanging over the side.
“But you’re not red! Charmeleons are red. What sort of Pokemon were you?”
“The humans call me a ‘shiny’. Other Pokemon called me a freak.”
“You are that.”
The Sandslash morph was a pale brown, but darker, spiky, armour plates covered his back and head. Unusually for a Pokemorph, he had dark black hair. He shifted uncomfortably due to his spikes.
The cell was small and dark, lit only by Ember’s tail.
Ember himself was golden with angular features and a reptilian head, which was much like his original, like most regular Pokemorphs. Both were humanoid, to the point where they seemed part human, which they were.
They looked like Pokemon gifted, or cursed, with human features. They both had clawed hands and sharp teeth. They wore black Team Rocket uniforms, complete with the red ‘R’ on the tops.
“And now, I’m this,” the Charmeleon continued. “A freak among freaks...”
This is how it all ends…
He smiled faintly. “All I had... Reduced to cinders...”

That's... the entire opening chapter, right there. Angsty, needlessly grimdark, awkward description and dialogue, tells rather than shows while telling almost nothing. At least the technical aspects aren't too bad, considering — which actually makes me wonder if I edited this at all. Probably not, though.

The story I just excerpted ran almost 120k words long, and told the story of a bunch of angsty pokémorphs abused by Team Rocket who discovered they were the incarnations of various elements and used their powers to fight various villains. It culminated in some convoluted and confusing nonsense, and I'm pretty sure I made up almost every plot point as I went. It had a ton of dire cliches, including evil shadow-selves, overwrought prophecies, and even an unnecessarily powerful self insert that I cringe to recall.

Here's an excerpt from a previous edition of Different Eyes, published here in 2012:

Pensive and apprehensive - even more so than usual - Salem decided to find her way to her team's quarters. Thankfully, she was now adept enough at walking as a biped that she barely needed to concentrate, and could think about other things while doing so. The journey to the billet let her come to terms a little with her situation. She realised this was the first time she'd been both alone and awake as a morph, and therefore the first time she'd had a chance to pause, to think, to be free of any pressing concern.

She surprised herself by thinking mainly of Dusk. It seemed more rational to her to consider her strange and bewildering circumstances, and to piece together information about her new life, but when she invited any thought to enter her head, she found her chiefest concern was for her sneasel friend. It wasn't as if she didn't feel inquisitive about her material uncertainties, but she'd been materially uncertain since waking up in a new body with a new mind. Being uncertain about a friend was the unfamiliar feeling.

She forcibly put the thought out of her mind, choosing to leave social worries until later. Besides; who was she, a former housecat, to fret about the wellbeing of someone so comfortable in her own skin as Dusk? The pragmatic thing to do - she decided - was to look over the copy of her dossier Mark had given her, or perhaps peruse her supply of books. She'd also been itching to pour her mind into her notebook since she'd left the library.

She found the door to her team's female quarters easily enough, sighing with the reassurance that her sense of direction was apparently intact. There was no answer when she knocked, so she entered into an empty room. She noted with relief that her belongings, such as they were, lay at the foot of the second bed.

The quarters, though not especially spacious, contained three folding wall-beds, each with a locker, in the main room. There were a surprising number of amenities, including a large shower in the en-suite bathroom and even a medical kit. She expected she'd have to use the shower now that she was no longer flexible enough to reach every part of her body with her tongue. Hopefully it was adapted for use by morphs.

She seated herself on the edge of the bed - just a mattress, really - and reflexively kneaded the pleasantly soft covers with her paws... hands. She still couldn't decide if her paws were now hands. She flexed her fingers, interlocked them, fanned them, steepled them, curled them into fists. It felt right. It felt wonderful. It felt alien.

I think the writing in this excerpt is more interesting, more fluid, and more natural. It doesn't suffer from the same sort of horrible blatant flaws as my work from six years earlier did. However, I do have problems with this story. There's space given to Salem to come to terms with her new body, but apparently in 2012 I hadn't decided whether Salem wanted to be a morph or not. I actually gave her amnesia for some stupid reason, probably just because I hadn't fully decided on her background until I got to chapter five.

The other thing is that she acts more or less like a human. Her perspective on things is only somewhat coloured by her background as a pokémon. Sure, this quote has her fixate on her hands and comment on using a shower, but if I wrote this part again now, I'd have her try and fail to clean herself, try to get help grooming from someone else when she struggled, and have to be directed to the shower and taught how to use it. What's more, she'd be horrified, not blase about showering. She's a cat! As for her hands — well, allow me to quote myself yet again with some very recent writing.

Five distinct digits, long and dexterous and complete. A hand. A more or less human hand — albeit still covered in dark fur, still with firm pads, and still tipped with curved retractable claws. A hand all the same. One that could do everything a human hand could. A hand that could do anything at all.

She curled her fingers into a fist, and squeezed. Her claws extended, and dug into her palm, but it felt more wonderful than painful. Tiny swirls of dark blood emptied from the punctures she’d left. She tried to flatten out her hand, then to waggle her fingers individually. The experimental flexing ached awfully, but the satisfaction overwhelmed the discomfort. Nothing had ever been so satisfying. Not a meal, not a warm bed, not a victory. This was the only moment that mattered.

These were her hands. Her hands. Hers.

In my latest writing, I've finally figured out how to properly integrate the character's thoughts and feelings into close-third person narration. Salem's reaction to her hands isn't expressed by naming emotions or by explaining her delight, but by comparing the experience to others, having her care more about the utility of her new hands than about pain, and by emphasising how she now is capable of more than she ever was before.

I could go digging for all sorts of comparisons to make, but this thread isn't about me, not really! I promise! Besides, all my old files seem desperately corrupted, (un?)fortunately. I have received a fair bit of praise in recent months, and I wanted to humble myself and show that it's taken a very long time to build up my understanding of the craft, and that talent is not nearly so important as experience.

My experience includes throwing myself into fanfic and abandoning it, and then again, and then somehow throwing myself back into it one more time these past months. It includes a three year university course in creative writing. It includes joining real life writers groups and workshopping my own work and the writing of other people with genuine physical red pens. It includes a whole lot of writing.

They say that if you do anything ten thousand times, you become a master of it. Well, I've written about 300k words, which is surely over ten thousand sentences. I'm still not a master of writing, but I can tell you that if I'd waited twelve years and never written a thing, never received critical feedback, never reexamined my own work and learned from it, then I would not be nearly so able a writer as I am today.

The fact is — and this is the reason I'm posting this friend, my friends — it takes a lot of work to get really good at writing. Maybe that's bad news, I don't tend to see it that way myself. Here's some good news: you're capable of that. Simply put: if you write, you improve. So go write. Improve. It's practically inevitable! Just remember to respect and learn from critical feedback and from other authors. Read widely, edit thoroughly, and keep pushing your comfort zone if you can.

Originally, I had thought to include some thoughts about writing resources, but here we are in The Written Word, a fantastic resource! We have some excellent Academy articles and a whole community of responsive writers to answer threads. Nevertheless, if you're interested in really making deliberate efforts to rapidly improve your writing skill, I have some suggestions:

Make writing a habit. I struggle to write every single day, but I do write fairly frequently of late. Stay loose, don't let yourself get rusty. I've had a lot of success giving myself minutes per day to spend writing rather than wordcount goals.

Don't be afraid to discard your writing or of writing substandard prose. Not everything you write is destined for success, and it doesn't have to be. Free yourself from expectations! It's more important to write many words than to write barely anything for fear of falling short of your standards.

Get a beta. It can be pretty hard to find a good beta. I'm pretty lucky to have a decent beta who is perfectly comfortable ripping into my work without mercy. He's helped me move past a lot of my writing weaknesses such as dry prose, exposition dumps, and having all my characters 'smirk' constantly. Thanks, @bluering8.

Read widely! Other fanfiction, published fiction, weird and different stuff that doesn't fit either! I read a lot of SCP Foundation entries, myself. I strongly believe that you cannot hope to excel as a writer without being a regular reader.

Show humility. Even a published author is subject to criticism and people's tastes, not to mention character flaws of their own. We, for the most part, are not published authors but amateur hobbyists and the occasional prospective professional. It's important to be modest about one's abilities in such a context, and to realise that none of us are beyond reproach.

Help others. I've been taught that the best way to really learn something is to try teaching it to someone else. In the same vein, if you really want to improve as a writer, share your knowledge and in the process, strengthen it!

Reply to your reviewers! Reviewers and their feedback are precious, I'm sure we all agree, but if you want them to keep coming, make that extra bit of effort to show you're listening. Otherwise they may as well be shouting into a void.

Understand yourself. Your writing isn't fully separate from you. Being an author is also important. Understand your needs, your strengths, your weaknesses. What you can offer. What you must pursue. What is outside your reach. Figure out how to get yourself writing, because it's different for you than for everyone else. Study not just the craft, but your craft.

Challenge yourself. Write different genres. Write the hard stuff. Write what you normally avoid. Try your hand at NaNoWriMo. Join a writers group, if you can find one. Go the extra mile. Do it. You can.

Wow, hey, as usual I wrote more than I meant to! I hope some of this is useful to some of you.

I invite everyone to share their embarrassing first drafts from the dawn of time and compare them to their proudest recent work. I invite everyone to share encouraging thoughts about improving over time as writers. Lastly, I invite everyone to talk about their own progress and perseverance — how you've kept writing and not given up, and won't give up, and will only get better.

Cheers, all. Many of my fellow writers here have also played a part in my own development. I hope I can play a part in some of yours.

Edit: couple posts down, I've offered up a much more cringey excerpt. It's real bad.

Persephone · Jul 14, 2018

Let's do some first chapter scenes.

The Nuzlocke Saga, 2010
Tbh, this is the most confident I've ever been in my creative writing abilities

I got out of bed, ecstatic that morning. Of course, it was a beautiful day, it always is in Pallet Town. But today was my tenth birthday, the day I got my first Pokemon. It didn't always used to be like that, or so I've been told. It used to be that nobody had to have a liscence to have a Pokemon, some people befriended them as soon as they could walk. But that was done away with when the empire came. Along with so much else. The empire viewed Pokemon as dangerous to thier stability, so there were many restrictions on the number of Pokemon one could have, and the giving of a first Pokemon. And nobody broke the rules. The gym leaders ensured that, reigning over the towns, enforcing the rules, and keeping anyone who got to arrogant in line. They also guarded secrets, or so I had been told.

Anyways, Pallet had no leader. Instead, the Professor oversaw the town. It wasn't known why he was in charge, but some claimed that he had done something great for the empire, far away, and long ago. The Professor was the one who would give me my first Pokemon today, along with his grandson, Gary. By the time I got over to the lab, Gary and the Professor were already waiting. After a little criticism from Gary, which was ignored, Professor Oak began to speak to us.

"Boys, today you embark on a grand adventure, a tale of glory and fame, that may have the fate of the world riding upon it, but first you must pick a Pokemon." He turned to me and said, "Gary has already picked his, now you may pick yours. I gazed over the options, but I had known for a while what I wanted.

"I pick the Bulbasaur."

Oak smiled at me, picked up the Pokeball, and sent out the Pokemon inside. This here is the last one I have. It's still very young. Are you sure this is the one you want?"
About as sure as I was alive. I was asked if I wanted to nickname him, and I decided upon Ivy for some reason. As we walked out the door, Gary came rushing to block our path, saying he wanted to show me who the next leader was. He sent out his Pokemon; a Charmander. Just the very thing I didn't need. I ordered Ivy to growl at it, threatening it to see if we could just avoid the fight. It didn't work, and I ordered Ivy to fight back. After a long series of Tackles and Scratches, Ivy came out victorious, and I had to pull it off of Charmander before it finished off my rival's Pokemon.
I left that battle feeling better than I ever had, laughing all the way up route One with Ivy, enjoying each other's company. We saw a single Rattata along the way, and I had Ivy test it's skills. Rattata was no match for Ivy, and died before I could hold Ivy back. Ivy looked back up at me, still smiling with the Rattata's blood smearing it's face. I felt a strange hollowness looking at the dead Rattata, and decided it was pointless to stay there. Death was a fact of life in the world. It could have died worse.

Flames of Dawn, 2011
It's essentially a rewrite of the above.

Oak paced across the length of his office continuously, never ceasing for any cause. The office was his actual home for most purposes, and he had been spending most of his nights here on his office at the island. He had to, because of the incompetence of those beneath him. Three experiments had died in the last week, and he wasn’t happy to say the least. It had all started with that bloody power failure. Oak scoffed; a warning from Zapdos indeed.

No, Oak doubted that any legendary Pokémon were involved in the accident, and with very good reasons. It was most likely one of those aides he kept running around the place. Some of them were getting restless, annoyed by the total secrecy of the project. Blaine and Pluto just weren’t enough to keep anyone in check anymore. There was always some excuse, a petty trifle that wouldn’t serve as justification in a normal situation, and the administrators just kept caving in. They didn’t seem to realize that lives were at stake here.

There had been deaths in the project, as was always to be expected. The master project had gotten one recently when some incompetent moron had chosen to ignore its power. He shook his head in disgust. For the best scientists in the world, they were very incompetent. All of them were the same, wasting the government’s money without a second thought. Thier projects cost millions of dollars, and they were just treating them like their average play kit that they used. These men wouldn’t know brilliance if they ran into it.

System of Variables, 2011
A rewrite of the above two with a female OC, an in advisable large cast, ninjas and I think super powers, making it the story that originated most of my tropes.

“Hello, Bianca. See you cleared your exam.” I kept it short and neutral. I’ve never known exactly what to say around her to create a conversation that wasn’t likely to break down, and had learned several times over that sarcasm and teasing should be reserved for Gary.

“Eh, Slowking was more annoying than I had imagined, but it still only took about twenty seconds,” she boasted with a smirk on her face. I was pretty sure she was lying, but didn’t bother pushing it. I later found out it took 26, not that it matters. Anyways, the look on her face told me she was in a decent mood, or at least not any state where she was likely to kill me, so I took a seat next to her and Squirtle jumped to the ground. “How did you scrape by?”

I ignored the wording, and just gave a straight answer. “Pretty well, actually. I wasn’t prepared, but I passed.” She folded the corner of her lip up in a half-smile of sorts, probably at something I’d said.

“I guess it’s to be expected that you wouldn’t know what a reasonably smart battler would do. He went for Hypnosis, right?” She was going back to her iPod, just barely paying attention to the conversation.

“Yeah, how’d you know that?” I asked. Hypnosis had never really occurred to me.

She glanced back up, and stared at me for a moment as if I’d asked her the stupidest question she’d ever heard. “Well, it’s the best option. Psychic is great for damage, but can be stalled by Substitute and Dark Auras. That, and no final test ever plays that aggressively. Burn is a nice stalling tactic, but Nidorino knows quite a few special attacks as well, so it would be too easy to avoid. Perish Song leads to a tie, which is simply settled by a redo. Hypnosis, on the other hand, has only one good way around it, is unlikely to be predicted by a rookie such as yourself, and shuts down the opponent to later by blasted away by hexes. It’s simple really.” With that, she turned up her iPod to full volume, blocking out the conversation completely. Squirtle hopped back on my lap, and I stroked his shell for the next few hours while waiting for the tests to conclude.

Backgrounds, 2014
I went on hiatus for a long time. This is the first fic after it, as well as the first one I posted on bulba. And the first with abusive parents!

Gela Esprit never double-locked her door and hadn’t owned a Clefairy doll since she was a little girl. Yet when she got back from her evening swim, the door was locked and a strange pink plush greeted her with wide eyes. She sighed and pulled out her watch and cell phone. “Kodo, scan for bugs. New bugs.” A whirring sound emanated from her timepiece, so she put it down and called her mother as she loaded her computer.

The phone was answered on the third ring. A new record. “Hey, Gela. How’s it going?”

“Same as always. Get up, do some coding, find the meaning of life, talk to my volleyball and maybe the skipper. Standard stuff for living alone on a remote island.” Her OS had loaded. She just needed to wait on Kodo.

“Sarcastic as ever, I see.” The traditional four seconds of silence elapsed. Neither could think of what to say in just three, and five would be unthinkable. “I take it you aren’t just calling for small talk.”

“No, I’m not. What’d I do to piss off the boss this time?”

“Huh?”

“My lair got a visitation today. No robbery, just a few reminders that they’d been there. Probably some bugs, but those are easy enough to take care of.”

“I haven’t heard of anything. Same awkward situation as usual around here. I’ll ask around, though. See if I can find anything.”

“Thanks.” A notification flashed on Gela’s monitor. “I think Kodo’s got something. I’ll get back to you later.”

“Alright, see you soon. Love you.”

“I love you too, mom.” A buzz as the phone disconnected mingled with the stench of lies. Gela scanned the message on her screen. “Alright, disable all but one of the bugs. We’ll destroy them later. In the meantime, let’s see who exactly wants to bother us from the Sevii Islands.

Hard Reset, 2014
The work that I'm still proudest of, tbh. It's a one shot about restarting the game. Heavily inspired by New Game, one of my favorite fan fics ever.

I woke up in Pallet Town. The color of pure white beginnings.

I was back again after defeating the Elite Four for the forty-eighth time. I had heard somewhere, I forget where, that on the fiftieth I would finally get to become Champion. Yes, the Champ himself. Not just a perpetual member of the Hall of Fame. I could wipe the smirk off of Poopstain’s face for the very last time. Part of me wondered if this was like the “you get a PIKABLU for beating the League twenty times” thing that someone had once talked me into believing or that one thing involving the SS Anne and a truck, but I dismissed it. If nothing else, it helped with grinding and that helped me beat other people I met through the linking machines. Winning those matches was strangely satisfying.

Vaira: The Legacy of Cyrus, 2014
Vaira is the only one of my stories to win the Big Award here. It started really dealing with politics, powers and multiple characters. I got it to the end of one arc and abandoned it.

"And that's why if we let the Mexicans in, well, then we have no law! We've already shown that with our failure to impeach the last two presidents, of course, and Mr. Holder still being out of prison—but we can't even keep up the pretense of having law anymore. That's why I'm calling on you, Ms. President, to enforce the law until Congress changes it. That's your job.

"And that's our time for the night. Tune into The Factor tomorrow to see Dr. Ben Carson help us answer one of the most pressing questions of our time: are the Obamaphones brainwashing the poor?"

At the edges of the galaxy, Fox News' most distant viewer turned off her television.

She glanced at the ralts beside her to see it sound asleep. Her species supposedly did that a lot. The girl wasn't sure how much Earthlings actually slept, since they almost never did it on her screen whatever time it was on Earth. But she slept a lot more than she thought the humans did and she was getting tired. Hannity was on next and she could probably collect that broadcast, although that show sometimes got a little fuzzy. The girl mentally scanned the rest of the planet and found that there were a lot of people just outside of her room watching her. That was normal, though. She could've made psychic connection and talked to them but they were afraid of each other and thus preferred not to.

So she decided to just sleep for a while. She was always receiving broadcasts from Earth. They wouldn't be gone when she woke.

In fact, she would be a lot closer to the source.

Iterations, 2017
After Vaira, I took another hiatus. I thought that some of the themes of it, like rising fascism, were a little overboard. And then Trump happened. I liked the concept of Iterations, and I might eventually return to it, but I made some decisions that were cool in the short term and bad for the story's long term growth. I might need to soft reboot it with mostly-the-same chapters with a few crucial plot differences.

a story:

You feel an unexpected calm as you stand over the corpse of your only human friend.

This... this was not how things were supposed to go. You were supposed to be a team out to save the world for your patron gods. Instead you couldn't even save one teammate from the other. You slowly bend your knees and stoop to the ground. You don't know why. It just feels right.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Infernape do the same.

You look down at the body. It's relatively unscathed, beyond one horribly mutilated hand. The rest of the external damage amounts to only a couple cuts, some of which would likely be quite painful to a living human, but none were enough to kill.

No. The damage was inside. Either her lungs had been torn up or she'd been forced not to breathe for an extended period of time. It was the type of wound that might even take down a Pokemon, and one that wouldn't heal.

You collapse the rest of the way. You'd run so far on rough terrain to get her back and, even if Infernape had carried her, your body had still been pushed to its limits. And it wasn't enough. Your thoughts have slowed to a crawl, and you don't know how long you spend on the ground before a rustling in the bushes stirs you.

guidance, 2018
This is a prequel to Iterations that has gradually just became a standalone thing so I'm not bound to the former's canon. It's my major ongoing project.

They’re talking about you again.

You don’t understand many of the words, but you know the tone. Talking more in breath than sound, trying to sound quieter than they really are. The same mock concern they take on the moment they turn away from your table, like they aren’t still in the same room.

But you don’t care. You don’t really care about anything anymore, except maybe for Mother. You wonder if she’s thought of you in the last few… days? Weeks? Months? Between the capsule and the trailer you haven’t had many chances to be outside and count the changing skies and you aren’t sure if the humans work and leave once a day or not.

No, as much as you’d like to believe it you can’t imagine she cares about you anymore. The nine-tails only keep two of their litters to train. It lets them keep the territories intact. When the unchosen become three-tails they set off on their own. Your body and mind and comfort are your problems.

And, because you don’t care, those things are now the people in ice-colored-metal’s problems.

They keep you alive. They try to coax you into eating things that help with the bruises and scars. You won’t, because it’s your mouth and you eat what you want. Which is nothing. They took a capsule out once and you bit them. They let you sleep on the table instead of in a cage like the others, and you’ve learned to sleep in the dark while the humans are away and rest on the table in daylight, keeping an eye open for more capsules.

The Alola Pokedex, 2018
A series of one shots. A spinoff from guidance.

It is best to acquire a member of the line while it is still in its first evolutionary stage. As it develops into an adult (see Evolution), it should seldom be placed inside of a pokéball or separated from its trainer for more than twenty-four hours at a time. Separation for any length of time is stressful for very young rowlet and should be avoided whenever possible. It should be exposed to direct sunlight for at least six hours a day, five days a week. If this is infeasible, most Pokémon Centers in Alola have rooms which can simulate natural sunlight. These rooms in the busiest Centers are typically filled with rowlet and dartrix, allowing for socialization (and an exercise in remembering your rowlet’s crest). During periods of particular stress, rowlet prefer to be cradled by humans or dartrix or, at the very least, given a cramped space to hide in.

The dartrix line have very inefficient digestive systems and, like most birds, they tend to defecate whenever they get ready to fly. Thankfully, rowlet and dartrix much prefer short hops and walking on their talons to flight (see Battling). They are still quite difficult to house train and the only real consolation is that their waste is more solid, and thus easier to clean up, than most birds. There is a five hundred dollar fine for not cleaning up your dartrix’s waste in a public area.

All stages of the dartrix line should be fed a special blend of leaf-based food sold in all Pokémon Centers in Alola, and most pokémon equipment and sporting goods stores. Adult dartrix can be held in pokeballs for considerable lengths of time, although most find this irritating and using their pokéball frequently will undermine their trust in you as their trainer. Dartrix without a photosynthesis-condusive pokéball should get thirty hours of direct or simulated sunlight a week. Decidueye need only three hours of sunlight per week, although they will become more active if exposed to more light. Decidueye also tend not to have strong feelings on being held in their pokéballs.

A lot of people have told me they're jealous of my writing and, to be honest, they're jealous of my seventh draft writing. My first and even fourth projects were nothing special. Except, the first might be especially awful.

tl;dr, keep trying. Everyone sucks at first.

unrepentantAuthor · Jul 14, 2018

@Persephone, thanks for sharing! It looks like your Flames of Dawn excerpt didn't turn up, though. Edit: oh gosh that's a lot of excerpts!

Honestly, as rudimentary as the prose in the Nuzlocke excerpt may be, there are a handful of lines that I really enjoyed. "Just the very thing I didn't need." almost got a chuckle. Do you remember why you decided to make Oak and the gym leaders agents of a grimdark empire? That's a step up from common grade lethal pokémon battles!

A lot of that midrange stuff isn't bad by fanfic standards. Looks like you improved sharply past your first year of writing, even if there are some tonal issues. I especially like the fish salesman amongst all the grimdark in that one earlier excerpt!

I really must read The Alola Pokedex one of these days. And Guidance.

I've decided to share something cringier from my early career, since I've had someone say they don't think it's that painful, haha.

This excerpt is one of the worst things I've ever written. Prepare yourselves.

“So, are we strong?”
“Enough.”
He’s speaks in human because of the Rockets...
“So?..”
“ You will stay. Become stronger. Revolt. Make them think you're loyal, then destroy them... I... ”
He grins...
Turns to the Rockets...
“You, evil, BASTARDS! YOU TORTURE AND OPPRESS US! You ABUSE us; though we’ve done NOTHING to you or ANYONE! YOU MAKE US LIKE THIS AGAINST OUR WILL!! AND TREAT US LIKE THINGS!!!”
The Rockets, stunned, do nothing; a few back away a bit.
“DIE!!!!!”
Sandslash uses defence curl and then rollout, smashing through the bars, glass, and Rockets making up the wall between him and freedom. His spikes impale some, but most are flung into the wall. Getting up, he says: “You have the drive to win because of what they’ve done. But me... I’m going to see what I can do to get support from trainers. Heheh. I’ll be on TV...”
“Wait. What’s your name?”
“What- Uh... Don’t have one. Never thought about it. Most Pokemon don’t go in for names. I’ll think about it.”
He pauses...
“Need an identity...”
Worry and uncertainty can be seen his eyes for a moment...
“I’m doubtful of whether our kind could ever be accepted though...”

Oof. Oof. All-caps and multiple exclamation marks. Never a good sign.

canisaries · Jul 14, 2018

Ohhh boy, time to take a trip back to good ol' Cringe Valley.

It appears that I've deleted the original version of my 2013 MLP fic from my dA at some point, probably out of regret and the fact that despite its awful quality it still kept getting favorites and comments. However, after the initial post, I'd started sort of a rewrite that updated with short scenes that went along with painted illustrations. Given this was when I was 14, the paintings weren't that great (only properly got the hang of painting like a year or two ago), but visual arts isn't the subject of this thread anyway.

What this story was: a backstory I'd come up with for the lackluster villain Sombra from MLP:FiM. When I started the illustrated rewrite, I named the story "Onyx". Here are a couple first "chapters" along with their art:

The Crystal Empire.
The one spark of life in the wintery tundra, protected by a force field.
Outside? Blizzards.
Inside? Blooming flowers.
Petals curled shut, waiting for the sun.
Crystal Ponies frolicking on the streets.
The Crystal Tower standing still and mighty.
The king trotting nervously behind the door of the queen's room...

"Your Highness can come in now."
"Is everything okay?"
"The foal is in good shape and so is the queen."
"Then what's the matter?"
"I think you should see for yourself."

"It's a colt, Algidus..." whispered the white mare.
The king said nothing. He just stared at the foal that was sleeping in the alicorn's hooves.
"Isn't he handsome?"
"...Sure."

It was the middle of the night. The Crystal Tower was asleep and pitch black. The only sounds were the hoofsteps of a scrawny colt, which echoed as he was sneaking though the hallways. A feeble red glow from his horn was the only light. It reflected from the crystal walls and eventually crystal doors, too. Looked like the coast was clear all the way. Like every night before.
He made his way through the labyrinth of a castle and finally arrived at the hallway to the royal's rooms. The queen's room was just a few steps away.

Suddenly, a blinding light filled the area - well, blinding at least to him, being in the dark for so long. One of the doors had been opened. The young stallion shielded his eyes from the light.
"Hey, you!" boomed a voice in front of him. "What are you doing sneaking around at this hour?"
He wasn't quite sure how to respond.
"You're a thief, aren't you." The light had now dimmed a bit, and the colt could see a young male alicorn in front of him, sternly staring down at his face.
"Who are you?" the alicorn continued.
"None of your business."
He immediately regretted his words. The alicorn crushingly shoved him onto the opposite wall with his strong front hooves. "I asked for your name, thief", he said threateningly, "And I get what I ask for."
Huh. This colt has a horn. And no cutie mark! He must be from outside the Empire. I knew they were all thieves.
"And I said... none.. of your.. business!" he said while struggling and raised his back legs. A quick buck to the stallion's ribs was enough to make the alicorn grunt with pain, let go and back off, even though it wasn't very strong. The colt tried his best to flee the scene, but the stallion was faster and pinned him onto the floor. The alicorn raised his hoof. But just as the he was about to hit the colt, he stopped in his tracks. Instead, he started to speak.
"Who am I kidding? You're just a petty thief. You don't deserve a beating."
He stepped back, his other hoof still on the colt's black tail, preventing the thief's escape.
"After all, you're probably just trying to feed your family or something. Tell you what. I will let you go."
He lifted his hoof.
"But don't you ever let me catch you here again."
The colt stood up and ran away.
"Next time you won't be so lucky!" he yet shouted after the grey young stallion.

"Please don't leave me out here in the cold..."

I have no skills. My mother is gone. I'm imprisoned within a vortex of slavery. Owners changing so fast I cannot even remember their faces. Colorless coat. No magic in my horn. It's useless. Arrogance of a royal but no freedom.
What is freedom? I don't even know. I've never experienced it.
Question is, will I experience it?
Could I experience it?
With power, perhaps.
But where do I find such power?
Have I looked for it?
Good point.

Huh. A bag of ice powder. I wonder why it's just lying there. Maybe I should take it with me.

and what do you know, it suuuuucks. I still have more pride for it than my first TPP fic, though. That one had a plot that was just... beyond terrible.

And as for where I am now...

“Red?”

I’m not answering.

“Red, talk to me.”

I hug Him tighter. The burns scream pain.

“Please tell me what's wrong.”

I turn my head to the glass wall, Jade standing behind it. Her hands are clasped together. She stares back at me, yearning for a response.

But no. I don't want to bother. I don't want false hope anymore. I don't want to be smashed down onto the concrete of disappointment again. Just let me lie down on my face, don't yank me up for another round.

They're not going to let me out. They're going to keep doing this to me until I’m dead or my soul is, leaving behind an empty husk that won't complain or cause any trouble.

“Is the beast doing something?”

The beast isn't doing anything. The beast actually isn't even here. It's gone, though probably not for long - it’s appeared out of nowhere before, it can do it again, no matter how hard they shock me.

Jade’s voice becomes quieter. “Did the treatment cause something again?”

“Haruna!” sounds a shout from somewhere beyond. Maybe the same guy as last time, maybe not. “Treatment’s soon, chop chop!”

My fingers clutch His fabric like a noctowl’s talons on a freshly killed rattata. It's not too long until they'll dart me again. So, will I wake up to endure another vortex or back in this bed to discover another new injury?

“Only a minute!” Jade calls back and rushes to push the food dispensing button. “Please, Red, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong,” she begs of me.

“They'll just make it even worse!” I snap, just to shut her up. I feel bad right away. I shouldn't yell so loudly right next to Him.

“What did they do?”

I stay silent. The pebbles clink to the bowl.

Jade turns around. “What the hell did you do?” she shouts.

She cares so much about me. Why? Is she that naive? Even with the lie I told her, she can’t possibly think I’m a good person. Maybe she thinks of me as like a wild mon in a cage. Knows I can and would kill her, but won’t blame me for it. Protects me because she thinks I don’t deserve punishment for being what I am.

But I’m a human. I have choice. That’s what everyone else thinks, anyway. That’s what laws are modelled after. And she speaks to me like I was human.

“You have ten seconds to get him to eat the food before he’s tranqed!” the voice declares.

That’s fine. I’ve lost my appetite, as well as any motivation to keep trying.

Jade continues to argue back, but I stop listening and let myself fall to my side. My heart’s going crazy, but that’s just the primitive side of me thinking there’s a way out of this mess and I should run straight for it. I stroke one of His fuzzy tentacles with my thumb and close my eyes. At least He’s here.

The seconds run out and a fwip stings my neck, pulling me back to the abyss of the unconscious.

I'd like to think I know much better now what to write down and what not to, as well as how to phrase things.

unrepentantAuthor · Jul 14, 2018

Thanks for sharing, Canis. I think if you look past the part where your old work is about institutional slavery in a dystopian version of My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, then the prose isn't as dire as, for example, the excerpt in my last post. I too deleted my old work, and I have no idea how it got as popular as it did!

Beth Pavell · Jul 14, 2018

My first fiction suffered from most of the usual flaws of teenage writing. It was shallow, derivative, the plot thundered along, I was more interested in worldbuilding than telling a story and I didn't really know what I was going to do with it. I didn't have anything like a Mary Sue, but the characters were flat and juvenile anyway.

I can't really remember what the first version of The Long Walk was like, it's been through that many revisions. As far as I recall there was still a veneer of caricature left on the characters, and it had no real emotional weight. My prose has become more polished, but I think it's attention to the plot that's probably improved the most

diamondpearl876 · Jul 15, 2018

@Persephone Holy crap. Three years between Vaira and Iterations? Felt like no time at all. And feels like you came back and shrugged off that rust like it was nothing indeed. I've had a blast following each of your fics tbh, and having all those excerpts in one spot reminded me of that.

@canisaries Easily one of the fastest growing writers I've ever seen. Also great to see that put in perspective here, heh. Keep at it!

@unrepentantAuthor You know my thoughts on Different Eyes changing a bit over the years, I think, but I just wanted to say that's all solid advice for writers, both old and new.

I started writing fic around 2003. I shared this elsewhere once upon a time, and here it is again:

Me and my opponent,Sara,stepped into the arena.
'Start now!'blared the announcer,and so we did.
'Go!Pikachu!'I cried,sending out my only Pokemon for the tournement.
'A Pikachu?Like,is that the best thing that you can release?'asked sara.'Like,go1electabuzz!'
A Pokemon with black stripes around its body appeared,staring angrily into Pikachu stirring and
gleaming eyes.
'Pikachu!Thunder!'I ordered.
Pikachu,who was more experienced than ever,blasted Electabuzz extremely hard.It fell
to the ground with a thud.
'And Nico id out winner!'cried the emcee.'Next up!'
'That was easy,'I said.'One hit.....'
WILL THE OTHERS WIN?FIND OUT IN CHAPTER 40!
PS:Sorry my stoey is sooooooo long with chapters!And chapter 45 will be
the last.I'm not doing Kanto.Sorry!

No comment.

Took a long hiatus myself. From 2007 to 2011, I wrote about 600 drabbles/ficlets/one-shots. I wrote during any free time I had, even during school lunch hour. But I can't say there's anything I was particularly proud of... I was very much all about quantity over quality back then. This was when LiveJournal was popular, and there, prolifically being able to churn out short works was kinda all the rage. Plus I was easily influenced. Anyway, in that short span a space, it goes without saying that emotions/characters took precedence over plot. I guess that might've helped me hone those skills for my current works? I certainly struggle with anything else, even today.

There was a romance one-shot for Ace Attorney that really, really got me out of my comfort zone, and actually, I found a post on Court-Records a few months ago asking where that one-shot went after I'd deleted it off of FF.net. I can be proud of that. I liked that I was more adventurous in the amount of fandoms I wrote for as well.

"Luxio, use Thunderbolt! Golbat, use Wing Attack!"

The command sounds familiar. The name and the attack may always be different, but the order is still similar all the same. The trainer sounds so confident in his Pokémon, and so set on us being destroyed. I see the Luxio and Golbat attack you, and I can tell you just want to scream in agony. Two high-leveled Pokémon had just used some powerful moves, so I can't blame you. I long to feel the pain you do, just to see what it feels like. Why not attack me, huh? I seem to only be here for looks, or is my defense just too strong for them? My trainer orders me to use Ice Beam, and so I do, and miss. My master says that it's okay, but in reality, it's not.

I look at you, and you look at me with the saddest face I've ever seen. I can read you like a book. You just want one of them to kill you, so you don't have to do this any longer.

"Weavile, snap out of it! We can't lose! Not again . . . Use Brick Break on Luxio!"

You get back to the job on hand due to the harshness of our masters' voice, and attack Luxio with all you've got. It's still not enough, however, as it looks like it was never touched in the first place. Finally, with an aggravated sigh, my trainer calls me to help you. It's what I do best, and it never fails. Before the opponents get to attack, I rush to you as fast as I can on my small little feet, and offer to help. I hand out my egg to you, and I can easily get another later if you need it. I wait for you to take it, but you don't. The Golbat swoops down and slams its body into you, causing you to fly back in surprise.

Everyone stops moving, waiting to see if you will get up again and continue fighting. You do, and I wonder why you won't just give up, when it is very clear you do not want to battle anymore. Once again, I hand out my egg, and you turn your head in resentment and tell me to back away, to go focus on myself and use the egg for my own needs. You see, I just can't do that. I can not stand by and watch my trainer's Pokémon fall victim to the cruelties of battling, the cruelties of being enslaved by creatures we call humans. I can not just watch you take each hit, one after the other, and experience the pain which you do not deserve. And, so, I try to help you, even if my treatment works for a mere five seconds. However, you don't take this generous offer, and simply shove me away.

Why must you do that? I am only trying to help. Of course, the answer is clear, and right there before my very eyes. You just want to win by yourself. You want to prove to our trainer that you are worthy of being kept, of being used and not stuck in your Pokéball all day. You're afraid of being abandoned and left heartbroken, only to be found by another trainer looking for a Pokémon to simply fill the sixth slot on his or her team.

The other trainer smiles in amusement, and orders the Luxio to use one last Thunderbolt attack. I see you get shocked with unwanted electricity, and you slowly slump to the ground in defeat. I look to our trainer, who does not speak. He looks angry, and does not recall you to your Pokéball. Why not? You can't get hurt any more in there. He could have stopped further pain, but he didn't.

"I give up. You can leave now," my trainer says to the other. His voice shows no emotions, and he does not take his eyes off the Weavile.

"Whatever you say, weakling." He chuckles for a moment, and walks off.

I see you slowly snap back to reality, and get up, your body shivering with fear. For a moment, I think you are going to faint again, which probably would have been a relief for you. Instead, you look at our trainer, waiting for his reaction.

"You see what you did? You lost again. Again! Can you not do anything?"

I see you make a defensive position, as if our trainer is going to hurt you. I think he is, too, for a moment.

"Come on, Chansey. We're leaving." Then, he points at you and says, "Don't you dare follow, either."

I don't want to leave you. I really don't. I could only hope the best for you in the future. As a desperate attempt to try and help you once more, I drop my egg on the ground, turn my back, and walk away. To this day, I don't know where you are. I don't know if you have found another trainer, and if you did, I don't know how he treats you. I don't know what has happened to my egg, whether you consumed it and healed yourself, or if it was found by another wild Sneasel and taken for an early dinner.

All I know is that maybe, if I hadn't distracted you, you wouldn't have been hit by that Golbat. Then, you could have attacked the others, and I could have used my Ice Beam to help that way. No . . . Instead, I got you thrown out of the team and left with nowhere to go. I left you with feelings of lonliness and betrayal, and with a memory that will forever be with you, whether you want it or not. And for that, I'm sorry.

It's funny, Franziska thinks, how everyone she knows has been accused of being a criminal.

Everyone except for her, that is.

She chuckles to herself when she thinks of them. There's Miles and how he always ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time. There's Phoenix, whose path to finding the truth is always interrupted. And Gumshoe, he doesn't have the intelligence to keep himself out of trouble. They're fools, she thinks. All of them are fools that know nothing about the law or its meaning.

Still, she can't help but wonder--

What if she is the one asked to prove their guilt one day?

She considers herself lucky that she's never been declared as the enemy of her loved ones before. But this could change so easily, so easily, just like the evidence pertaining to a case is always changing, always offering different perspectives. And if that were to happen, could she set aside her perfect record, just once, to prove their innocence? She doesn't think she could. Her father had always told her that the law doesn't make mistakes. If someone is a suspect and sent to trial, then they're guilty, and that's the end of the case. He had told her that there are no exceptions. Of course, he had believed in his own rules until he was sent to trial himself, where he denied everything, everything, so--

She asks Miles about this, just once, because he's been accused several times and he's a disciple of her father, too, and he should know. He has to know. He's the only one left. She asks him outside of his home when the dull sun is about to set.

"Franziska," he says seriously, ignoring how cold the winter air is, and she's not sure if she should be worried or assured that he has all the answers. "You have to remember, Franziska... that your father was a criminal. And that fact cannot be dismissed, no matter what."

"Then perhaps I should dismiss everything he has taught me about the law," she says quickly, quietly. Harshly.

"Not necessarily," Miles says. He smiles at her words, because they're different than what he's accustomed to-- unsure and scared of the words she really wants to say, the ones that are drip drip dripping from her tongue like unpure water. And with her tone of voice, he can clearly see that she wouldn't truly consider this option anyway, not in a million years. "I can attest to the fact that everything that he taught us respects the law except for what you just told me. Why? Because that tactic doesn't always lead to the truth."

Franziska pauses before replying. She wants to scream. She wants the air to freeze her and let Miles abandon her because she shouldn't be here, shouldn't be asking these ridiculous questions. She knows what he's saying is right, and this is what she had been expecting, but now that the words are real, she wishes more than anything that they weren't.

Finally, finally, she does something that she feels is right. She crosses her arms and says, "Well, let's just hope this situation never happens, and then it won't be an issue."

Miles frowns. "You don't think you could lose for the truth's sake? Let me ask you this, Franziska. This would never happen, but what if I were the criminal in a case where you are the prosecutor? Would you fight the defense without holding back?"

"Of course I would," she says weakly, disturbed by the idea. "I would never be able to forgive myself if I just let you free, even if you are someone I know."

"As it should be. Now, what if I was innocent, and you knew it? Would you willingly send me to jail, to execution, for the sake of your father's words?"

Franziska imagines him long ago, when they were both just children who looked up to their separate fathers and their conflicting professions. She remembers them becoming connected by the stopping of an elevator, by the world shaking mercilessly, by fate. And she remembers them growing older as if they really were siblings. Playing in the sandboxes, building castles that they couldn't enter no matter how hard they tried, no matter how badly they wanted to be protected. Reassuring each other on every first day of school, because kids could be so cruel and they both knew it. Racing to find the truth in anything until the point where they didn't face each other anymore, because they were suddenly on the same side, just involved with different courts, different cases.

To steer his fate toward a guilty verdict would be the same as betraying all of their history.

And for what? Franziska wonders.

For nothing.

She would visit Miles in jail and not be able to look him in the eye. She would hear murmurs and be asked questions about him and she would be incapable of saying anything to defend him this time. She would see Gumshoe and Larry and Phoenix and know that she took one of the most important part of their lives away. She would follow through with old traditions like Christmas--by herself, because he would be prohibited from it all. And eventually, she would have to visit his grave and tell him about everything he's missed, things about the law, his friends, things that she shouldn't have to tell him to begin with.

She would have to do all of this--for nothing. For nothing.

"No, I don't think I would," she says, then corrects herself. "No. I wouldn't."

"I had a feeling you'd say that. You really are amazing, Franziska," Miles replies, grinning.

"I already knew that, Miles Edgeworth," she says, and can't help but grin as well when she realizes that she's speaking normaly again, without stuttering, without reaching for words.

The sun is gone now. It had disappeared when they were talking, not waiting for them to notice, eager to allow nighttime to seep in their lives once more. But this time, Franziska knows, she won't be haunted by the dark and she won't be afraid of the power of stars, because she doesn't have anything to wish for tonight.

Then we come around to Survival Project and other works I'm actually proud of. Started SP in 2011, dropped it for a couple years, revisited it, and finished it. I tend to think the style in Phantom Project is even better from then. Can't share an excerpt because all the ones I'm proud of are spoiler-ific. xD

I'll highlight the difference between Haley's narration in Flying in the Dark between the original and rewrite, too. The most noticeable thing ever that made me wonder what the fuck I thought I was doing back then.

April 21

Dear Markus Samaras,

I know I’ll be lucky if you even open this, but please do not throw away my letter just yet. They all told me that this was a stupid idea on my part. They all told me that you’ll probably want nothing to do with me, people “like you” (their words, not mine) don’t want an outsider’s pity, but I’m not here to give you pity. I’ll explain why I’m writing to you later. I need to get your attention as quickly as possible, don’t I? So don’t throw this letter away yet, because I believe in you. I’d bet my life on you—every single part of it. Oh, and yes, I’m well aware that I hardly know you.

Where do I start? I don’t want to bring you down, but I’ve been asked again and again, “How could you be so foolish, Haley? What are you thinking?” And it’s not just because I’m writing to a man in prison. If that sounds harsh, I’m sorry, but I don’t like to sugarcoat things. I want things to be as realistic and as honest as possible. Let me tell you a little bit about myself. I just turned eighteen. For a while I have been reevaluating my life, wondering if I was really where I wanted to be, being homeschooled in this city with its blinding lights and noises that say nothing. (I’ll tell you where I’m from and where I’m going if you decide to write to me, but not right now. I still have to play it safe.) I was always waiting for something to happen, but nothing ever did. I recently realized that it was up to me to do something about my life. This year I had my golden birthday. What a perfect opportunity, right? I told my parents I no longer wanted schooling. Instead I want to travel from city to city with my pokémon, the only ones that have ever been there for me and understood me.

I guess you could be asking why I am writing to you if I seem to detest people so much. It’s not that I detest them, really. It’s quite the opposite. I want to know everyone and everything. Someone once asked me if I strive for omnipotence. Maybe, but I know it’s impossible. I want to be that person that someone approaches on the street because they need somebody, anybody at all. I want to be that person who hears all kinds of life stories simply because I look approachable and friendly. That means I want to know everything about you, but I understand if you don’t want to tell me everything right away. I’m hoping this will be something we can do in the long run, so I am okay with learning about you slowly. Anyway, I just don’t think the people here are living up to their full potential. Every day I see the same faces, even though there are so many. Every day I see them going to the same places with the same disgruntled looks and slouched shoulders. How bizarre and unsightly. I don’t like it. There’s got to be something better out there.

I’m sorry if I’m saying too much all at once. That’s just how I am. I can tell you more basics if it makes you feel better. If you’re wanting to here more of my thoughts, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Well, my father is my teacher and a stay-at-home dad for me and my younger brother, Joey. My mother works as a nurse at a pokémon center. They’re all against what I want to do. They don’t think I can become knowledgeable out in the real world, or, mostly in my brother’s case, they think it’s too dangerous. I’ve tried to see where they’re coming from, but we’re too different. The only person I’m particularly close to is my grandmother. She gave me my first two pokémon, Seybs and Ribbons. Seybs was a gift for Christmas when I turned thirteen. She thought it was appropriate to celebrate my transition into being a teenager. Seybs is a young pidgeotto and I named him because Seybs is a shortened version of my grandmother’s previous surname. People thought this was weird, but Seybs likes it and I do, too. Why can’t pokémon be named after humans, too? I just wanted to show my grandmother that she’s special. I know she’s not supportive of me either, but she is doing her best, and that is what counts. I know she’s trying because she bought Ribbons for me from a professional breeder in Johto recently. She said I needed another pokémon that wasn’t as lazy as Seybs. Sorry, Seybs, but I have to agree. Ribbons is a natu. The red spike on the back of his head reminded me of a ribbon, hence his name. Because he’s so protective and alert, he’s truly like a prize to me. He’s a symbol of what I want to accomplish on my upcoming journey. I’ve only had him for a week and I can already tell he’ll be a great pokémon.

I guess I should tell you why I’m writing to you. Along with wanting to meet people, I just want to see new sights, things I’ve never seen before. New lights, festivals and parties, anything at all. I don’t think those kinds of things should be left to the eye alone. The view becomes especially spectacular when you can describe it to someone else and make them feel the same as you did when you first saw it. That’s the kind of connection I want with you. Is that too weird? And you’re probably wondering… Why you, of all people? Well, my brother is one year younger than me and he’s been in a whole lot more trouble than I have. He claims that’s why he knows my journey is dangerous. He’s handled drugs with many people of many different ages. He said he knows you because of that. I don’t want to assume you’re in jail because of drugs, but that’s what’s in my mind right now. He says you probably got caught one day and sent to jail for rehabilitation. Is this true? Again, I don’t want to push you, but I don’t want to make assumptions, either. I chose you because I had to choose someone, and someone my brother knows is the best it’s going to get. Also, I feel that you will appreciate knowing about the outside world from someone else’s point of view until you’re free and can see it for yourself.

I don’t know anything about you, but I would like to. Won’t you write back to me?

Sincerely,
Haley Zamor

April 21

Dear Markus Samaras,

I know I’ll be lucky if you even open this, but if you’ve gotten this far, please don't throw away my letter until you read it all! My family's been telling me that writing to you is a stupid idea, but I don't think so. They say I should want nothing to do with a prisoner, and that people “like you” (their words, not mine) don't want an outsider's pity. But I'm not here to give you pity! I'll explain why I'm writing to you later. I need to get your attention as soon as possible.

Anyway, I'm sorry if that wasn't the best way to start a letter. I just don't like to sugarcoat things. I want to be a realistic, honest person, so let me tell you about myself. I just had my golden birthday. I'm 18 now! ...Which would be exciting, except lately I've been thinking about my life and wondering if I'm where I should be. Anistar City hasn't done much for me, mostly because I've been homeschooled since I was a kid. And Anistar City is known for having the best schools in Kalos... Ironic, isn't it? I'm a sheltered girl who's been waiting for something to happen. If anything interesting or exciting has happened, I must have missed it.

I've realized that it's up to me to make something happen. Yesterday I told my parents that I wasn't attending university this year. Instead I'm gonna explore Kalos with my pokémon, since pokémon have always been there for me and understood me. Not that I don't like people or anything. It's quite the opposite. I want to know everything about everyone and then some. My brother asked me about being all-knowing once, but I know that's impossible. ...I crossed that out because I didn't mean to talk about my brother so soon. Sorry about that. What I want is similar to omniscience, though, I guess? By the end of my journey I'll be that person who's heard all kinds of stories... including yours, if you'll write back to me. Obviously you don't have to tell me everything right away. I'm really hoping we can do this in the long run.

Am I saying a lot all at once? That's just how I am. If it makes you feel better, I could be a bit more simple. Hmm... My father is my teacher and a stay-at-home dad. My mother works as an nurse at our local Pokémon Center. Both of them are against what I want to do. Traveling is dangerous, I'll give them that, but why can't I take what I've learned in school and apply it to the real world? Isn't that why we learn in the first place?

Well, I've always been different from the rest of my family. I get along with my grandmother, but that's it. I used to run to her house in the middle of the night twice a week or more. She would force herself to stay awake and we would bake oatmeal cookies, watch horror movies or listen to music soft enough for only us to hear. Anything to take my mind off of what I was running away from. Thankfully she's kept this a secret from my parents.

What's even better is that she's tried to help me be less lonely. She works for Anistar's school system too, but instead of focusing on history or literature, she raises baby pokémon to be tame for younger trainers like me. I wasn't surprised when she gave me a pidgey on my 13th birthday. She loves holidays and special occasions, so she found it appropriate to celebrate my becoming a teenager. After some convincing, my parents let me keep the pidgey.

That pidgey is now a pidgeotto. I call him Seybs, which is a shortened version of my grandmother's surname. My parents think this is weird, but I'm sure other trainers nickname their pokémon after humans. I did it in honor of my grandmother, so why are they complaining? I know she's not 100% supportive of me either... She's giving me a chance, though. That's what counts.

When she heard the news, she went so far as to buy me another pokémon. Ribbons, my natu, was born in Johto with the help of a professional breeder. The red spike on the back of his head reminded me of a ribbon, hence his name. He's protective and alert, unlike Seybs... Sorry, Seybs, but you're a lazy battler and would rather sleep on my shoulder any day. I've only had Ribbons for a week and I already know he'll be a great addition to the team.

Okay... I guess I should tell you why I'm writing to you at this point. Basically I want to see sights I've never seen before—festivals with bright lights and firework shows, crossroads with high plains on one side and rocky mountains on the other, pokémon overcoming type disadvantages… I don't think those memories should be left to the eye alone. The view becomes especially spectacular when you can describe it to someone else and make them feel the same as you did when you first saw it. That's the kind of connection I want with someone.

But why you, of all people? Well, now’s as good a time as any to talk about my brother for real. Joey’s a year younger than me, and he's been in a whole lot more trouble than I have. He thinks writing to you is risky too, but that's besides the point. He's handled drugs and sold them for money, and says he knows you because of that. He says you probably got caught and sent to jail for rehabilitation. I don't want to make assumptions... but if it's true, I don't mind. I feel safe enough. I chose you because I had to choose someone, and someone my brother knows is the best it's gonna get. I feel that you might appreciate my company and descriptions of the outside world more than other people might.

Take Anistar City, for example. The starry timekeeping city... Seat of the Kalos League... Home of the famous sundial... Anistar City is where I live, so it should be easy to describe. Guess not. What I said is true enough, but let's try again. Before I forget, though... Sorry if you know about the city already!

We do have the sundial on the northwest edge of town. Two simple beam bridges, said to signify unity between Kalos and other regions, lead to a cul-de-sac lined with shrubbery and stones with ancient engravings on them. The Gateshead River coming from the nearby mountain flows in between the bridges, and people throw amulet coins into the water after making a secret wish. The area is kept clean in case Diancie, the legendary jewel pokémon, comes to bless us with its presence.

Every evening the sun falls into a perfect position, and light peaks through the sundial's center, causing it to spin. The wind it creates stirs up the snow from Mamoswine Road and by the time night comes, it looks like it's snowing all over, even if it's not winter. Evening is also when the most tourists gather and train pokémon that can mega evolve, as the golden rock in the cul-de-sac's center is said to be cut from Diancie's body itself and will grant great power to those with potential.

I don't think Diancie will ever visit, though. The way it releases carbon from its body to make diamonds would be bad for Anistar City, which has already been polluted for several centuries thanks to the old coal mines. Our natural ventilation system is even worse because we're located within the Vallée Étroite Way and surrounded by mountains. The sundial's winds can only do so much. Recently we've been trying to cut down on heavy industry and have gotten rid of our ports.

Since then the city has been trying to save face by building landmarks that honor our role in the Kalos League as well as our history with the war from 3,000 years ago. The League Council is the most famous example, as it's where the gym leaders meet once a month to discuss the state of the region. There are all sorts of arches and fortifications left over from when Anistar City began as a military outpost, and you can see artifacts and stained glass in just about every museum. Oh, and all of our houses are black and white, framed with timbers. We don't have yards. Outside our windows, we see castrum-patterned pavement, medieval-themed streets and, if you're in a notable district, Gothic Cathedrals.

We also have parks with swing sets and small zoos, which doesn't sound as cool, but it encourages kids to become trainers when they're older. Training is a common full-time job, and if we're taught anything about the Kalos League, it's that the gym leaders keep the region safe. So my journey shouldn't be all that worrisome. I couldn't tell you why my parents are the only ones that don't support pokémon training...

I should probably stop here, on the off chance that you didn’t open this letter at all and I just embarrassing myself nonstop. But I hope you’ve gotten this far, because I don’t know anything about you and I’d like to, I really would. Write back to me?

Sincerely,
Haley Zamor

Honestly, there's still stuff I write today that I genuinely cringe at even after it sits for a bit. Not everything is going to be perfect. Not everything has to be perfect. It doesn't mean you're a failure or that you've regressed or aren't improving or anything like that. You learn along the way, same as you do anything else, and no one's ever done learning.

Keep writing indeed. I know when I stop writing for a while, it feels like something's missing. Something that's remedied the moment I start putting words on the page again. Just like magic.

unrepentantAuthor · Jul 15, 2018

Sometimes my beta still catches me writing utter bollocks and makes me cut it out, so I'm with you on that last point, @diamondpearl876!

Thanks for sharing — yours might just be the greatest improvement over the longest time we've seen. Also, props for including a cringey 2003 author's note! I have lost all my old author's notes as I did not include them when I archived my old fics, but they were often the worst and most embarrassing parts of my early writing career.

Juliko · Jul 16, 2018

I've been writing stories since 2005, and personally, I'd like to say I've improved as a writer in certain areas. But there's still a lot I need to learn. I do know this for sure: My writing now is WAY better than it was back when I first started at 12 years old and when I was in high school. Unfortunately, I deleted all of my earliest stories, so I can't show you any of my embarrassing Super Robot Monkey Team Hyperforce Go fan fics for your amusement. I can, however, share excepts of original works I've written in high school and early college!

It came down from the sky deluged in twilight. The gentle but turbulent wind blew it gently across the sky and down below. A single, clear, opalescent, white feather was being carried off by the wind and into the world down below. The sky was deluged in the dawn of twilight. Most of it is blue, but the bright yellow sun was slowly and slowly peeking up from the horizon, causing the sky to become a mixture of a bright, soft orange, a mauve and rosy purplish pink, and with a small spec of vermilion red. Some specs of yellow began to appear little by little. The little feather let itself become one with the gentle breeze and was carried off into a small little world down below, consumed by color and a sense of pristine purity. The pristine white feather then gently went further into the world down below and was now trapped within the confines of many trees. Most of them had very thin barks that looked blue and green in the morning, but their leaves were pure malachite green, glimmering in the morning sun because of the little dewdrops that hung from their tips and on the leaves themselves. In fact, the evergreen grass down below was consumed by morning dew, which made it shimmer in the fleeting light.

There wasn't just grass and trees. Most of the world down below was consumed by flowers. Flowers, flowers, flowers of all kinds. Bright red, pink, and white roses, little blue stars, delicate white daisies, cheery and blithe sunflowers, vibrant violets, prickly poinsettias, angelic white narcissi, and even rosy white magnolias. Some of the trees were consumed by vibrant apricot blossoms and rose-colored plum blossoms. Of course, summer was here and the flowery trees were soon to be no more...for a little while. Most of the flowers were surrounding a rather large house. Most of it was made of wood, with the roof tiles also being of a grey wood. It looked almost like a large school dormitory. The main entrance had large wooden doors with very refined glass knobs, a set of greyish yellow stairs, and a large, Big Ben-like clock on the top, though it did not stand very tall. There was a small dirt path that led to a little city that happened to be nearby. It seemed that the residents wanted a more peaceful and nature filled style of living. Soon, the little feather then got caught in one of the wooden roof tiles and it seemed that it was unable to free itself. But it hung from a tile that pointed to a very very very large oak tree consumed by it's green leaves almost completely. It's branches and bark were absolutely large, but it stood only 40 feet away from the dormitory-like building where the feather was hanging from.

But what's this? Someone is sleeping on one of the branches! It is a young boy, about 14-15 years old in age. He is fair-skinned and slender, and has very short but choppy dark yellow hair with it's bangs part down the middle and facing both sides of his face. He is wearing a very long, orange night dress with long sleeves and white buttons on the chest part along with a long, floppy orange hat with a little yellow bell hanging from the tip. His head lay peacefully on a leafy branch as he snored in a blithe but quiet manner. Some drool was sticking to his diamond-cut jaw. His right leg hung helplessly from the branch, but it seemed that the sleeping boy did not have a care in the world and is having a very peaceful and wonderful beauty sleep. The lucid white feather stared at the sleeping boy from afar, then it finally broke away from the wooden roof tile. It gently flew through the air again and it fell near the building. The building has many windows that are about 3 feet apart from each other, with the exception of the main entrance that doesn't have windows. The feather finally fell into a pot of small daisies that is next to the stairs and remained there for simply a short while...until another figure appeared through the doors.

This was after his memorial service. People started coming to our house in big numbers. Mom prepared food for everybody and everyone wore black clothes. I had to wear a black tuxedo and a white shirt, even though I really hated the collar. It was tight and it was making me choke. What I didn't like was that all these strange people I don't know were flooding our house. But what I hated the most was that Mom had that look on her face. It's full of both sadness and anger. I can tell because I've seen it before. Whenever someone close to Mom dies, she tends to act...well, not her usual self. What I also hated was that she wouldn't let me into my room and kept making me see all the people that came to our house.
She keeps introducing me to people. I say hello to them, but I don't look them in the eyes. Mom pesters me to look at them.
"So you're Anri. Your mother's told me so much about you!" One woman said.
"Wasn't it a beautiful memorial service?" Another one says. I don't see how memorial services can be beautiful. They're supposed to be sad, aren't they?
"I love your drawings. Can you draw me something?" Another one asks. I don't answer.
"Aren't you lucky you have so many people who care about you?" Another woman says to me.
No. I don't feel lucky. In fact, why does she care? She didn't lose a father. I don't understand why all these strange people are here. They didn't lose a father. Why do they even care? Nobody ever cared about us before, so why care now? Nobody cared to help me when I was sad except for Dad. Before this, people knew me as the 'badly behaving boy who isn't disciplined correctly' and a bunch of other things. If you care so much that my Dad just died, then why do you think I'm bad? Don't lie just so you can feel like a good person when you're not!
Mom keeps holding onto my wrist really hard and really tight. This means she's getting angry. I don't know why she gets angry when stuff like this happens. When she sees someone she knows, she lets go of my hand and talks to them. This is my chance to take Patrasche and go into the backyard. But something stops me. A big, fat, flabby woman is in front of me holding a green and white candy in her hand in front of my face.
"Want this?" She asks. I'm grossed out. I don't like mints.
"No thanks. I don't like mints," I tell her as I walk to the deck out back.
I hate mints, but I also hate being stuck in crowded places and loud noise. It's nice out, and the sky is a perfect mixture of red and orange and purple and blue. Sometimes, Dad and I would sit out here and watch the evening sky together. Patrasche lays on my lap as I hug his big fluffy body. But as I'm stroking him, my heart starts feeling heavy and tears begin dripping from my eyes. I finally decide to cry into Patrasche's fur. I don't care if I get dog hair all over this tuxedo! I don't like this tuxedo anyway! Worst of all, I don't like the fact that Dad just died and that I lost someone very important to me while these strange people come in and eat food and drink wine and champagne
and claim that they care about us when they don't even know anything! They didn't know Dad! They don't care! They're just saying that so that they'll be recognized as good people when clearly they're not! Even that woman who called me a spoiled brat two years ago came to the house and offered her false condolences! All their condolences are false! I'll bet they're all thinking that I finally have an excuse for my 'bad behavior' now that Dad's dead! I'm not bad! Why does everyone think I'm bad? What did I ever do to them? Dad...where are you? Why did you have to leave me?

Yeah...I was BIG into purple prose back then, mainly because I hoarded every single vocabulary word sheet I ever received in all of my English classes, thinking using them all would make my writing seem better and more professional. I didn't even break the habit until 2014, and not in the best way possible. Looking back on these excerpts now, I'm baffled as to why I managed to write stuff that's clearly very bloated and overblown. No wonder my current writing teacher says I need to start writing less. I think I'm starting to get a little better at that. Here's an excerpt from another, much smaller fan fic project I'm working on right now:

“Awwww YEAH!! I’M ON FI-YAAHHH!!”

Jubilant cheers shook the household, pulling Orias out of his reverie. He had just finished mixing some sugar into some Darjeeling tea, and the shout from the living room had sent a jolt up and down his body, throwing his concentration completely off balance. The spoon he was holding clinked against the cup, nearly spilling it, had he not managed to keep the cup steady. Next to him, a woman also found herself nearly falling out of her chair, her heart racing a mile a minute. Her grey blue eyes were wide, and her hand flew to her chest in alarm. Once he noticed her duress, Orias extended a hand out just in case she did fall off her chair.

“Are you alright, Claire?” Orias asked, his navy blue eyebrows furrowing in concern.

“Yeah. No biggie,” Claire replied, having taken a minute to recompose herself. “Jeez, Akki really has no concept of an indoor voice, doe he?” She groaned, resting her chin on her hands. She could still hear the man’s voice in her ears and felt her eardrums throbbing.

Orias returned to spinning the spoon in his tea. He did shoot a slightly annoyed glance towards the entrance to the living room. “They’re a very gregarious group, so I’m used to it.”

Used to it was he was, cheering and shouting still made the living room buzz with activity. That, along with the screeching of car wheels, feet thumping on the floor, and video game beeping noises filled the air. Orias could only purse his lips together in a thin line. Did they really have to be so loud? Claire could only smile as she overheard their playful banter.

“Oh, come on, Akki!” A woman’s voice complained. “Why’d you have to run into me?!”

“That’s what you get for not paying attention, Mirari!” The responding voice, which belonged to Akki, playfully teased. “Yay! First place again! Let’s go for another round!”

Here's hoping I actually improved a bit. I wonder if I should share some of my cringey author's notes from high school? Or the old reviews from Fanfiction.net I left on various stories way back when I started writing?

lucarioknight56 · Jul 16, 2018

I've been writing since mid-2013, and I have definitely improved. I first started with role plays, my first one being on an alternate site. It was about a PMD-esque world where there was this virus turning Pokemon into zombies. Crazy, I know, but it interested me. Here are my first four posts I made in said RP:

Conner was helping Historius by donating some of his blood for the research. It didn't hurt at all. Historius said, thankfully, "Thank you Conner. My research is going along greatly. I hope I can discover a cure for this dreadful disease.". Conner said," Your welcome Historius. Is there anything else I can do?". "Yes, how about you check and see if there is any travelers at our doorstep. Invite them in, if you please." Historius answered. Conner nodded, and has gone to check for visitors.

Conner saw no visitors, but he saw a mob of Pokemies going to safe haven Everest. He ran frantically to Historius," Historius! Pokemies are coming! We have to get the haven ready for an attack!" Conner yelled.

Historius was worried. If the Pokemies broke in, all of his work of curing them will be demolished. Historius told Conner, "Go. Lock the doors and prepare to fight. I am not young, and I can't get around speedily. Do not forget to close the dam doors and the skylights, so flying, climbing, and swimming Pokemies will not get in. You must hold them off until they choose another target. I know you can do it.".
Conner nodded, and continued to do as Historius told him.

Conner was holding off the Pokemies with Force Palms and Metal Claws. There were at least 17 Pokemies, so he was having a tough time. Eventually, a strange liquid struck the Pokemies, smoke rising off them as it touched. Hissing they ran off, every single one of them. Conner was curious about that liquid, so he gone back inside to ask Historius. Conner asked," Those Pokemies ran off after a liquid touched them. What was it?". Historius answered," It was a partial cure. Thought it would heal them, I did. Though there was not enough strength. That was the last of it too. At least I still have the records of how I made it. Hopefully, next time it will be complete. Might take a while though. 5 months at least.". Conner was saddened. He knew that was his life's work. At least it drove off the Pokemies, or else Conner would have not survived.

Yeah, I've definitely improved. I had no idea how to separate dialoge into different lines, or how to set up a setting or even how to use character thoughts properly. Combine that with very little description and a rather overpowered way to quickly resolve the plot, and there's early me.

When I went about making my own role play, well...I had improved, but marginally. It was called Pokemon: A World Without Legends. It was about a PMD-esque world (you see where this lead to) that had all of the legendary Pokemon mysteriously leave. Two groups formed, each trying to find them, but one wanted to simply find them, and another wanted to punish them for leaving. Reasoning was not my strongsuit then. Here, look for yourself:

Conner was keeping watch on the borders of Camp Discovery. He was not wanting an LCF attack this moment. The LSS members were busy getting ready for another expedition into the mountains, where it is believed that the legendary Pokémon Terrakion is located. He adjusted his scarf, picked up his walkie talkie, and said into it, "Historius, are you getting a signal?". Historius was in the lab of Discovery. It was full of inventions to help discover each of the legendaries locations. Historius picked it up, then replied, "It is going good. I just need two more days at most. Keep getting ready for the expedition!". Conner then said, "Roger that.". He then put it back down to the ground. *I hope this works*, Conner thought.

Meanwhile, back at Fort Armada, Gardner was issuing orders. "Get those supplies in that wagon! Everyone keep the fires burning! Sharpen your blades! We are going on a raid tonight!!", Gardner yelled with a ferocious audacity only Gardner could pull off. The warriors yelled a battle cry. They were ready for a hunt. Martre was still in the lab of Armada. It was quite as high Tech as at Discovery, but he knew that was they had. He was studying his notes carefully. Where could that cursed Deoxys be! He might've returned to space, for all he knew. He was pondering about that, when Gardner came barging in. "Are you sure you know the location of Camp Elrond?", Gardner questioned the Metal Type. Martre done as best as he could to sigh, then said, "These coordinates are as best as I can give you until the new instruments arrive from Fort Secrecy. Until then, you will have to stick with these.". Martre handed Gardner the notes. Gardner took the notes, then left in a huff. *That Gardner will be in pain... soon.*, Martre thought, as he knew that Camp Elrond wasn't going to be easy to take.

I improved marginally, actually going into paragraphs that lasted more than a few lines...for the wrong reasons. Bonus fact: I resurrected Gardner and Martre in Unequivocant from this story, and they have been vastly improved!

I veered away from Pokemon for a while, occasionally dabbling in other role plays. My next major project was an original story called The Magical Resistance and its sequel, The War of the Logi and Magi. I don't think my writing noticeably changed then, but I remember going into deeper setting description with the latter.

In Shadowtropolis's capitol, the two generals Krain and Vason were supervising the Corrupterizing of the newly caught rebels. They enjoyed seeing the horror on their faces right when they were corrupted. Krain enjoyed it most. He had the brains of the operation, and helped Lord Darcius create the mechanism. Vason was busy just trying to get the loose thread on his shirt. He wasn't that smart.

Krain was a tall, lean man. He had the customary colors of black on his clothes, with his dark navy cloak over it. One of his more interesting features was his mechanized hand. It could transform into anything he wished, and he hated it, for the fact it shown how he was weak in the battle in Jeremaeus' time. But what was most interesting was his terribly long eyebrows. They were like a separate head of hair, with their length of 6 inches across. He loved them, and they were his favorite part for the fact they completely blocked his eyes, with his enemies never knowing what he was seeing.

Vason was tall like Krain, but was instead very muscular. He had on the customary garb of a Shadow person as well. But he had a major drawback. Ever since his hit with a Magical Disintegrator, his form was never very stable. He could transform into practically anything, but he didn't have the ability to do so. Only Krain with his special remote could he transform. He hated the fact that in missions for finding the Time Magician, he always done the dirty work.

After the last of the magicians were corrupted they headed the long way down to Lord Darcius' chambers. General Vason was rather bored, so he shoved Krain into the wall. But, as he wasn't very smart, he didn't know how hard he hit. Krain ended up hitting the wall as a result, with several cracks coming from the impact.

"Why did you do that! You know I could turn you into a beetle and squish you!", Krain yelled, with his mechanical hand turning into a megaphone, amplifying his voice. Vason didn't mind a bit.

"I just felt like shoving something. And besides, you wouldn't dare kill me. You know what would happen to you if you did.", Vason responded, adjusting his collar. Krain shivered at the prospect. Lord Darcius hated it when his lower ranks fight amongst themselves. You would never want to know what he done to his men who killed allies.

"KRAIN! VASON! I NEED YOU HERE!", a voice cried out.

The duo immediately ran towards the chambers. Whenever Lord Darcius needed something, they obeyed. Once they reached the doorway, they straightened themselves up, and entered the room. It was completely dark, save for the lights in the corners of the room. Darcius hated the light, but will use it to make himself more menacing. Suddenly, a light shined down from above, and hit the figure in the center.

Lord Darcius was kneeling at the moment. He was hooded, and completely in black. His black beard blocked anything from his face from showing. His prized possession was his staff. It contained magic that was said to have come from the Shadow dragon. It let him have the ability to use any magic in the world, save Time.

"Yes your majesty? What would you need us for?", Krain asked. He was shaking beneath his cloak. No one enjoyed seeing Darcius. His features were hidden, making it hard to see if he was joking or not. If you were wrong, he gets terribly angry.

"I ordered you here to check out the area on the Lightning continent, Zapasia. It seems to be that there is a little riot that needs to be handled with. Could you take care of the rioters?", Darcius asked. Although, he didn't really ask. It was in a commanding tone.

"Will do, sir! I will love to see them when they enter the Corrupterizer. Vason, prepare to ride, for you are the ride.", Krain responded. He enjoyed it when he was leader.

"I hate it when you transform me. When I get an itch, I can't get it.", Vason responded.

"Well, you don't get any satisfaction. Any more of the itching problem, and then I will transform you into a back scratcher! Get ready to go!", Krain ordered. He pressed a button on his remote, and Vason transformed into a motorcycle. He groaned as Krain got onto his back, or was now the seat. Krain pulled the gas, and was out of the palace, going to Zapasia.

Yes, cheesy names galore. This is where I began to love writing for villains, though, and its been a love ever since.

Magitol was a bustling city of constant negotiations and threats. The Magikal Depression had worn down the economy of the entire world, and Magika had entered another state of a lack of knowledge. Most people could not afford the schooling necessary to train their children to be great Mages, so they attempt to teach themselves. But there was little left for the common folk, as the greater pieces of learning lie in the High Magical Library. But what am I saying. This is not where the story begins. Lets go to one of our starring roles, a Magicycle rider in the LogiRaces…

Under a thick plume of magical exhaust, there was a lonely figure tuning their special bike. It was not a pretty one, that can be said, but it was well built. The tires were ready to spin with energy, the slick hull ready to take blows from the other riders. Most of all, the MagiCrystal store in the handles were ready to launch.

The rider had just finished readying his vehicle when a voice roared from a speaker, “MagiCyclers, report to the starting line!” The rider put away the wrench inside the toolbox, and hopped onto the seat in the Cycle. With a press of a button, the Crystal Engine was humming out energy. The rider then twisted the handle, and slowly made their way to the track.

Other riders soon followed, but they were much more glamorous than the simple bike created by the rider. One had a seat at least a foot above the wheels, another had flames pouring out of the exhaust pipes, and another was gently hovering above the ground. The biggest one was at least six feet, double the size of a standard bike. There were no rules to building a bike, so long as they had a Crystal Engine, did not fly more than a foot off of the ground, and had two crystals loaded in the handles.

As the rider made its way to the track, it heard the roar of the crowd in the stands. LogiRaces were extremely popular with the Logis, even the Enginerex himself. Thousands of people bet enormous sums, which now were about ten Gracians, towards their favored MagiCycler, and if he won, the group that bid for him get a split part of all the other bids. This practically increased their own investment by tenfold.

The Cyclers were all positioning in front of the starting line, many of them taunting the mystery rider’s own, and revved up the engines. There were about fifteen racers in all, but this will dwindle down to about three or four when the race is over. For what reason, all shall see.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Magitol 200th LogiRace!” The announcer yelled. The crowd cheered with indignation, wanting to get on with the race. “Let me introduce our proud cyclers, that will hopefully not get blown to bits!” the announcer announced. The riders, including our main one, stood from their cycles.

“First up is Sakon the Liquidator!” the announcer yelled. An Aquien Magician then waved his hands up to the crowd, and received a nice mixture of cheers and boos. His bike slickened the ground beneath him, and the rockets hooked to the back pushed his bike along with blades. It was like a gigantic ice skate.

“Next is Werrel the Vinehammer!” A Lifeien Magician stood up, and received the same response as Sakon. His bike was made of a Twingrov tree, and it moved along with wheels, the standard way of movement. Why he is called Vinehammer you shall see.

So the other riders were called, all with different bikes and names, until we got to our rider. The announcer almost started the race until he noticed that it was still standing up. “Oh, and for our last contestant, we have someone named Ylaxa the Timer. Ha, what a thoughtless name. Anyway, we’ll see if this newbie can stand the heat! Riders, speed up your engines!” the announcer roared. The engines went from a hum to a hard beating, and the riders were ready for the madness to ensue.

Ylaxa then revved up its own engine, and was ready for the win. As a first time rider, it was scared. But it needed the winnings. The starting horn blared, and the cycles took off. Ylaxa was in the middle of the madness, and the race was on.

~~~~

In the Temporal Tower, the famous Time Sage was searching vigorously for the runaway Apprentice. He could lead a nation. He could be the wisest there is on Magika. But could he find a little brat that shows no respect for a leader? Suddenly, he heard the start of a race, and moaned. “How many times have I told those teens that the MegaViewer was exclusively for my conferences!” The Sage thouht. He shut down the Window of Gazing, and carrying the mighty Staff of Timien, he walked over to his study.

The Temporal Tower has changed plenty since the last time I recorded this type of adventure. The Tower had been refitted to hold a population of two thousand Timien Magicians, and the MagiTek were working overtime to keep the Infiinite-Space stable until the continent Timien had recovered from the Oilic Catastrophe. But the top floor was exclusively for the Sage. Except, apparently, for rebelling Sorcerors.

He barged into the study, and roared, “How many times have I told you three not to watch those cursed LogiRaces! We are Xhoenists, not Logi!” Then he discovered it was one of his oldest students, Kexa, and she was originally staring at the screen, but now she was looking at the Sage with a shocked look. “Kexa, what are you doing in here? I thought you were taking care of the infants?” The Sage asked.

“Well Xhoen, I was until I needed to look up how to create a Lullaby Charm, and I just turned on the MegaViewer accidentally. The teens must have switched it to the LogiRace station, and I was about to turn it off when I saw this.” Kexa explained. She touched her finger to her head, and sent out an image of the race. Timiens are able to send out images of past events, with proper training of course.

Xhoen studied the picture, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, until he saw a racer in particular. “Would you play it back Kexa?” Xhoen asked. She went ahead, and the announcer once again said, “Oh, and for our last contestant, we have someone named Ylaxa the Timer. Ha, what a thoughtless name.”Xhoen then recognized the racer named Ylaxa. Xhoen then quivered with fury.

“Kexa, keep an eye on the Timien Magicians. I will be going on a trip to catch a runaway Apprentice.” Xhoen stated. Kexa nodded her head, and left the room. Xhoen followed, and walked down the steps to the VehiPad, going for his own Timienitron,a personal invention that acted like any vehicle. He turned it on, and the Time crystals sent out their energy throughout the entire vessel, and within moments he was flying away, sending out light blue flares of energy behind him. The crowd outside stood in awe, seeing one of the few times Xhoen ever left the Tower.

In both stories, I experimented with a third-person narrator that had a personality, and was actually a character in the story. He kept making quips about the situation, and about his silly servants that I called Imps. Here's one section I remember liking:

Darcius laughed maniacally in the Vigil of Shadow. The Core had pulsed once more, and tomorrow the Day of Sacrifice would be here. He needed to devote today to Corrupting all of his captured peoples, and then, tomorrow the big bang would be here. Sure, the Tower will be destroyed in the process of sacrificing all of the souls, but it will contain the blast, as well as giving just enough time to transmit the souls over to the Core.

Darcius walked down from the top of the Vigil, the left tower, mind you, and walked down the spiral staircase all the way down to the ground floor. This had given him plenty of time to ponder as to what the Wizard Kane could do. Activating Mind’s View:

Darcius had thought in his mind, “Where could that brat be? The Wizard is still out there, and can still ruin my plans to resurrect Shadien. But he can only have intermediate training, as he only had those young companions of his to train him. And I can squish him like a tiny Sprat, as I have my special Staff.

But he has Time magic, and I do not. The ultimate secret of controlling Time was killed with the Timezonians, and only the Last One can tell me. I ought to keep him alive, so he can be tortured and finally spill the Leieat. And then I will just kill him for kicks! Boy will that make Timien angry. I… why does it feel like I have my mind being spied on. Is that you Jeremaeus? Get out of my head!”

Oof! Argh, that HURT! A mental blow with a mental hammer really mentally hurts! Augh! Bleh, aw, nevermind. I really shouldn’t have used the Mind’s View. It always seems to get me hurt in the long run.

Urgh, anyway, so he went down the stairs, and thought about how he could deal with Kane (don’t expect the Mind’s View again!), and when he was at the bottom,he saw the long line of Magikans in front of his personal Corrupterizer. He smiled with darkness, and proceeded to walk to the Tower of Regeneration, to check the progress on his beloved creation.

Honestly, I don't like reading through my old stuff because it was horribly cliché and had no planning whatsoever. I attempted multiple rewrites of this universe since it didn't feel realistic with its characters, but none really worked--except for one, but I ultimately gave up on it. I never ended up posting any of these, but this is where I started improving my setting description.

I was trying to work out the best way to introduce the world, and I experimented with an amnesiac character. It was nice, until he realized he knew nothing and needed guidance wherever he went. It ultimately became a wall of text for telling the history of the world.

Light. The first thing he sees is light. He opens his eyes slowly, letting them slowly adjust to this newfound light. He didn’t know what to expect beyond that light, but for now, he let the light be the one thing he sees.

As his eyes open, he sees…trees. Yes, trees. Up in the sky, he sees the swaying forms of blue-leaved trees. He cannot remember what they are called, but what he does know is that these trees are quite beautiful in the noonday sun.

He sees a little green bird flit by his vision, and inwardly he remarks on how its four little wings worked in tandem with each other to fly. It was so…beautiful, as he can’t think of any other word to describe it. He doesn’t know why he’d comment on things such as trees and birds, but there are no other thoughts he has inside his mind.

His eyes open further, and he now sees more trees and four-winged birds up high. He wanted a new view of his surroundings, so he now turned his head downwards, receiving a protest of pain throughout his neck as he did so.

His eyes meet the wide trunks of the blue-leaved trees, and next to them he sees tiny furry creatures that hop around on their hind legs. Their front paws were holding food as they hopped, and their faces were alike to…a rodent, yes. That’s what they’re called. Despite these things, their most striking feature was a skinny tail with a large knob of fur on the end. Every time they hopped, a little poof of yellow powder came from it.

He turns his head around to the other side, and notices a large four-legged animal. It had coarse blue fur, and it prowled slowly around another group of the large-tailed creatures. It had prominent fangs, and it was...a canine. It lunged for one of the creatures, and received a puff of the yellow powder to the face. It sneezed uncontrollably, and ran away, still sneezing.

As he looked around, he heard the distant rushing of a river. It was behind him, so he couldn't simply turn his head to see the source. Groaning, he turned around onto his chest, and pushed himself upward. He nearly came up to his legs, but his knees failed him, and he tumbled to the grass-covered ground.

He sighed as he thought of a way to stand. His head was facing to his left, and with his uncomfortable position he couldn't turn it. He noticed a large piece of wood, previously a branch of a tree at some point. He reached for it, and when he grabbed it, he felt that this could be used to his advantage.

He brought the stick upright, and used it to lever himself up. It proved to be strong enough for the task, and he managed to keep himself standing. Relieved to see that he could stand, he took his right foot and stepped forward.

I later tried it out from my narrator's perspective again, introducing the world as a set of journal entries, and also sticking in a worldbuilding bit at the beginning of each chapter. It started out great--until I realized I had no idea where to go with it and scrapped it. I wouldn't mind trying to use this method again in the future, though I'd make sure to plan it first.

~Seer’s Notes #01~

The regions of Magika contain many unique creatures, most of which provide something of use for the Magikans. In my studies of the world known as ‘Earth’, I have determined what best describes these creatures, so that they can have a good visual understanding of our forms of life.

One such creature that is arguably the most useful is the Kramon, a dull-looking fish that looks alike to Earth’s salmon. It is uninteresting to look at due to the lack of shiny scales, and the pale tan color makes it not look very appetizing. But the skin is quite soft, and one could simply take a bite into a raw fish and have a delicious meal. Combine this with their massive reproduction rate and their extremely lazy nature; they are the perfect food source for all Magikans.

~~~~

Within the boundaries of the region of Chronia, a young man practices carving. Around this young man is a young village, holding only a few houses and two dozen citizens, who had moved here from the massive Ticta City. All held some skill that would make them valuable here in the new community: Baking, fishing (or grabbing in the case of Kramon), hunting, etc. The father of this particular young man was a carpenter, in furniture especially. In this village, any skill is wanted, his more so as the migrants couldn’t bring most of their furnishings with them to the wild.

The young man’s name was Xhoen (pronounced Zh-own), and he and his parents had moved here from the urban life not just more work, but also more freedom. In the wilderness, the High Regent’s control is lessened, and the Regents under him actually encourage settling in the other lands to not only spread influence of their magic, but also make more taxes for the nation’s use.

He was outside in front of his modest home, being little more than a log cabin made from Bluewood; it was far nicer than the other homes in the area thanks to his father’s trade. While scratching away at a small log with a carving knife, little waves of blue aura emanated from his fingers.

This blue aura was the visual appearance of most Time Magic, and it was appearing from his use of it to increase the speed at which he was cutting. Most projects such as this can take hours, but with the manipulation of the Continuum, they can be completed in as short as half an hour.

From within the cabin a voice called out, “Xhoen! Your father’s caught us lunch from the river!” Xhoen turned his head to see who called out to him, even if he already knew.

The second-to-last real story I wrote in my fantasy world of Magika ended up being my longest, and I was quite proud of it. That is, until I realize I fell into the generic and illogical evil trap and couldn't progress the story very well. Still, I liked it, and this is where I really started to ramp up my descriptions:

In the halls of the ancient Great Library of Omniscience, a young student went among the many thousands of books in the location. There was no telling if he would find what he was looking for, but it was worth a shot. He needed to complete this project given to him by his Shaman; he did not intend to fail another assignment.

Inside the other areas of the Library, many people sat in chairs pulled up to the hem of the desks, poring over the books like one would stare at a monument that mysteriously appeared. But they were hardly as young as the student that was searching for his book. Most of them were elderly scholars that knew a great many things of their beloved world. But there was one single book that none of them ever knew about.

The student glanced across each and every spine of a book he encountered, still hoping he could find the one thing he needed to accomplish his task. But, as he had searched continually many days before, he still had no such luck. He sighed with discontent, and strode off to the main hall and sat in the nearest chair, which had a distinct squeak to whoever sat on top of it.

This student was just about as ordinary as any other one of his classmates. He wore the customary long, shin-length robes of the Magikan nations. They were the color of cyan, with grey outlines, signifying that he was of the powerful Tiem Magicians. Despite this, he was rather gangly in structure, and didn’t appear to be physically strong. His face looked rather pointed, his hair messy yet somehow a nice immaculate brown. With his slightly freckled face and light blue eyes, he was the classic Tiem Magician.

The student stared at the top of the roof, several stories up. The many enchantments this library had on it kept the stone from being eroded by the weather that most other constructs suffered, combined with the magic that preserved each of these books, it was a priceless treasure store. Of course, thieves were locked out by a special enchantment that was set in the only door to the outside: No books inside can be taken outside. Others can bring their own books, and donate them to the Library. But once they are donated, they can never exit the halls of the Library.

Despite this nice tidbit of history, the student felt crestfallen not just with his lack of success, he had not liked his life in general since his father had become High Regent of Magika, and his family had fallen apart. Despite the increase in income, his mother needed to keep his other four siblings in school, himself being the oldest and being the most responsible. So he was left on his own most of the time, either to complete assignments, or to babysit his brothers. And lately he had excelled at magical knowledge and practice, but his history was lacking. His Shaman, a teacher of a particular craft, threatened to force him to redo the course if he cannot accomplish this project. And so here he is now.

He selected his person of interest and delved right into his local library for any information on his person. He found many items of interest of other famous and equally infamous people, such as the hated Lord Darcius of the Resistance era, or the famous Xhoen that protected Kaeomaeus. But not for the one person who was older than most of these mighty heroes and villains.

After this, I grew tired of trying to rewrite Magika, and had given up on writing for a bit. Then, after finishing Pokemon Super Mystery Dungeon, I wanted to write a PMD story. PMD: Legends Unraveled was born.

This was where I actually started getting reviews for my work, and since then, my writing has been improving. However, it still needed heavy work in characterization and plot, as I still hadn't bothered to plan anything. Still, it turned out rather nice.

Years ago, there were two Pokémon, who had loved each other as brothers. They had done everything together, even when they were young. When they became old enough, they formed an Exploration Team to battle through the treacherous Mystery Dungeons of the Equivos region.

Soon their reputation became astronomical, and they become renowned throughout the region. One of the Pokémon when he evolved became so strong, that he was able to battle the mighty Legends and Myths of the Pokémon World without failure. The other was left to conduct their Exploration Team, which had grown large through their popularity. But this member was jealous for the power and glory that his partner had.

While his friend went on his adventures to battle the mighty Legends and Myths, the jealous ally slowly convinced the Exploration Team to turn against the adventurer when he returned, so that he can be the only one receiving the glory. But when he did return, he proved to be far too powerful for the Team, and in his fear, he had eliminated them all, leaving the Exploration Team with only two members: Himself, and his childhood friend.

In an attempt to bring down the adventurer, the opposing partner attacked the village that he and his ally had been raised in, so as to ruin the source of his partner’s strength: The friendship that they had. The adventurer came as fast as he could to save the village, but it was too late. Almost all had been killed, his loved ones gone.

Once he discovered the culprit of the destruction of his village, he went to challenge the Pokémon he once called ‘Brother’, but to no avail. He went into hiding, so as to avoid the enraged adventurer. And so, in his grief, for the loss of his power, friendship, and family, he ventured the world with no one calling his name in reverence. The rumors of the desecrated Exploration Team, them not revealing the purpose for attacking the team, spread through the region, and eventually the world, causing the ones who once loved him to fear and hate him. He changed his identity, making sure no one knew who he was, still searching for the Pokémon who had ruined his life. Now none cares to even remember what species this adventurer was, or even his partner. And so is the Legend of the Adventurer and Betrayer.

“Is that it? I wanted to hear more about the Adventurer!” A young Riolu asked an elderly Ninetales, whose golden fur was changing to white in her age. The Riolu was like any other, except that he wore a golden-linked necklace with a strange, circular symbol attached as the ornament.

She looked down at the young one and laughed, replying, “No one wanted to remember who that Pokémon was, or even what he had accomplished, after that day. The Legends and Myths themselves, who come to the Harmony Continent every so often, even say they can’t remember who had bested them. Believe me, Laryon, I would tell about his many deeds if I could even remember. That day had caused everyone to forget about him for some mysterious reason. All that remains is a collection of the pieces that Pokémon could remember, which the story I just told you was.” The Riolu, who was apparently named Laryon, looked down, saddened to hear that he couldn’t hear about the Adventurer.

“I wish there was more than that, though. He must’ve been so strong to have even defeated the Legendary Pokémon! Do you think he might’ve gone against Arceus Yarra?” Laryon asked. The Ninetales named Yarra laughed again, amused by the questions that Laryon had.

She then replied, “I don’t know, he may have even gone against the Mythical Hoopa!” She looked over to the west in her resting position, noticing that the sun was setting in the little village of Respit.

Respit was a small development consisting of several houses, a Deposit Box, the Kecleon Shop that distributes goods, and the ever-vigilant teacher of moves, Mienshao. With a population of around twenty, it served as more of a rest station for the exploration teams that served under their guilds throughout the region. Very few came from a different region than that of the Equivos Region, due to the ominous Mist Wall that surrounds it, which only lets Pokémon cross it once in a very long time

Yarra looked back to Laryon and said, “It’s getting late, young Laryon. You had best go home to your mother.” Laryon rolled his eyes as he turned around toward the other houses in the village.

“She’s not my mom, she’s my aunt, remember? See ya!” He corrected as he ran off. Yarra shook her head as she slowly got up, her old joints protesting from age, and walked inside.

“Ah, what old age does to Pokémon such as I.” She mused.

~~~~

Laryon ran past the seven houses, one of which was reserved for explorers, waving to the other children that resided in the village. They liked his company well enough, but most stayed away when their leader, Clera Sneasel, was around; she loathed Laryon for unknown reasons. Regardless, she waved to her, who scowled fiercely back.

He finally made it back home, with the sun just barely poking above the horizon. On top of the hill, which was the foundation of his home, he gazed at the last moments of sunlight. He sat down on the soft grass, so that he could rest from the run from the main village. While sitting, he enjoyed the beautiful last moments of day, while also contemplating the story that Yarra had told.

“I wonder...what the Adventurer was like, before all that bad stuff happened. He must’ve been so strong to even beat legends, but so nice to help all those Pokémon before he went on those adventures.” He wondered aloud. The sun set completely below the horizon, and as it did so, he asked to the sky, “Does he still search for the Betrayer today?”

Another voice called out from the tiny house that was behind him, saying, “Laryon! It’s time to come in! You know what comes out at night!” Laryon looked back and quickly stood up, not wanting to meet the wild Pokémon that come out from the Mystery Dungeons at night, while they change their shape. No one ever goes into Dungeons at night, and it is extremely dangerous to remain in the dungeon itself when the sun sets. So, all the Pokémon inside escape into non-Dungeon areas, such as Respit Village.

Laryon quickly ran inside, other Pokémon in other parts of the village did so as well, and afterward locked their doors. Most nights the wild Pokémon stayed outside of the village, but sometimes they wander in. No taking chances when you’re so close to Mystery Dungeons.

Once inside, Laryon walked over to the room that was connected to the entryway, which was the kitchen. There he saw a Lucario in a pink apron, stirring something in a pan over the stove. She was rather scrawny for one of her kind, but she was stunningly beautiful as well, the spikes on her chest and paws were filed down to smooth points, and her fur shiny and smooth. It was a wonder she never found a mate.

She heard Laryon come in, and in response said, “Good timing, and sweetie, the Wacan Berry Stir Fry is nearly ready. Go clean yourself up, dirty paws are never good to have when eating!”

“Alright Aunt Azure, I’ll clean up! Just make sure to leave some for me, I’m hungry!” He yelled as he ran off to the small stream of running water that ran through the house. The Pokémon who built this were wise to think of this so that there will always be fresh water inside.

After some moments, the Riolu came dashing into the kitchen once more, his appetite reaching new heights as he saw the stir fry set on top of the table, with a protective cloth underneath it. Azure sat herself down, and so did Laryon at an opposite seat.

“Thank the almighty Arceus for the berries and herbs that made this meal possible. Now, let’s eat!” Azure stated. She began scooping some of the delectable meal on her own plate that was on the table.

“Alright, this looks delicious, as usual!” Laryon said as he started scooping some on his own. Just as they were going to eat, there was a click in the door, and when the two heard it, they immediately froze. Azure stared at Laryon in confusion.

She then asked her nephew, “Laryon, you locked the door, didn’t you?” He nodded his head, fear growing in his eyes as he remembered the wild Pokémon that would usually be lurking outside.

The door opened, coming as a surprise for them, and just as quickly as it opened, it closed, with the lock on it being relocked. Azure got up, and went to investigate, her palms glowing a slight blue. Laryon hid underneath the table, himself not being strong enough to handle an attack.

When Azure reached the entryway, she saw a figure clad in brown leather clothing, covering it completely from the neck down, with only a black pair of legs visible at the bottom. The head was covered with a wide brimmed hat, with two holes punched out at the top for two pointed ears. The figure held a staff that was covered with markings, but was otherwise unremarkable.

It raised its arm, which looked alike to Azure’s, only brawnier, and took off its hat, revealing the figure to be another Lucario, which unlike Azure, appeared older with grey fur appearing scattered in its blue and black. It smiled as it put the hat on a peg embedded on a wall, with Azure scowling as she recognized the Lucario.

“Ah, my dear Azure, you never changed that lock after all these years. One could simply flip it with a stick from the outside.” The male Lucario commented as he set the staff against the wall. The lock itself was a simple crooked metal bar embedded into the door and a loop on the frame, so yes, knowing the location of the bar, he could open the lock.

Azure snorted as she took note of his comment. “I never had the need to since no one, wild or civilized, would consider it. Although some see it another way. Like you.” The other Lucario chuckled as he took off the leather coverings, it covered every inch of his body except his legs, paws and head.

Laryon, hearing no fight of any sort, came to see what Azure was doing. He called out, “What’s going on Aunt Azure? Is it someone we know, like Wenstrel the Quagsire?” Wenstrel often goes on absent minded strolls and doesn’t know where he’s going until he’s there. He often doesn’t make it home before dark, but knows how to handle himself with the wild Pokémon.

Azure looked to the other room as she replied, “No, it’s just someone I wasn’t hoping to meet again.” Laryon came into the room and awed at the elder Lucario, there being many scars visible through the dark blue fur.

The Lucario’s jaw dropped as he heard Azure comment in such a way, and he replied, “I am hurt Azure. I came all this way to see my beloved sister after all these years, and this is what I get.” Azure glared at him once more, her eyes narrowing as she thought of how to make him leave.

“Who is he, Aunt Azure? He said he was your brother, so that makes him my uncle?” Laryon asked. His parents had died in an accident when he was only an infant, leaving Azure to take care of him when she received word. He knew that this Pokémon couldn’t be his father.

The Lucario looked down at the Riolu, a glint of recognition appearing in his face. He then replied, his expression turning slightly less lighthearted, “Why yes, I am your uncle. My name is Matheus, but I prefer the name Theus. I came from far away to see your Aunt. And you as well.”

After this, I was confident I couldn't repeat my mistakes if I planned everything beforehand, in a story called PMD: The Forgotten Isles. I thought it would be far better than Legends Unraveled, but thanks to a combination of a slow first few chapters and some horrendous characterization, I realized that I needed to correct my writing pretty badly. Still, it got me into some good writing habits, such as planning and writing consistently.

In the beginning, there was only darkness. Darkness, and an Egg. From this egg came forth Arceus the Creator, and with his power, he created the elements of the world, and the hearts of our Mystery Dungeons. After this work, he created the first Legends and Myths, ordering them to use their own powers to organize the elements. Groudon, Kyogre and Rayquaza organized the land, sea and sky. Dialga, Palkia and Giratina stabilized the world's cosmic energies, bringing time, space, and the distortion world to be. From Xerneas came the first Pokemon, and with Azelf, Uxie and Mesprit, a select few gained willpower, memories, and emotions, creating the first civilized Pokemon. Reshiram and Zekrom gave Pokemon truth and ideals, to give them the will to grow strong. Yveltal came forth to bring an end to Pokemon when these ideals infringe on the good of the world.

300 years ago, three Pokemon clashed: Matheus Lucario, founder of our guilds and then Deity Elect; Laryon Lucario, the first Guildmaster of Lucario Guild and the Chosen of Arceus; Arthus Zoroark, the Usurper Pokemon, who strived to take the power of the Legends into his own claws, and take the life from this world. After a long and disastrous battle, Laryon stood victorious, and Arthus was taken into Yveltal's power, to die upon his awakening. Matheus was reawakened into the Legend he is now, and Laryon Lucario went on to found Lucario Guild.

Twenty years after that time, the legends Kyogre and Groudon fought, infuriated over the issue of land and sea. The continents Wayfare and Creation sunk into the sea, creating the Archipelago of Cretea, and the continents shifted. Laryon settled their dispute, and peace continued for many years.

In recent history, there have been myths and legends uncovered of a lost set of islands: The Forgotten Isles, or their proper name, the Tapu Islands. Past the Mist Wall surrounding our region, in the far south, these islands supposedly lie, with their four guardians, and two Legends long thought nonexistent: Solgaleo and Lunala, bringers of day and night. In the age of Laryon, an individual called Zacheus Incineroar supposedly came from the Tapu Islands...but he is our only link to such a place. All historians and explorers conclude that the Forgotten Isles are a myth, and nothing more.

A large stick jabbed at a map, pointing at the empty whiteness of the Mist Wall to the south. A Mienshao held the shaft, pointing it out to his students, all sitting behind wooden desks. He took back the stick, pointing it at the students. "Do not think they know everything however. I am sure that within time, the Forgotten Isles will be found once more."

This classroom lay within the Training Dojo of the Lucario Guild, temporarily converted for the purpose. The building was an upright triangle, the roof extending all the way to the ground. Along the walls were slots for the desks to be stacked, making a rectangular shape when finished. Several closets and cupboards sat against the walls, holding school supplies for Master Mienshao to use. The floor was marked with various remains of previously used moves, as the ceiling and walls did, through years of sparring sessions. Several training dummies were piled together, of varying sizes and shapes for practicing against different Pokemon. On the far wall, near where Mienshao stood, a chalkboard and Map hung, and just in front of it, Mienshao's desk, and in front of that were all the students...except one.

Mienshao looked at the single empty desk, in the center of the cluster. He looked to the sky, shaking his head. "Why does Sion have to be late?" He asked himself. Mienshao had a class of nine Pokemon: An Umbreon, a Luxio, a Hitmonchan, a Roselia, a Kirlia, A Geodude, a Snorunt, a Lucario, and a Zoroark. The Zoroark was not present.

The Lucario raised his paw, smirking slyly and looking to his peers. A small tuft of black fur poked from the normally smooth head fur, and his spikes gleamed more brightly in the light. His arms and legs were larger and more toned than most Lucarios, and he had at least one or two inches extra in height as well.

Master Mienshao sighed, pointing at the Lucario. "Yes Auren?"

Auren lowered his paw, peeved. "It's Ren, not Auren," he said, irritated.

Mienshao rolled his eyes, and said, "Alright, Ren, what do you have to say?"

Ren leaned back in his chair, the Luxio next to him smirking as well. "Me and my friend John were wondering why Sion has to come to class. I mean, with who he is, he doesn't belong here," Ren asked. The other students oohed, the sensitive subject touched upon.

Mienshao furrowed his brow, smacking his staff on his paw, the fur on them rippling. "What are you suggesting Ren? That we should kick him out because one of his grandfathers was Erik Zoroark, son of Arthus the Usurper? Erik did many honorable deeds." All eyes turned to Ren as he thought of his answer.

"Well, why should he come? He came here because his mom was running from something, and I think it might have something to do with that."

Mienshao tsked, looking to the sky once more. "Rumors are all they are. Sion is a perfectly respectable Pokemon, despite who he might be related to," Mienshao stated, giving Ren a warning look.

The Lucario hawed, leaning back in his desk, an arrogant grin on his face. "Just thought I'd point it out," he added, his fellow classmates in agreement. The door to the dojo flung open, a Zoroark haggardly panting, leaning against the door, his fur unkempt. He stood shorter than others of his species, his stature lower, and there seemed to be a small but noticeable shimmer in the air around him. In the fur next to his right ear was a short pencil, and his eyes were a bright blue, just like his ancestor's.

The students to see the latecomer, Ren standing up. "You came right on time, Illusion. We were just talking about your famous grandpa."

Sion held up his paw for a few moments, wanting time to catch his breath. "My mom needed berries for breakfast...I had to run down to get them...since she's sick right now...sorry Master..." Sion wheezed, leaning on the frame, ignoring Ren’s comment.

Mienshao leaned the stick on the wall, walking to the Zoroark. “I can understand you being late Sion. Corinne hasn’t been doing so well. Please, take a seat.” Sion nodded, shuffling to the empty desk, collapsing to his seat.

Ren furrowed his brow, pounding his paw on his desk. “Why isn’t he being marked late? He’s no better than any of us!” Sion shrunk in his seat, looking away from Ren.

Mienshao stared crossly at Ren, pointing his finger accusingly. “You should be glad I let you off the hook at times too, Ren. If your father wasn’t the Guildmaster I would mark you late every day,” Mienshao warned. Ren muttered to himself, glaring at Sion.

Mienshao sighed, returning to the map. “Now as I was saying class, while many consider the Tapu Islands to be a myth, some do still believe that it can be discovered…” Mienshao continued speaking, going into one of his daily lectures to his class.

Sion listened intently, leaning on the desk, enthralled by Mienshao’s descriptions. Ren continued to stare crossly at Sion, whispering to John Luxio. They nodded to each other, and Ren lifted the lid of the desk, taking a leaf of paper from within. He folded it up, then began to tear it into small squares, quietly as to not catch Mienshao’s attention. He passed the squares to John, who proceeded to set his paws on the desk, scrunching the squares into small paper balls.

John shoved the balls to the edge of his desk, allowing Ren to grab one and toss it in the air. Mienshao stood distracted, now explaining advanced dungeon illnesses such as Discord, which confuses Pokémon’s minds and prevents teamwork among them. Ren grinned, chucking the paper ball at Sion’s head.

It bounced off his head, landing on the floor. Surprised, he looked to Ren, who sat attentively, looking at Mienshao, no paper balls present. Sion shrugged, going back into a comfortable position. He felt another paper ball, and turned to Ren more quickly, suspicious. He saw the hint of a smile on Ren’s face, and a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Sion groaned quietly, looking back at Mienshao. He didn’t want to miss Master Mienshao’s explanation of dungeon exploration strategies, even with the annoyance of Ren. He heard the crumpling of paper to his right, and turned to it. A paper ball hit him square in the face, falling harmlessly to the ground.

Ren covered his mouth, restraining his laughter. The Geodude did the same, his eyes closing and his rocky body floating slightly above the chair. John buried his face into his paws, hiding a smile. Sion breathed in sharply, wishing for nothing more than peace. He turned back to Mienshao, bracing for another paper ball, the teacher absorbed in his work.

In the corner of his eye, Sion saw Ren packing tightly another ball, getting it ready to throw. The ball flew, flying straight toward Sion. Sion lifted his arm and swatted it away, the ball bouncing to Ren’s feet. Sion made a satisfied smirk, glad to have ended that. The thought of calling Ren out for it crossed his mind, but he knew that Ren would deny it, as he usually did.

Ren harrumphed quietly, scowling. He was determined to not be beaten so easily. He looked into his desk, seeing what he had to use. He saw a sizeable stack of paper, a bundle of pencils, several textbooks, and the small Explorer’s Guide that everyone had to have.

Sion looked over to Ren, seeing the Lucario folding another piece of paper. He quickly turned back to Mienshao, not wanting to be seen by Ren. He heard the whoosh of paper in the air, then felt the poke of a paper airplane on his side.

Sion swiftly turned back to Ren, seeing the Lucario twiddling his fingers, watching Mienshao. Sion groaned, looking to the floor and seeing the tiny airplane Ren had made. He picked it up gingerly and set it on the desk. He carefully unfolded it, seeing a message inside:

To: Illusion Zoroark, descendant of Arthus

Why are you here? You don’t belong here. A villain has no place with heroes, like me. You’ll never find anyone wanting to be in an exploration team with you. Not with who you have: nobody.

Ren Lucario

The paper shook in Sion’s claws, the Zoroark staring in astonishment. He received many notes and exclamations like this from Ren before, but this was different. The descendant of Laryon had pushed this too far.

Sion crumpled the letter and threw it to the ground and stood up, jabbing an accusing claw at Ren. “If you don’t want me here, then say it to my face!” Mienshao stopped midsentence, surprised that the normally quiet Sion would do such a thing. Ren was shocked as well, although in a different way; Sion had never reacted this way to his messages before.

Sion looked around the classroom, all the Pokemon staring intently at him. He stood erect, and took a deep breath. “I’ll go out myself. Have a good day…especially you Auren Lucario.” He faded from view, the illusory abilities of the Zoroark species in use. The class whispered to each other, starting new gossip about Sion.

Mienshao stood with his arms hanging uselessly, defeated, shaking his head slowly. He looked to Sion’s desk, seeing the ball of paper that caused his negative reaction. He uncrumpled it, and quickly reading the message, looked up, his eyes focused on Ren.

Ren quickly recovered, high-fiving John Luxio. “About time he left. He shouldn’t be here anyways.”

Mienshao appeared in front of them, furious. He slammed the letter on his desk, the written details all visible. “This is not your first infringement of the school rules Ren. For the past twelve years, Guildmaster Lukas has provided sanctuary for Sion and his mother, and Mistress Lopunny has been kind enough to give them lodging since then. Why can’t you give him the least degree of respect?”

Ren crossed his arms behind his head, closing his eyes arrogantly. “Why does it matter? I can act how I want. I’m going to be Guildmaster someday, and what you say won’t change things,” Ren argued.

Mienshao stepped back, feeling the soft breath of an invisible individual next to him. He marched back to his desk, sitting down. “We’ll continue our lesson, but I expect all of you to treat Sion better in the future. He has been a wonderful student despite your misgivings toward him…especially you Ren. I expect you to go talk with your father about this after class.”

Ren shrugged, looking to Johnson confidently. He whispered to his friend, “My dad doesn’t do anything when I talk with him. No groundings, no curfews, no nothing. This’ll be a piece of cake.” Class continued, the atmosphere less relaxed by Mienshao’s ever-attentive eye, now watching carefully to make sure that his law was followed. At the end of the day, the only Pokemon to be seen were Ren and Mienshao. Mienshao shook his finger at him, cross.

“I have talked to you about this too many times Ren. Just because Sion is related to the Usurper doesn’t mean he isn’t a good Pokemon,” Mienshao explained.

Ren waved him off, walking toward the door, where the setting sun could be seen in the sky. He grabbed onto the doorframe and said, “We never know. Arthus was good before he turned into the Usurper. Sion might be the same way,” he proceeded out, leaving Mienshao to wonder what would become of him.

Mienshao sat at his desk again, looking over his papers. Still looking down, he said, “You can come out now. Ren’s gone.”

Sion’s body reappeared, his face crestfallen and his body slack. Dejected, he said, “Maybe he’s right. I’ll probably not be better than Arthus in the end. We can never tell.”

Mienshao abruptly stood up from his desk, taking Sion’ claws. He looked up into his student’s eyes, seeing the sad but bright light of intelligence inside. He clasped his student’s claws tightly, shaking them. “You are the best in my class Sion. The only thing Ren has against you is his ability to beat up dummies, both literal and figurative. You’d so far make a better Guildmaster than he’d ever be.”

Sion straightened, his posture a little grander. “You really think so?”

Mienshao nodded. “Yes, I do. A teacher wouldn’t lie to his students,” Mienshao replied. He looked to the open door, the light of dusk stretching onto the floor. “You’d best go home to your mother. She is not too sick, is she?”

Sion shook his head, taking back his claws. “No, not at all. A sore throat and some weak limbs, that’s all. Still though, better safe than sorry,” Sion replied. He began going out the door, feeling better about himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow Master. What will we be learning?”

Mienshao smiled weakly, going back to his desk. “Combat training,” he replied.

Sion gulped, remembering the last time they had that subject. He was sore for the rest of the week.

Mienshao seemed to sense his unease, and held up his paw. “I’ll make sure he gets paired up with John. Those two might seem like good friends, but I think it’s a goon-to-boss sort of relationship. I hardly hear John say a thing next to him.” Sion chuckled, going out the door.

“See you tomorrow,” he finished, going outside, leaving Mienshao behind. The older Pokemon set his paws on the desk, his fur hanging over the edge.

“Given the right chance, he could be great. I wonder when that chance will come…"

Honestly, this makes me cringe now, even if I did improve in my description.

While writing this, I attempted yet another rewrite for my Magika world, this time focusing on a different continent that happened to be based on a board game I made. It was pretty good, but I didn't plan it, since I was just writing it during my creative writing class that year. I ended up giving up on it, but while it lasted, I liked it. I called it Imburscha: Warriors of Legend.

A vast sea of trees surrounded the figure in blue robes as he trundled along on top of his cart, scanning them warily as he traveled on the worn road below him. He was leading a team of two or three Oxek that were in front of him, furry creatures the size of a horse and twice as powerful as a bull and completely docile, heading towards a great tower that he knew was ahead but couldn’t be seen.

He was a Merchant on a trade mission for his beloved city, and he was on the lookout for Bandits. He did not want his valuable stock of iron to be stolen yet again by the thieves as he made his way to the safe have, the Citadel. It was only there that he would be safe to trade his iron to gain glory to his hailing city, Gracia. If he traded enough of the substance, combined with some other factors, Gracia could become the capitol of the realm he lived in, Imburscha.

He heard a rustle in the bushes, and turned his head toward the sound. He was wearing a dark blue pointed cap, signifying his status as a Merchant, an official dealer of goods in the nation of Commek. He had a black beard that reached down to his neck, covering it completely. Outside of this, he wore casual navy-blue robes, which extended from his shoulders down to his ankles, covering his arms and legs completely. This attire reminded people of the mythical Magikans that live in the legendary Magika, who were said to wear clothing alike to Merchants and practice arts that manipulated nature itself. It was only a myth of course: Only the creators of the world of Equivos could manipulate nature.

The rustling continued, causing the Oxek to grunt in uneasiness. The merchant leaned down a shushed to them, whispering, “Steady boys, it’s only a Chronokal or some other wild creature; we’ve been through here many times and only had one encounter with the…’b’ word.” He knew that his Oxek were trained to bolt straight home if he even mouthed the word ‘Bandit’, so he was careful in its usage. It proved useful in times of danger, but not so when he was having a friendly chat with another Merchant of Gracia.

A groan issued from the bushes, and the Merchant flicked the reigns that guided the Oxek, who pulled the massive two-ton load of iron that he sat on top of. He wished that he had some Warriors to help protect him, or even a Priest to soothe him with prayers. But no, the Gracian Council insisted that there had been no reports of Bandits along his path for months, and would be, as they put it, “perfectly safe”.

“Safe…that word never has given me reassurance, especially in my field of work” the Merchant said to himself. The trees swayed from a sudden gust of wind, their emerald-green rushes whistling to the force.

The Merchant let go of one of the reigns to make sure that his hat didn’t blow off, and that was when he heard it: “Merchant!” a voice cried from the trees. The merchant whipped his head to the right, stopping the cart, and gaped in horror as a mob of black-clad men wielding clubs emerged from the canopy of the trees.

They were wearing robes alike to the merchant, only the sleeves reached to the shoulder rather than the wrist, and the tails only went to the top of their calves. They also wore a veil around their faces, their eyes staring out maliciously towards the unprotected cart. The dozen pairs of hands of the Bandits had a sleek metal club with a weighted end, scattered with many dents that came from previous raids.

The one in front had clothing decorated with red stripes, and he stepped forward in front of the rest. He held out his club and said, “We won’t do any harm to you if you get off the cart and walk the other way. We’re only interested in the iron.” The merchant held his hands up in the air, and made as if to step out. The Bandit continued, “We don’t want any trouble. The last time we had to get our clubs dirty, there wasn’t much left of the poor bloke if you know what I mean.” The others chuckled as they remembered their last raid.

The red-striped Bandit’s eyes shined as he thought of the money he would make with all the iron in the cart. It was foolish of Gracia to let such a laden cart out without Warriors! But it made the job only easier, especially since this part of the trail was only several miles away from the Citadel.

Before the Merchant would step out, he said aloud, “You are right: I don’t want any trouble. I’ll get out, but after I say one thing.” The Bandits waited eagerly as the Merchant began to stroke his beard. After several moments, the Merchant said with a smile, “Bandits.”

The Oxek immediately roared in fear, and bolted swiftly down the trail. The Merchant sat down and took up the reigns, whipping them up to motivate the Oxek further, not wanting to lag behind to let the Bandits catch up. “That’s it, keep moving boys!” he yelled out to them.

The red-striped Bandit cursed, and yelled, “Get on the Drakon, you fools! We’re having a chase!” All of them turned back into the forest, and then came out only a minute later on bipedal lizard-like creatures. The Drakon were equipped with black sashes around their jaws and saddles on their backs, on top of which were two Bandits each.

The Drakon sped towards the Merchant with increasing speed, not wanting him to get far enough to where they couldn’t catch him. The Bandits knew that Oxek were tireless runners once frightened, but the increased load from the iron would make it more difficult to run away; especially after a few minutes.

The Merchant looked behind him and smiled, but only for a few seconds. He knew that the Bandits would have Drakon to ride, and it would only be a matter of time before they would catch up with his cart. He let go of the reigns, trusting that the Oxek would run to the Citadel, their home, and let him get on top of the ten-foot-high wrapping of cloth, which contain all the iron he labored to keep. “Let’s see if any of the blighters are here yet…” he muttered.

On top of the stack he saw the first of the Drakon. It was still a good ways off, but soon it would be close enough to attack the Oxek. He reached underneath the cloth and grabbed a large ingot of iron. It would’ve been worth around fifty gold pieces, but that mattered little with all the iron in his possession. He threw it with all his might towards the Drakon, and it landed in front of its legs. It would have been considered a bad throw…had he been aiming for the head.

The Drakon’s legs tripped over the massive ingot, and it skidded across the ground, causing the Bandits on top of it to go skidding as well. There was no time for the Drakon to even notice the new obstacle that miraculously appeared in its path, so it was taken care of easily.

“Ha ha! Take that you fiends!” the Merchant laughed heartily, wishing that some other Merchants were around to see the feat. It didn’t last long as two other Drakon, both laden with Bandits, came around their fallen comrade and sprinted to the cart.

The Merchant reached inside yet again and pulled out a long pole that was used to lever in the ingots. “This works well levelling iron; maybe it can work well levelling Bandits?” he mused. As the Bandits came closer, he buffeted one of the Drakon across the head, causing it to tumble to the left, and right after the Merchant swiped the other Drakon, causing that one to tumble to the right. Both pairs of Bandits yelled in anger as the cart grew more distant from them.

“Three for three for Gracia!” the Merchant exclaimed as he raised the pole in the air in a victory pose, which subsequently got caught in a low-hanging branch. It swayed for a few seconds, and then landed on the ground. As two other Drakon came pounding to the cart, it splintered under the pressure.

“Blast those gnarling branches; soon they’;; knock me off the cart if I’m not careful!” he cursed as he fumbled for another ingot of iron, when a club came flying from one of the Bandit’s hands to his head. It clattered against the iron, narrowly missing, causing the Bandit who threw it to curse as well. The Merchant looked up momentarily to give the Bandit a scowl, and continued on.

“Watch where you’re throwing, Plowff-head!” he said as he picked up two chunks of iron, and threw one at the Drakon to the left. It landed on the head of the rider, causing him to lead the Drakon into the trees and eventually run into one; Drakon were not very intelligent creatures. With the second chunk, he threw it at the other Drakon, which landed on the head of the creature, making it go spiraling towards the ground. The Merchant chuckled, and remained on the lookout for more Bandits.

After two minutes of no Bandits, he sighed, and called out to the Oxek, “Warriors are here!” The Oxek, knowing that the phrase meant that the cost was clear, began to slow, and after a few moments they returned to their trundling pace. They were panting heavily, and would surely need a drink of water later on, but at least they were safe.

The Merchant stood up triumphantly, holding up his arms high. “No Bandits can hurt-augh!” He exclaimed triumphantly before a branch knocked against his neck, causing him to land to the ground. He landed with a sickening thud, and groaned. He then twisted himself onto his back and attempted to get up, but to no avail; his chest and arms, and especially his neck, hurt too much.

As he lay there, he saw the Oxek continue on without him. He wanted to yell out to them, but he didn’t. The reason why was because he saw a black club hanging above his face, quivering with the anger that the wielder of it had.

The red-striped Bandit had caught up with the Merchant, along with a Bandit in Drakon skin, both of which were enraged. The Merchant had forgotten about the last two Bandits that had threatened him before, and he instantly regretted it.

“What should we do with this slime, Questran? Beat him until nothing is left but a pulp? Or burn him until he’s an ash pile?” The red-striped Bandit asked. The other Bandit considered both of these options carefully, but then shook his head.

“That’s too good for him Zarex. He not only hurt your men but also my Drakon. It’ll take weeks for them to be ready to ride again, what with iron twisting their tendons in the necks, ankles, and everywhere else!” Questran replied. He stared down at the Merchant, and sneered behind his veil.

“I say we do the Career-Breaker.”

~~~~

Minutes later, a Drakon trotted down the opposite way of the trail carrying on it a wrapped up bundle of a blue clothing. It crossed past it’s other pack members, all of which were hissing in dismay as they ached in their positions. The Bandits tending to them all gazed in solemn anger as they saw the Drakon going past. They knew that the Merchant that caused them so much trouble wouldn’t be around again…ever.

Days later, the Drakon reached the city of Gracia, and in front of its main gate it let the bundle roll of its back, and it began roaring relentlessly. Two people in light-blue clothing with silver armor on top noticed the commotion and dashed down, recognizing the Drakon as a Bandit’s. Before the gate could be opened, the Drakon ran off toward Zarex’s band, not wanting to lead the guards to him.

When the gate was opened, the two guards gasped in shock. One murmured, “It’s Garen! What was he doing on that Drakon?” The other guard moved to poor man onto his back, and noticed a large amount of fraying on his robe.

The guard closed his eyes in pain, and said, “He’s been given the Career-Breaker. He must’ve really irritated some Bandits to get them to do this.” The Merchant, named Garen, wheezed as he tried to speak.

The first guard asked, “What’s the Career-Breaker?” The second guard shook his head with a grimace.

“Too gruesome to go into details, but I will say one thing, his career as a Merchant is over. The Career-Breaker does the one thing that can ruin anyone’s life: Completely paralyzes them from head to toe. When that’s finished, the victim gets sent to their family, and when he sees them, he realizes that he should never have gotten on the wrong side of Bandits.”

After this and the train wreck known as Forgotten Isles, I wrote my first and so far only short story, which I wrote for my brother for his birthday. Dente's Tale was sweeter than honey, and it got me started with writing plot twists, which I have loved ever since. Considering its length, just read it from the link if you wish.

Then I wrote my best work yet: PMD: Unequivocant. This was the first time I really revised my story after receiving reviews, and it has improved continually ever since. And thanks to this, I know how to better plan my upcoming story, PMD: Twilit Destinies. I can't believe how much I've improved since my RPing days, but I'm glad that I did.

Bonus: while writing Unequivocant, I made the first chapter to my rewrite of Legends Unraveled, known as Legends Awakened. After writing it, I wasn't really satisified with it, and I wanted to focus primarily on Unequivocant. My planning ended up deviating plenty, and ultimately it won't be posted. You can read this excerpt if you like--Complete with comments!

Chapter 01: Disruption

Arthus

10 BU (Before the Usurper)

Flames flickered across the midnight remnants of homes in the Valley of Abundance. A new moon shine over the ash-covered paths and shattered bricks, reflecting the orange waves of light back to its source. Bodies of the inhabitants lay strewn across the ground, inspected by numerous Pokémon wearing black armbands.

A Gengar hovered through ruins, savoring the Life escaping from their victims. The smoke-choked air, fueled by his master’s power over Life, only enhanced his glee. The screams that filled the air minutes earlier was replaced by the crackle of wood and the silent whisper of wind through the village.

He swerved in front of Zoroark and bowed. “Lord Arthus, all the villagers have been vanquished.” He looked up expectantly at the Zoroark.

Arthus remained motionless, holding his claws behind his back. He gazed across the burning remnants forlornly, his eyes flickering each time he studied a body. His mane rustled in the wind, flecks of ash and blood peppered with the crimson fur.

The sneer of the Gengar disappeared. He floated behind Arthus and asked, “What is the matter? You have won! You had such great power, and reveled in it! What has caused you to be like this?”

Arthus scraped his claws together, counteracting the silence with the gentle ‘scritch-scritch’. “Did you…did you find any Lucario? Among the dead?”

“Yes, sire.”

“How many?” Arthus replied, lowering his head.

“Two, a male and female.”

“Did you find a Riolu with them?”

“No, Sire.”

Arthus snapped his claws, halting the scratch. “Did anyone escape?” he asked, baring his teeth.

The Gengar hovered back, veering away from his master’s claws. “Sire, with all that was going on, how could—”

“Gregorius, did anyone escape!” Arthus grabbed the Gengar’s arm, glowing with ethereal red light.

Gregorius groaned, clenching his teeth. “I-It is hard to say! Matheus’ interference may have allowed—”

Arthus threw him to the ground and threw his arms down. “Did you find the Seal?” His voice rose, causing Gregorius to quiver.

“N-…No, sire.”

Arthus suddenly calmed, then abruptly threw a wild ball of light at a tower of stone, bowling it over with its power. “I killed for nothing then! Pokemon I’ve known my entire life…dead!” He punched a boulder, pounding it to powder. “Matheus got away with his sister and nephew, and now there’s no going back!” He jabbed a claw at Gregorius with a dark look. “If you hadn’t assured me that I could bring my wife back, I would have abandoned this when Matheus fled!”

Gregorius came to his feet waveringly, forcing a chuckle. “And I assure you, you will see her again, after you accomplish what must be done.”

Arthus vented his breath and sighed, holding up a hand. A crimson flame erupted from the palm, illuminating his crestfallen features.

“Killing more Pokemon to destroy evil? Then making them anew with Arceus’ power?” He crushed the flame.

“So be it.”

~~~~

Two Lucario ran through the woodland under the dark night, one holding a bundle in her arms, and another a large sack over his shoulder. Wild Noctowl hooted their warning cries, while Ariados and Spinarak screed, hoping for the Lucario to fall prey to their webs. Their targets remained on the worn path, heading toward a haven amongst the assault on their home.

The one with the bundle asked hushedly, “How much longer until we’re there?”

Her companion replied, “Not much farther now.” He ducked his head underneath a branch, as did his sister. “Keep close.”

They weaved through the woods now avoiding the wild Pokemon’s dens and hovels, their feet padding silently across the twigs and leaves scattered on the forest floor. Earth and flower masked the scent of poison and decay coming from the Arbok tunnel mere feet from where they crossed, and a flock of Mandibuzz above cawed triumphantly over their latest find—a Sawsbuck carcass, freshly hunted by a pack of roving Mightyena.

A small house loomed in a clearing, and the elder Lucario halted. He gestured to the house and bowed his head, adjusting the cloak over his back. “It’s yours, Azure.”

His sister stepped forward, open-mouthed. “How—when—?”

“I had it made several years back, and I lived here when I wanted a break from Guild business—before Arthus turned on me.” He stared at the ground, his paws shaking, then shook his head, peering at the bundle in the other Lucario’s paws. “Is Laryon alright?” He pulled back the blankets, revealing the sleeping face of an infant Riolu.

Azure crooned over the young one, nodding her head. “Yes, he’s fine.” Her tail lowered and her eyes drifted back to the direction they came. “Matheus, what about his parents—our brother and his wife? Do you think they might have survived?”

The elder Lucario shook his head, sighing. “No. Arthus was crazy enough to attack Quantus for this:” He pulled back the Riolu’s blanket, revealing an intricate golden circle, a hint of the arc of Arceus in its handiwork. A sapphire set in the center pulsed with blue light, in tandem with the Riolu’s gentle heartbeat.

Matheus pulled the blanket back over it, closing his eyes and putting a paw over his mouth. “He’s changed…so much, ever since I came back from Deitae. I should never have left him.”

“You couldn’t have known this would happen! It’s all that Gengar’s fault, and you know it.”

Matheus nodded reluctantly. “Maybe.” His head jolted at the cries emanating in the distance. “The Guild—they’ve found out we’ve escaped.” He turned back to Azure. “I’ll throw them off. There's plenty of supplies in the house; stay in there, and I’ll try to be back as soon as I can.”

Matheus remained still, then turned away. “I’ll try to be back by tomorrow.” He sprinted away, his steps lacking the precision from before.

He ran forward, blinking in the rush of wind. Tears streamed down the sides of his face, not entirely caused by the wind.

“Arthus…why did you do this?”

Matheus

Year of the Usurper (0 BU)

Morning shone across Serenita, over the many forests that covered its center. In the Revenant Forest, a river sparkles in the sunlight, and Basculin swam against the current to their spawning ground, while Talonflame swooped from above and caught them in their claws.

Underneath a giant oak tree, next to a downtrodden path, a figure covered by a tattered brown cloak slept peacefully. His grizzled blue fur absorbed the sunlight, warming the Pokemon’s body, while the hat that lay across his face protected from the harsh beams.

The Lucario stirred, rising from the roots of the oak and stretching his limbs. The river babbled behind him, while the trail stretched to the north and south, extending to towns and outposts he had been through days before.

He lowered his arms and turned to the river. Pulling the cloak and hat from the ground, he set them over his shoulders and head respectively and knelt next to the water. He cupped his paws and took a drink from the spring, allowing the crisp sweetness soothe his sore throat.

He studied the reflection in the water. Tired eyes gazed back at him, worn by years of living on the run by those he had called friends. Gray fur peppered across his blue and black, and thick scars showed through the thin layer. The spikes set in his chest and paws remained sharp, their luster gone after years of wear.

Basculin swam through his reflection, gaping back at him with blank eyes. He stared at them, then swiftly grabbed a blue Basculin by the tail and bludgeoned it with a nearby rock, beating out the feeble life within.

He prepared a fire from the dead branches around him and stabbed the Basculin with a stick, roasting it over the open flame.

The Lucario plucked Sitrus berries from a bush growing next to the oak, then smothered the still-cooking Basculin with the squashed berries. He let it simmer, then picked up the stick and bit into the softened flesh.

Chewing the fish thoughtfully, he imagined someone sitting next to him with their own Basculin, when he was a young Lucario. An equally-young Zoroark sat next to him, flavoring his red Basculin with a spicy Tamato berry.

In the brief flashback, he saw the Zoroark turn to him and laugh. “You’re right, Matheus; this is good!”

He heard himself reply, “I know, right! Arceus said years ago, ‘All who are not enlightened by the Lake’s light are to be taken sparingly by those who are, just as it is among their order.’ There’s nothing wrong with eating some meat every once in a while.”

The Zoroark wrapped an arm around him, holding his Basculin aloft. “Praise Arceus for this delicious meal!”

Matheus raised his own Basculin and shouted, “As do I--”

He flinched, lowering the fish. “…Arthus.” He took another bite from it, leaving his memories once more.

He finished his breakfast and looked across the path. Beyond it, a range of stark mountains rose, and beyond them, the ruined village that he once called home.

Matheus walked along the path, thinking of all that he had done since that fateful day. The outposts that had made his guild—Arthus’ guild—strong, made his journey difficult. When he did escape from his enemies, he returned to Azure only briefly—he had to ensure that Arthus remained on his trail, assuming that he would have the key to changing the world: the Seal of Creation.

He protected the Seal from Arthus for ten years, and finally, would return to it’s hiding place, where his remaining family happened to be. His sister and nephew didn’t come to mind often, except when Arthus’ threat of murdering the world returned to his dreams, reminding him of the keepers of the Seal. Despite warnings, he never felt attached to his family at all—especially after crushing betrayal.

He halted, twisting his head. The black appendages on his head raised, and he could sense a Pokemon lying in wait. Hungry, soulless, unfeeling—the deep gray of the creature echoed these qualities to the Lucario, reminding him of the gifts the Creator had bestowed to his children.

Matheus took careful steps forward, looking forward. The long grass rustled alongside him, and a deep, snarling his curled from it. Matheus turned his head.

A giant Arbok sprung from the grass, its fangs bared and ready to pierce Matheus’ body. He leapt away from the rippling coils and held up his paws, his appendages lowering.

The Arbok let out a throaty hiss and rushed toward him. Matheus leapt over the serpent and landed just behind it. The Arbok turned around rushed again, and Matheus leapt once more.

The Arbok hissed in aggravation, charging yet again. Matheus reared back a fist and punched it between the eyes. The Arbok screeched shaking its head and swirling around the Lucario.

Matheus grabbed the tail of the beast and yanked it, forcing the Arbok to halt. He raised a paw, which now glowed with silvery-white light.

The Arbok continued to coil around Matheus, closing the gap between their bodies. Matheus swung his paw down, causing three streaks of light to gouge through the violet scales.

The Arbok hissed in agony, slithering away and leaving a scarlet trail behind it. Matheus nodded his head, continuing his walk to Azure’s house.

Wild Pokemon: predictable foes at best, for the Enlightened, at least. The Arbok would have been a formidable foe against a wild Tranquill or Stantler, but against a Lucario like Matheus, it stood no chance.

He thought back to years ago, how an Arbok nearly took his and Arthus’ life. Now they were no harder then fishing from a stream.

Looking around, his eyes gravitated toward a path of crushed grass and cut trees to his left. Wild Pokemon were far more careful in their habits, and few Enlightened Pokemon ever crossed this trail—especially after the devastation of Quantus.

His appendages lifted again, and the Aura in the air caused his stomach to turn. Anger, frustration, fear, alongside a hint of bitterness, lingered over the trail. Whatever had come here had come in force, and it sought nothing good to what it come across.

He stopped sensing the aura and inspected the mangled undergrowth more thoroughly. He plucked a section of fabric from the scratched pine, feeling the familiar weave.

He sniffed it briefly, and his eyes widened. Dust, scattered with iron and pine sap. Pine sap. The distinct smell of the dust could only come from one place: Symbol Canyon, the location of Zoroark Guild.

He sprinted off the trail and past the homes of wild Pokemon. He hoped he wasn’t too late to save the Seal.

~~~~

Azure

In the cool darkness of her bedroom, Azure Lucario’s eyes fluttered open. Light peeked through the shuttered window, dust motes dancing in the beams.

She got out of bed and opened the shutters, illuminating the bed that sat at the foot of her own.

A figure underneath the blankets mumbled to himself, tossing and turning underneath. “Mmmff…too bright…”

Azure smiled, standing in front of a mirror and smoothing her fur. “Laryon, it’s time to get up.”

She took a rag from the table and polished her spikes, while Laryon languidly flopped out of bed. She sprinkled water from a bowl onto her face, watching from the reflection as Laryon dug a golden necklace from the bed, putting it over his neck.

She rubbed her face dry with a towel and turned to face Laryon, who rubbed his eyes. “What would you like for breakfast?

His tired features suddenly brightened. “Oran pancakes?”

Azure shrugged. “Why not?”

“Yay!” Laryon cried as Azure opened the door and exited the room.

She walked past a straw-filled couch and a table toward a dark stove. She opened the door, finding logs and kindling already piled inside.

Azure looked back at Laryon and gave him a knowing look. “You gathered wood last night so you wouldn’t have to do it today, didn’t you?”

Laryon, who sat at the table, grinned, nodding.

Azure smirked, taking a flint from the stovetop. “Smart.” She struck the flint against a spike set in her paw, and a spark flew into the kindling, setting the wood alight

She closed the door and opened the cupboards, taking out a bowl, a bag of flour and a basket of berries. She began mixing the flour and berries inside the bowl.

“A good thing that Sammie Pelipper delivers things to us, right?” Azure noted.

“Yep! We couldn’t have yummy breakfasts like this one without her!” Laryon replied, nodding his head.

Azure hummed, stepping away from the bowl of batter and taking a pan out from a cabinet beneath her. “What do you want to hear about today?”

“The story about the Lake Pokemon!” Laryon replied.

Azure gave him a faux astonished look, setting the pan on the stove. “But you’ve heard that one hundreds of times!”

“But I like it!”

Azure sighed, pouring batter into the pan. “Oh, alright. Thousands of years ago, no Pokemon could speak. They were wild, just like the ones that live in this very forest. No good or bad came from them, since they had no knowledge, emotion, or willpower.”

Azure scraped up the cake with a spatula and flipped it over. “Arceus knew that his creations were so much more than animals. He commanded the Pokemon of the Lake of Enlightenment—Uxie, Mesprit, and Azelf—to give Pokemon memories, feelings, and will, so that they could become like he is.”

She lifted the pancake and set it on a plate, carrying it to the table. “And they did as he commanded. They gathered two of each Pokemon, and gave them memories to learn from their mistakes, emotion to grow closer to their fellow Pokemon, and willpower to strive for the better. Alongside this gift, these Enlightened Pokemon learned to speak by the Legends’ hands.”

She set the plate in front of Laryon, hugging him afterwards. “Why do you like that story so much?”

Laryon broke free of her grip, laughing. “I just like how nice Arceus is in it.”

Azure smiled, stopped over to the stove, then poured more batter into the pan. “I like how nice he was too.” She pulled a fork from the drawer and handed it to the Riolu. “Now eat your breakfast.”

They finished eating breakfast, and Azure took a pile of papers and sticks of charcoal from a side table, then brought them to the main table in the kitchen.

She set a leaf of paper and a length of charcoal in front of Laryon, and a set in front of herself. “Time to practice writing.” Laryon picked up the charcoal and hunched over the paper eagerly.

Azure sat on a chair, pulling a small book close to her. “Write after me.” She opened the book and was about to read—

Boom! Boom! Boom!

They turned their heads to the door, which shuddered still.

“No one’s knocked on the door before,” Laryon quietly said, looking at Azure nervously.

Azure came around the table and squeezed his paw, forcing a smile. “I’ll go see who it is.” Her smile faded, replaced by a cold stare.

She opened the door a crack and gasped. “Matheus?”

Matheus

Matheus panted, pointing behind him. “You have to leave. Now.”

Azure opened the door wider and stuttered, “W-What? Why? What’s going on?”

“Who is it, Azure?”

Matheus looked behind Azure and saw a young Riolu, holding his paws behind his back. Hanging around his neck was a small golden pendant.

Matheus sighed, holding a paw to his chest. “Good. The Seal’s safe.” He looked behind him. “Can I come inside?”

Azure nodded, stepping aside. “Yes, you can, but why are you here? I thought you were keeping the Guild away?”

Matheus stepped inside, inspecting the room. “I saw signs of them nearby, and I believe that Arthus might be with them.”

“Who’s Arthus? What’s the Guild?” Laryon asked.

Azure put a paw over his shoulder while Matheus pulled supplies from the cupboards. “They’re Pokemon I hoped you never had to meet.”

Matheus yanked a bag out from the closet, blowing the dust from the top. “They used to be good Pokemon, until my closest friend turned them for the worst.” He turned to Azure and asked, “Does anyone else know about this place except you and me?”

“Except for a delivery Pelipper for food and supplies, no.” She rubbed her shoulder uncomfortably, staring at the floor. “Matheus, why are you here all of a sudden? It’s been ten years! I had no idea what happened to you.”

“Is he your husband?” Laryon asked.

At Azure’s shocked face, Matheus replied, “Brother, actually.” He looked at Laryon shrewdly. “What have you taught him? Anything about combat? Survival?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Azure replied, shaking off her shock. “I’ve taught him how to read, write, and about Arceus. What Mom and Dad did for us.”

Matheus muttered under his breath, stuffing berries and bread into the bag. “I’ll have to teach him myself then.”

Azure let go of Laryon and shook her head in disbelief. “Is that all you’re concerned about how? This is the first time you’ve seen us in ages, and all you’re worried about is leaving?”

“I have to keep the Seal safe from Arthus!” Matheus grabbed Azure’s shoulders, quivering. “You know what will happen if he finds it. I can’t let that happen. I can’t fail again.” Azure was about to reply, but was stopped by Matheus’ paw over her mouth.

He cocked his head, then closed his eyes. His appendages lifted, and he gritted his teeth. Anger, revenge, hatred. They were here.

Matheus grabbed Laryon’s arm and pulled him close. “Azure, take him and the Seal away from here. I’ll hold them off.”

“Hold who off?”

A fireball raced through the window, and Matheus pushed Azure and Laryon to the ground, narrow avoiding the flame. “Arthus.”

The door pounded rattling in its hinges. “They’re in here!” a voice shouted.

Pokemon rushed by the window, with a Throh standing behind it and making a scowl. “Lord, the Seal!”

Matheus rushed forward and punched the Throh’s face, pushing him away. “Go through the backdoor! I’ll take care of them!”

The door clanged once more, splintering. Azure grabbed Laryon’s wrist, grabbed the bag of supplies, and ran through a corridor. She looked back at Theus, her face dropping, then went out of sight.

Matheus held up his paws, rolling his shoulder. The door pounded a final time, and it fell forward, revealing an Arcanine, Hitmonlee, and Weavile, all wearing black armbands.

“It’s been a long time, Matheus. Where’s the Seal?” the Hitmonlee seethed.

Matheus stepped forward, baring his teeth. “Why would I tell you, traitors? Whatever happened to protecting Pokemon? You abandoned that as soon as Arthus—”

“You still don’t understand! There will be no need for a Guild once Arthus eliminates evil!” the Arcanine barked.

Matheus growled, spitting the floor. “How wrong you are…”

The Weavile hissed and leapt forward, stretching her claws. Matheus leapt out of the way, kicking the Weavile across the chest. She flew into the Hitmonlee, sending him into a tree.

The Arcanine roared, fire rising from his throat. Matheus dashed forward and punched him in the jaw, twisting his head and forcing his fire upward. It shot from his mouth onto the roof, quickly stoking a flame from the woodwork.

As the flames spread, Matheus rapidly rammed his paws into the Arcanine’s chest, then made a final swing across his head, knocking him out. The Hitmonlee and Weavile got up from the tree, the former stretching his legs and the other baring her claws. The Lucario grabbed hold of the Arcanine’s legs and swung him into them, pinning them underneath the moaning Arcanine’s weight.

Matheus looked around him, noticing the rapidly spreading flame. A cry came from the other side of the house, and he turned to the source. The Seal was in danger.

He ran through the cinders, rushing toward the back door. Yells echoed all around him, centering on the door that drew closer. He burst through, finding a Manectric and Machoke surrounding Azure.

The Manectric sparked just in front of her, causing Laryon to bury his face into her leg. “Why are these mean Pokemon doing this?” he cried.

Matheus batted away the Machoke, taking a sizeable rock from the ground. He threw it at the Manectric’s head, forcing it to the ground.

Matheus picked up Laryon and set him over his shoulders, the Riolu hiding his face in Matheus’ coarse fur. He pointed to the trees. “This way!” He ran forward, and Azure did the same, the Machoke and Manectric stirring from their strikes.

They dodged between the trees, noticing the padding of other paws. They looked to their right, and noticed three Lycanroc approaching them, their eyes glaring at Matheus and Laryon.

Matheus looked ahead, noticing a scarlet stain on the ground. He veered left, and Azure and the Lycanroc followed him. A low cave appeared on the ground, and a warning hiss echoed from within.

“Split!” Matheus called. Azure and Matheus wrapped around each side of the cave, right when the injured Arbok sprung out from the cave, clamping its jaws around the neck of the lead Lycanroc. The other two savagely attacked the wild Pokemon while the two Lucario rejoined, with Matheus grateful for his previous encounter.

He took a glance behind him, noticing Laryon’s pained expression. He wondered how the young Riolu had grown, living without his parents, with the responsibility of the Seal. Did he know what it truly was? Did he know he held the safety of the world in his paws?

An ominous wind blew past them, and Matheus jerked his head to the right. He knew that distinct chill.

Someone screamed, and Matheus ran to them. “Azure!”

He halted behind a pine, adjusting Laryon’s position on his back. He restrained a gasp, seeing Azure pinned to a tree by a scowling Gengar, covered with black stripes and glowing with a slight red.

The Gengar pressed close to Azure’s face and snarled, “Tell me where the Seal is, or I’ll make you have the worst nightmare in your entire existence!”

Matheus kept Laryon’s head pressed against his fur. He couldn’t let him see Azure in this state; he would surely jeopardize their position, and the Seal.

“Leave her be, Gregorius. She won’t be any use to us traumatized.”

In a shimmer of light, a graying Zoroark appeared from behind a tree, stepping toward the Gengar and Azure with a grin. “I hate having to get messy, what with involving the Guild and burning down a house—if accidentally.” He pushed Gregorius away, freeing Azure from his grip.

Azure’s eyes widened, and she started to step away. “Arthus?” she croaked.

Arthus bowed, extending a claw. “Good, you remember me.” He looked up. “I don’t know what Matheus has told you, but—”

Azure batted his claw away stamping her paw. “You destroyed Quantus! You killed Connor, my parents, even Ferrick! And now you come here like we’re friends.”

Matheus restrained himself from going out and attacking Arthus and Gregorius. There was too great a chance that he would take the Seal and run to the Tree of Life. He had to remain behind the tree, out of sight.

Arthus stared down at the smitten claw, then shook his head. “I have no time for this.” He grabbed Azure’s paw, and the ground beneath them glowed. “Gregorius, go back and gather the Guild. I’ll take Azure back with us.”

“What for? She’ll be of no use to us,” Gregorius scowled.

[JC1]

Hope you all enjoyed this trip down my memory lane!

Drakon · Jul 16, 2018

Been writing since 2008 or so and improvement is dramatic.

In the spirit of the snippets being pokémon related:

Inside a sparse, dimly lit office, a husky figure sat hunched over a desk. One hand was stroking a cat-like Pokemon, known as a Persian. The other hand was leafing through a stack of papers on his desk. The office had large windows but the heavy blinds were drawn closed, allowing only slivers of sunlight in. Another figure stood by the door. The figure's eyes were cloaked behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses and a submachine gun dangled from a shoulder strap.

The figure behind the desk grinned as he finished leafing through the files.

"All those months of recon and planning are finally coming into fruition." he said. He then looked at the black and white photos taken by Dragonite spies. The photos showed several autocannon turrets on the massive island as well as several patrol boats and helicopter gunships constantly patrolling the waters. "It will not be an easy task but the Pokèmorphs that Silph Co. have been working on will finally give us the edge that we need to need place Kanto under our control," he said.

"But Giovanni sir, wouldn't it be easier to have our scientists try and make our own Pokèmorphs?" the guard asked.

"Our research was set back many years when Mewtwo destroyed one of our facilities. Furthermore, the deaths of Dr. Fuji and his research team have left us short-handed," Giovanni said.

"But we will eventually need to make our own Pokèmorphs."

"Remember, we will also attempt to take some of the Silph Co. scientists and 'convince' them to work with us."

"Yes, sir. I understand," the guard replied.

Giovanni chuckled. "In a few hours, Operation Golden Tyranitar will be in full swing," he said.

***

In the outskirts of Pewter City, James, a blue haired man in his twenties and Jessie, a red haired woman of roughly the same age, were hiding behind some trash cans in an alley. The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance.

"James, you idiot! Did you think that these guards were as stupid as the twerps?" Jessie hissed. She wore a khaki vest and a safari hat.

"But I thought our disguises were perfect," James replied. He was dressed the same as Jessie.

"Well, they ain't perfect and we gotta get out of here!" Meowth replied.

The group then ran down the alley and into the outskirts of Pewter City. There, they moved some brush and leaves that concealed their Meowth head balloon.

Jessie and James frantically tried to prepare the balloon for take off, while Meowth kept an eye out. Several minutes later, the burners on the balloon were fired up and the balloon rose into the sky.

"What will we tell the boss?" James asked.

"Same thing as always," Jessie replied with a sigh.

Meowth said nothing as he carefully piloted the balloon towards the Team Rocket HQ in Aquamarine City.

***

A few hours later, the balloon landed at Team Rocket's headquarters. The "headquarters" could more accurately be described as an entire base as it was composed of not one, but many buildings along the waterfront of Aquamarine City.

Jessie, James and Meowth disembarked from the balloon and made their way to Giovanni's office. Along the way, they passed by many of the rocket grunts. Some of them were on patrol for the police or other adversaries. Others were passing time by having Pokémon battles in specially marked areas along the waterfront. These areas were easy to find as they were surrounded by what appeared to be radio antennas rising from the concrete. It was only when a Pokémon attack struck the antenna and was harmlessly dissipated that one realized that the antennas were part of an array of shield generators installed to prevent Pokémon attacks from killing spectators or trainers and causing property damage.

Soon, the group entered the waiting room to Giovanni's office. The waiting room was tastefully decorated in what could be termed "contemporary". A wooden end table, flanked by two wooden chairs and two wooden benches rested against a wall. Opposite them were two round windows that let in ample light. Two guards armed with shotguns and pokéballs attached to their belts flanked the door to his office and a secretary who was chewing gum watched the three from behind a desk that was offset from the door.

"State your business," the secretary demanded.

"We're here to report the results of our latest mission," Meowth replied.

"Boss, Jessie, James and Meowth are here to see you," the secretary said into the intercom.

The group then sat down in the chairs. A few minutes later and the intercom buzzed. The secretary pushed a button on the intercom. "Send them in," Giovanni's ordered through the intercom.

The secretary turned to the three in the chairs. "The boss will see you now," she said.

The three leapt from the chairs and made their way to Giovanni's door.

***

"Maybe those three succeeded for a change," Giovanni muttered.

Almost immediately the door to his office flew open and James, Jessie and Meowth walked into the room. They were still wearing their "safari" disguise. Giovanni had his back turned to them.

"Have a seat," he said. The manner in which he spoke was not an offer but a demand.

The three pulled up chairs and sat down in front of the paper strewn desk.

Giovanni then swiveled his chair so he faced them. "So did you succeed in your latest assignment?" he asked. He was busy organizing some of the papers strewn on the desk.

"We…erm…" James stammered. He avoided eye contact with Giovanni.

"Spit it out!"

"We…failed," Jessie said with a sigh.

"You fools! I gave you possibly the easiest assignment I could think of and you still manage to fuck it up!" Giovanni shouted, slamming his hand on the desk. The papers jumped with the impact of Giovanni's massive hand.

"We'll try harder, boss," Meowth said. He was trembling at the outburst of anger.

"That's what you said the last time! And what did I get? Nothing," Giovanni spat.

"So what is our next assignment?"

"Nothing. Since you failed your previous mission, you get to stay back at the base and clean up."

"B…but boss, we-" James said.

"Shut up!" Giovanni snapped, cutting James off midsentence.

"Y…yes sir," James said meekly

"But boss, you said that the upcoming mission - Silver Garchomp or something like that - involves a lot of heavy equipment and ships and stuff," Meowth said, "and we're really good at operating things like that."

"It's Operation Golden Tyranitar! Get it right, idiot! But in any case, shore bombardment is needed so you can come along. And we could use extra shooters. Just one thing, knowing your abysmal capture record, you are not to attempt capture of Pokémorphs or scientists."

"Yes sir," James said.

"Good. Dismissed!" Giovanni said. He then turned around so his back faced them.

The three then left his office and headed for the docks.

***

A few more minutes passed and Jessie, James and Meowth were sitting on some benches near the docks. There they watched some laborers unloading cages containing stolen Pokémon from a transport ship that was moored at one of the docks.

"Wow! We're taking part in Operation Golden Tyranitar!" Jessie exclaimed, thrusting her fist into the air.

"Yeah, but we don't get to do any capturing. All we get to do is shell the island," James said sadly.

"Come on, cheer up! We're gonna be part of something that'll go down in Team Rocket history!" Meowth said. His stomach growled as soon as he finished speaking. "Let's go and see if there's something to eat," he added with a blush.

The group then headed to the cafeteria.

***

The cafeteria was filled with a large number of the black clad grunts. The cafeteria was quite bland, there were a few windows but the floors and walls were sterile white tile.

The three then stood in line. Several minutes later, they took their place at the table and began eating.

Jessie and James were eating rice balls. Meowth had a basic turkey sandwich with mustard and mayonnaise.

Just as soon as they finished, a siren blared throughout the cafeteria. The three leapt to their feet and bolted through the hallways, passing by grunts who were exiting the building. Eventually, they made their way to the locker rooms.

***

Inside the men's locker room, James was fidgeting with the combination to his locker. Around him, other grunts were strapping on body armor and other paraphernalia.

"We ain't got all day!" Meowth shouted.

"Easy for you to say! You don't have any clothes!" James snapped. He cursed under his breath as he input the wrong combination again.

Meowth tapped his foot impatiently. "Time's a-wasting Jimmy," he said.

"Don't call me that!" James shouted. He finally opened his locker, stripped off his disguise and changed into his uniform.

"Ready now?" Meowth asked.

James said nothing but stormed out of locker room with Meowth following him.

He then broke into a run as he made his way to the armory.

***

James used his keycard to enter the armory. Inside were racks of shotguns, assault rifles, sniper rifles, submachine guns and pistols in addition to a multitude of crates filled with ammunition of all calibers. Several grunts were also preparing their weaponry.

James grabbed a 9 mm pistol, its holster and two additional magazines. He ejected the magazine, pulled the slide back to verify that the chamber was empty and proceeded to load the cartridges into the magazine. He then repeated the process on the additional magazines. He then tucked the spare magazines into a pouch on his holster and loaded his pistol. He made sure the safety was engaged before he tucked it into the holster. Jessie and Meowth did the same before they moved onto the long arms.

"Shouldn't we take some of the big guns?" Meowth asked, as he adjusted the custom pistol holster.

"We're going to be doing shore bombardment. It's not like we're going to need them," Jessie replied, strapping the holster onto her hip. Several pokéballs were also attached to the holster.

"Besides, don't we have a few weapons in our Gyarados sub?" James replied, as he adjusted his holster. The pistol and pokéballs were in their proper place.

"We'll if you're all done…Let's move it!" Meowth exclaimed.

The group then ran out of the building and over to the shipyard and hangars.

***

Outside building, the scene was of controlled chaos with armored vehicles being loaded into transport ships, various navy vessels and Water Pokémon heading out to sea, helicopter gunships and Flying Pokémon taking to the skies.

Most of the grunts were riding in the transport ships but a few of them were riding their Water or Flying Pokémon. Not surprisingly most of the grunts carried weapons, ranging from small arms all the way to mortars and rocket launchers.

Jessie, James and Meowth boarded their Gyarados submarine and dove beneath the waves.

The boss looked out from the observation tower of his office. He grinned as he watched the forces of Team Rocket head off into the burning midday sun.

This was my first and only attempt at pokémorphs. I couldn't really get the "spark" to continue this story. Of course, that may have been due to the fact that this fic was essentially a reskinned Darwin's Soldiers

I'd say my later stories (2011 onwards) are much smoother flowing and the descriptions much better.

unrepentantAuthor · Jul 16, 2018

Thanks for sharing, @Drakon! As early writing goes, yours isn't too bad! Feel free to add some of your more recent work that you're proud of. So, you wrote a pokémorph story? I've done my best to get my hands on some 'morph fiction, but it seems there's precious little content or prospective audience for it. May I seize your attention for a moment to shamelessly plug my own fic, for which there is a banner and a link in my sig? ;P Also, to ask you if you've found any decent anthro 'mon fiction yourself?

Drakon · Jul 17, 2018

Time line update:

The area surrounding Suzurin Stadium was ablaze with activity as throngs of people streamed into it. Fireworks shot high into the sky as electronic billboards showcased today's match ups. The stadium was not normally this crowded but today was the first day of famed Elite Cup – only those who had placed in the top ten of a major league or were members of the elite four were permitted to attend. And there were at least two simultaneous battles.

Outside the stadium grounds, people were waiting in line, soaking in the warm sunlight or training their pokémon. A good portion of the spectators had come from out of the region, some from as far away as Hoenn and the Sevii Islands. With the immense popularity of this championship, who could blame them?

***

Inside the stadium complex, ushers quickly directed people to the appropriate arena. The air was abuzz with the sound of people, pokémon and hawkers selling everything from refreshments to souvenirs.

About an hour later, all the arenas were filled to capacity. Suddenly, the announcer's voice boomed out over the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to this year's Lily of the Valley Conference!"

He was answered by thunderous applause.

***

Cynthia was sitting on a couch inside the trainers' lounge. The lounge was sparsely decorated – just some bland couches and white carpeting.

She took several deep breaths and stretched a bit to calm herself down.

She deployed all her Pokémon. "Everyone ready?"

All of them made some noise that indicated "yes".

She then smiled. "Let's do it!"

Just then, an employee entered the lounge. "Champion Cynthia! The match is about to begin!"

Cynthia got up from the couch and recalled all her pokémon. She then brushed a lock of her golden hair away from her face and strode confidently into the bright light of the arena.

***

"And here she is! The reigning champion of the Sinnoh League, Cynthia!" the announcer cried as she strode into the arena. Thunderous applause and cheers broke out as she took her place in the trainer's box.

She then saw her opponent, a red haired man by the name of Flint, striding into the arena.

"And here is her opponent, the Master of Blaze, Flint!"

More cheers from the gathered crowd. All of them were fired up, expecting an epic battle.

The referee stood in his box and raised both his flags. "This will be a full six on six battle. Substitutions are allowed. The winner will be declared when either side's pokémon are unable to battle. Challenger gets first pick. Begin!"

"Go Infernape!" Flint shouted as he tossed his poké ball. At nearly the same time, an intense hard rock track started.

"Let's go, Garchomp!" Cynthia shouted, tossing her poké ball.

"Oh and it looks like they have decided to start off with their signature Pokémon!" the announcer exclaimed. The scoreboard behind flickered to life, showing the trainers (green for Cynthia and red for flint) along with six question marks below their name. The top question mark faded out and was replaced with an icon of their pokémon.

"Mach Punch!" Flint ordered.

Infernape clenched his right hand into a fist, which then glowed a brilliant white. He then seemed to disappear as he sped towards Garchomp like a speeding bullet.

Garchomp leapt over the speeding projectile that was Infernape. Infernape aborted his charge when he saw Garchomp was no longer there.

"Oh! And Garchomp's dodged that attack! What an amazing jump!"

Cheers from Cynthia's supporters erupted from the stands as a particularly fierce guitar solo echoed over the arena.

"Dragon Rush!" Cynthia ordered.

Garchomp took a few steps back and then charged forward, wreathed in a shimmering blue shield. So great was her speed that she appeared to be a laser beam.

"Behind you! Mach Punch!" Flint shouted.

Infernape quickly turned around and prepared his Mach Punch.

Everyone held their breath as the two battlers sped towards each other like twin lasers.

***

At the same time, Will and Lucian were battling inside another arena. Both of them were battling with Bronzong. Unlike Cynthia and Flint's battle, there was no music being played and the trainers were completely silent. Of course, most of the spectators were unaware that both the trainers were themselves psychic and were using telepathy to give commands to their pokémon.

Suddenly, the arms on Lucian's Bronzong glowed white as it began to spin at a dizzying rate. It then headed for Will's Bronzong like a giant buzzsaw. Lucian's fans cheered; they loved watching his Bronzong's Gyro Ball.

Just before the whirling mass of bronze that was Lucian's Bronzong collided with its opponent, a shimmering barrier covered Will's Bronzong like a second skin.

But the tremendous momentum of Lucian's Bronzong made it difficult to stop and it slammed into its opponent with a sound like a hammer striking an anvil. Lucian's Bronzong ricocheted off Will's own Bronzong and landed in a heap on the other side of the arena. Will's supporters cheered as soon as Lucian's Bronzong hit the sandy arena.

No matter how much Lucian tried to encourage his fallen pokémon, it would not budge.

"Lucian's Bronzong is unable to battle!" the referee shouted, raising a green flag to signal Will's victory.

The icon for Bronzong under Lucian's name blacked out, indicating that the pokémon was unable to battle.

Lucian recalled Bronzong and threw out his second poké ball. Gallade appeared in a bright flash of light. One of the five question marks under his name disappeared, revealing Gallade's icon.

Will recalled Bronzong. The icon for Bronzong dimmed signifying that it had been recalled but was not unconscious. The next question mark vanished as he sent out his Gardevoir.

***

Infernape and Garchomp were both panting heavily. Both of them had battered one another with their strongest attacks.

"Finish this! Stone Edge!" Cynthia shouted.

Twin crossed hoops of blue light whirled around Garchomp as she prepared to unleash the deadly shotgun-like spray of Stone Edge.

Suddenly, a mysterious voice echoed in her head: "I've given you the power to take back our world from the humans…kill any who stand against you."

Before she could ponder those words, a splitting headache unlike anything she had ever experienced struck her. It was so intense that she fell to the ground, writhing and screeching in agony. Even stranger, the twin hoops of Stone Edge seemed to glow brighter and rotate faster.

Everyone in the crowd gasped as they saw what happened. Cynthia, fearing for her pokémon's health, tried to recall her. To her horror, the red recall beam struck Garchomp to no effect.

She then noticed that Flint's Infernape was also in similar agony. Flint was desperately trying to reassure him – to no effect. Heart racing, she turned to the referee. "Stop the match! I forfeit!"

Before the referee could say anything, there was a sound like a gunshot followed by panicked screaming.

Both of them turned towards Flint, who was lying in a slowly growing pool of blood. Their eyes widened in horror as they took in the gruesome sight. Several stone daggers, some of them bloody, lodged in the wooden door behind Flint or scattered in the general area near him, gave away the identity of the killer: a Stone Edge attack. Both of them looked like they had seen a black Charizard – and with good reason; injuries, let alone blood and death were never seen in pokémon battles.

"But how?" the referee asked. He had seen people get hit by Stone Edge before; all it did was ruin their clothes.

Suddenly, several bright flashes lit up the arena as both Flint's and her pokémon emerged from their poké balls. Soon the arena was filled with the horrifying sound of pokémon in utter agony.

By this time, the hard rock track had stopped and the announcer was urging people to remain calm. But it was no use, panic had spread like virus and the crowd was desperately shoving and fighting to get out of the arena.

She then noticed the twin hoops of Stone Edge forming around her Garchomp again. Wasting no time, she immediately grabbed the referee and sprinted for the trainers' entrance.

There was then the distinct crack of a Stone Edge attack firing. She winced as one of the stone shards ripped through her jacket and into her flesh.

"Just a few more feet," she thought as the door came in sight. Just as she was about to leap through the door; a gout of flame grazed her jacket, setting it aflame. She quickly shed the burning garment and slammed the door shut.

The referee covered his hands with his mouth and ran to the bathroom. Cynthia shoved the couch against the door. She sat on the ground and tried to catch her breath. She then examined her shoulder wound; it wasn't deep but it bled profusely. She got up and grabbed the first aid kit hanging on the wall. She hastily bandaged her wound and looked around. The lounge was eerily quiet at the moment but she suspected that wouldn't be the case soon.

Soon, Cynthia's sense of relief at escaping alive was replaced with guilt. She had abandoned her Garchomp when she was needed most. But could she really fault herself for doing that? She had just seen someone get killed with a Stone Edge attack. What person wouldn't run from a hail of stone daggers?

***

But Garchomp wasn't the only one to hear that mysterious voice. At the time of that fateful battle, the other contestants were battling. And they soon would hear that voice.

Will and Lucian were now on their second pokémon – a Gardevoir and a Gallade, respectively.

Just before Will could give a command to his Gardevoir, a voice echoed in his head: "I've given you the power to take back our world from the humans…kill any who stand against you."

"Lucian," he said calmly. "You know it's bad sportsmanship to use your telepathy to mess with your opponents."

Lucian's jaw dropped. "What? I didn't say-" Suddenly, those same words echoed in his head: "I've given you the power to take back our world from the humans…kill any who stand against you."

Lucian glared at Will. "Hypocrite."

Everyone in the crowd was staring at the two. Even the pokémon were wondering what their trainers were doing.

Will sighed. "Well let's get-ARGH!" He then collapsed to his knees clutching his head in agony. Through his veil of pain, he was able to feel something. Some kind of unusual power coursed through his veins.

"Stop the match!" Lucian shouted. His own head was starting to throb as well and it seemed to be intensifying. The referee went to get medical help.

Whispers spread among the crowd as they looked on in shock. No one moved a muscle as they waited for the events to continue unfolding.

Luckily, the medics arrived quickly. They approached Will – and were promptly knocked on their backs by an invisible force. The sand around him jittered as if invisible fists were pounding the ground.

Suddenly, there was a brilliant flash and the two contestants' pokémon were released. And each one of them appeared to be in intense pain. To make matters worse, each one of them seemed to be using an attack. A blind-fired Thunderbolt from Mr. Mime carved glowing trenches in the concrete wall.

By this time, the crowd was shouting and milling about in panic. Some of them tried to dodge Gallade's Stone Edge but it was so tightly packed that they couldn't. Panic intensified as several people were transfixed by the stone spikes.

At the same time, Lucian felt an unusual surge of energy through his veins but his headache grew so intense that it forced him to his knees. Struggling through his fog of pain, he reached out towards the referee's microphone – dropped when he had fled. Much to his surprise, the microphone flew through the air and into his hand before he could even reach it.

"Everyone, please evacuate the arena in a quick and orderly fashion!" he said, voice ragged with pain. Just before he slipped unconscious, he let go of the microphone. His newly awakened psychic powers inadvertently hurled the microphone into the wall.

Unfortunately, his words had the complete opposite effect. The crowd panicked and fought to get to the exits. Those who weren't killed by the stray pokémon attacks were trampled underfoot or accidentally shoved over railings – only to fall to their deaths onto the sandy arena below them.

***

The pandemonium wasn't limited to the battlers. Outside Suzurin Stadium, all hell had broken loose as pokémon were struck by this mysterious aliment. Attacks of all sorts lanced into the noon sky, replacing the fireworks that had previously signaled the start of today's festivities.

Panicking trainers either tried to calm down their pokémon – with fatal results, unfortunately – or simply fled, abandoning their pokémon, their comrades.

Those who were present on that fateful day were left with one question: what happened? Little did they know that this event would usher in Sinnoh's downfall.

"You nervous?"

That single sentence cut through the low rumble of the vehicle's powerful motor inside the cargo compartment.

The target of the speech, a one Private Kevin Lauri, broke out of his reverie. Despite his racing heart, he forced his mouth to make the word: "No." That fake bravado helped keep his face a calm mask, but it did nothing to loosen the death grip his hands had on the MOLLE straps of his S3TCG protective vest.

"Listen man, it's okay to be a bit jittery." The older infantryman placed a hand on the younger one's shoulder. "Just remember"—he gestured to the other troopers inside the cramped metal compartment—"we're a team. None of us will let you down."

Private Lauri gulped. "Got it. I'll be the best I can be." His youthful face furrowed into the hard set visage of a trained soldier.

The veteran smiled. "That's the ticket! Now let's get out there and see if we can save those civvies in the greenhouse!"

The young trooper looked around. Inside the dimly lit cargo compartment were nine other soldiers. All of them were dressed in the Coalition uniform of a S3TCG protective vest over fireproof digital camo uniforms and a durasilk combat helmet. All but four of them carried the primary weapon of a Human-Legendary Coalition infantryman: the BR-541 battle rifle — affectionately known as the "Glameow" for its small size and vicious "bite". The sole exceptions were the two machine gunners, who carried the MG-417 light machine gun — aka the "Purugly" — and the two grenadiers, armed with the MGL-512 revolver-type grenade launcher — the "Dodrio".

The soldier brought up the holographic map on his pokéglov. They were heading north along Route 1, going up from Pallet Town — better known as Fort Pallet.

The soldier let out a sigh as he shut down the map. Fort Pallet was one of the only two Human strongholds of the Kanto region. As a result, Ho-oh's forces often laid siege to the base in an attempt to force the Humans to abandon Kanto. Private Lauri had been through two of those — and he was only a month out of basic training.

The other stronghold, Fort Moon — just positioned outside the ruins of Viridian City — had the dubious honor of being the base that was the most frequently attacked.

"All right men, move out!" their leader shouted. With a groaning shudder, the armored rear ramp began to slowly lower. PFC Lauri's stomach tied itself into knots as the odor of burning vegetation and flesh slammed into his nostrils like a Giga Impact to the face. Nevertheless, he kept his composure, flipped the fire select switch on his rifle to burst and got ready to descend down the ramp like the other soldiers around him. He gulped; the previous battles were advantageous towards him, thanks to the mines scattered around Fort Pallet, its numerous stationary guns, the garrison of trained pokémon in the base as well as its large motor pool. Out here, Ho-oh's forces had the advantage. Alas, there was only one way to tell if his training had been effective.

Enter the battlefield itself.

***

Nothing had prepared the young soldier for what he saw. Xanadu Nursery, home to some of his most cherished childhood memories, had transformed into a hellish battlefield. Every window of the stately greenhouse dome had been reduced to glittering fragments. Plumes of black, choking smoke rose into the red-orange skies. Corpses — pokémon and human alike — littered the battlefield. Screams of pain rose into the air like smoke.

The hot, coarse air sucked the air out of his lungs with each breath. Steeling himself, he marched down the ramp with his fellow soldiers. Then, his training took over.

***

Sweat poured down Potter's face as he hastily pumped his garden sprayer. When the pump handle recoiled, he slung the device over his back and secured the straps. Noticing that the firebrand mounted at the end of the sprayer was out, he relit it from a small piece of burning debris.

And not a moment too soon, as a swarm of Spinarak and Furret began to close in on him. He squeezed the sprayer handle and swept side-to-side, just as if he were watering the plants in the nursery. With a deceptively gentle hiss, a stream of burning liquid coated the onrushing pokémon and ground. The charging pokémon, screeching in abject agony, soon scattered as they desperately tried to put out the flames. In their haste to extinguish the fire, they collided with and ignited various inanimate objects and their own comrades. Soon, roving specks of fire dotted the battlefield like morbid candles.

Those unlucky enough to be struck by the spray would die horribly as the flames ate away their skin and flesh, leaving behind black, carbonized skeletons with remnants of charred flesh clinging like banners. The pokémon attack of Flamethrower was a mercy in comparison; those unlucky enough to be exposed to the full-blast of a Flamethrower usually died instantly as the burning gases boiled and charred their lungs — or cremated them on the spot. Potter's ad hoc weapon of the same name was fueled not by flammable gasses but by a cruel mixture of insecticidal oil, insecticidal soap and a hydrocarbon-based paint stripper. Not only did this mixture burn fiercely, it also stuck tenaciously to any surface — including flesh.

Of course, Potter was beyond caring what his weapon did to the enemy. The image of Florinda Showers valiantly fighting off a horde of Rattata, Sentret and Furret, only to be gravely wounded by an Air Cutter from a Hoothoot was burned in his memory. The last image he had of her was her screaming, pleading for Arceus, her mother — anyone — to save her as the horde began to slowly eat her alive. The enemy showed no mercy and so, they shall be shown no mercy.

The gardener ground his teeth as he depressed the sprayer handle one more time. More Rattata were soon turned to into frantically chirping, panicking torches. He smirked underneath the protective hood and mask.

But beneath that smirk of bravado and righteous anger, was another emotion. Resignation. Potter knew that despite the bravery and ferocity that his fellow gardeners and their pokémon fought with, they would not win — let alone survive — unless Coalition reinforcements arrived soon. After all, garden tools, agricultural chemicals, toxic plant extracts and relatively untrained pokémon could only go so far.

***

Private Lauri dropped the empty magazine and slammed a full one into his battle rifle. His weapon barked as he sent four 7.62 x 51 mm hollow points towards a pair of Furret charging a Hyper Beam attack. Four red puffs of blood indicated four direct hits as the duo dropped dead. His eyes burned from the smoke that drifted through the battlefield.

The fire team leader saw a Gloom approaching a man sprawled out on the ground. His weapon, a large pruning knife, was inches away from his right hand. Instantly assuming that the pokémon was up to no good, she raised her rifle and fired a few shots at it. The Gloom panicked as soon as it saw the rifle and bolted.

"Lauri! We got one!" she shouted. Private Lauri loped over to the woman.

"What is it?" he shouted over the din of battle.

"Casualty!"

The woman approached the man. "Sir, are you okay?"

"I'd be better if you fuckers didn't chase away that Gloom!" the man replied with a cough. The woman then mentally kicked herself. Gloom were not found in this area. Thus, the one that she saw was probably belonged to someone and was tame. On the other hand, there have been instances where trained pokémon attacked or even killed their trainers. Seeing as it was too late to dwell on what had already been done, she spoke.

"Sir, can you walk?"

"I could if you didn't chase that Gloom away! I got dusted with stun stem powder!"

"Lauri! Keep watch!" the woman barked. She activated the diagnostic scan on her pokéglov and aimed the blue beam at the man. In a few seconds, the pokéglov beeped. The man had indeed been exposed to stun stem. A slot in the pokéglov slid back and a spray bottle the size of her finger was exposed. She took the bottle and spritzed the man with it.

***

Private Lauri kept his rifle at low ready as he scanned for threats. As he did so, he couldn't help but notice the blood that covered the man's clothing and hair. How much of it belonged to him and how much of it came from pokémon he had personally slain with his pruning knife was a question best left unanswered. Private Lauri was of course, no stranger to killing pokémon. But killing one at close range where he could taste its hot breath, feel the sheer power in those muscles and hear its cries of pain and rage was a foreign and terrifying experience. Nevertheless, he maintained his professional composure.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Furret make a leap at him, teeth bared and charged with coruscating energy of Super Fang. His heart stopped as time seemed to stretch into infinity. The din of the battlefield faded into indistinct white noise.

On autopilot, he raised his rifle, lined it up with the Furret — seemingly frozen in space — and fired a single two-round burst. Two puffs of blood and vaporized tissue blossomed out of the Furret as the bullets struck their mark.

The report of the rifle hung in Private Lauri's ears like smoke in the air. The Furret froze in midair as rounds ripped through its body. Private Lauri watched as the mortally wounded pokémon slowly tumbled to the ground and the spent shell casings from his rifle pirouetted in the smoky air.

And then, life returned to normal speed. The Furret's carcass and the two shell casings struck the ground. The metallic bite of blood lingered on the soldier's tongue. He swallowed to suppress the bile that rose in his throat. His head swam and entire body shuddered as he tried to calm his racing heart. So that was what it was like to kill at contact range. It was terrifying…but yet, the adrenaline rush was like nothing else. Was this what the wild pokémon were feeling when they engaged in mass slaughter? A high unmatched by anything else?

***

The man who had been sprayed with the paralyz heal shook his torpid limbs as he pushed himself to his feet. He picked up his bloodied pruning knife. "I'm glad you're here! We've been fighting these fuckers for the past five hours!"

The woman couldn't help but marvel at how long this ragtag group had held out with nothing more than garden tools and other improvised weapons combined with sheer balls. Of course, the fact that the pokémon here weren't very powerful probably evened the odds. Her headset radio beeped as the squad leader's voice came over the headset.

"Fort Pallet's picked up a huge group of flyers heading this way. Mostly Fearow and Pidgeot. ETA is about an hour. There's no way we can hold that off. We'll have to evac the civilians and anything of use! Danche out!"

"Roger that." The woman turned to two soldiers who were near Private Lauri. "Private Broden and Private Claris! You're coming with me to grab info from the greenhouse!" She then turned to Private Lauri. "Private Lauri, you escort the civilian to one of the transports!"

The man shook his head and picked up his pruning knife. "I know the greenhouse better than any of you. I'll come."

"That's not an option. Despite your bravery, you are still an untrained civilian; it's a liability."

"I have the keys to the greenhouse and I know the contents of the library."

The woman looked at the greenhouse door. Sure, the halligan tool in her backpack would let her get through most doors but simply opening the door was the fastest way. Especially a door that had such a massive deadbolt on it. And of course, the man's knowledge would tremendously speed up their information gathering. She sighed. "Fine. You come with us. Private Lauri, you too!"

The two men who were called fell in. At their leader's command, they made their way to the door. Luckily, the nearby machine gunner kept the hostile pokémon at bay with a stream of green tracer fire.

***

Sergeant Cassidy Danche released the talk button on her radio handset as she put it back in its holder. She leaned back in her padded seat in the truck's cab and sighed as she brushed a lock of reddish hair away from her face. The "gunner" next to her gulped as he placed his hands in the gauntlets that let him control the manipulator arms. The whirring of powerful electric motors was heard as the arms extended from behind armored ports in the front of the vehicle.

The woman saw one of the machine gunners duck behind a cart full of topsoil to provide covering fire for two infantrymen. Between the two soldiers were two hazmat suit clad figures equipped with spray dusters. Lines of green tracer fire stitched the reddish air.

She watched as the group headed for her truck via the rear-view camera. Immediately, she pressed the button to lower the rear boarding ramp. Almost immediately, the stink and din of the battlefield filled the vehicle as the four hustled aboard.

The two soldiers stood guard while the two armed civilians entered. The two soldiers then entered and the rear hatch closed with a solid thunk.

The two suited figures laid their dusters aside and removed their hoods and masks, revealing a man and a woman. Sweat glistened on their faces and hair. Both of them took deep breaths of the stale, yet cool air inside the truck. One of the soldiers retrieved two silvery packets of water from a compartment beneath the seats. He tossed them to the two refugees.

"Thank Arceus, I thought I was going to be broiled inside that thing!" The man ripped open the packet and gulped the cool, if slightly metallic water. When he was done, he carefully stepped out of his hazmat suit and wiped his sweaty brow with a slightly less sweaty hand.

The woman adjusted her glasses, brushed a lock of black hair away from her face and started drinking the water as well. She too, carefully removed her hazmat suit.

The first soldier looked askance at the duo's clothing and dusters. "So what's in those things?"

"Stun stem powder," the woman replied. "Instantly paralyzes upon inhalation."

The soldier carefully backed away from the two dusters. He smiled. Despite being completely untrained and woefully underequipped, the gardeners had managed to turn simple garden equipment and plants into rather effective weapons. "I don't suppose you have any left?"

The gardener shook his head. "No. We grow all our own botanicals in the greenhouse."

***

The man unlocked the greenhouse. Thanks to the fierce fighting outside having knocked out the generators, watery sunlight streaming in through the shattered windows was the only source of light within. Gunshots from the battlefield outside echoed inside the dome.

"Claris, take point!" the woman barked.

Private First Class Claris, a youth of just barely nineteen but with the world-weary expression of a hardened warrior stepped up. His battle rifle was held at low ready as he took the first step into the dimly lit hallway. He clicked on the tac light at the end of his rifle and swept it around the hallway. Aside from broken glass that covered the plants and pathways — and the bite of smoke in the air — the greenhouse wasn't too badly damaged.

The gardener held his pruning knife at the ready. He was behind PFC Claris. He turned to the woman. "Hey, I never got your name," he said.

The woman said nothing as she raised her rifle to illuminate an empty storage closet that had once held garden tools. Sheglanced at the man's pruning knife and the protective jacket that was marred with tooth marks. Looks like the tools were taken to arm everyone here. "You don't need to know that," she said.

The gardener scowled; the team leader's attitude was annoying at best and obnoxious at worst. Still, he couldn't complain too much seeing as she was a member of the Coalition force that provided the beleaguered greenhouse workers with badly needed firepower. He saw the team leader prepare to climb up a set of stairs that led to the elevated pathways that crisscrossed the greenhouse. "Wait!" he said. "That way leads to the observation deck! The library's down here."

The team leader stopped midway up the stairs and returned to ground level. "Show us." The expression on her face was reminiscent of one eating an overripe rawst berry. The woman none too gently shoved the gardener aside as she consulted with Private Claris. The gardener scowled and when the woman wasn't looking, flipped the middle finger at her.

Several seconds passed before the woman turned to the gardener. "Lead the way to the library."

The gardener nodded. He took point as PFC Claris fell back. The gardener froze and held his pruning knife at the ready as the bushes rustled. The four soldiers turned and aimed their rifles at the bushes. A Gloom staggered out of the bushes. Seeing the four, it yelped and bolted back into the bushes.

The woman sighed. "Keep moving."

The man nodded and wound his way through the brick paths. Soon, he arrived at a beautiful garden plaza. Several concrete benches surrounded it. A beautiful bronze bridge over a gently burbling stream led the way to the library. A sign over the entrance read "Gardenia Raine Botanical Library".

Amazingly, despite the battle raging outside, the tile mosaic of a Bulbasaur on the plaza and the stone sculptures were unmarred — save for the numerous glass shards that covered the area.

The man unlocked the library and the team leader looked at him. She gestured to the vast bookshelves, all bulging with various books. Sunlight filtered in through the glass windows. Amazingly, these windows were intact. "All right, since we obviously can't take all this shit onto the two trucks we have, what are the most important and valuable things here?"

The man sighed. Asking him to choose what books to rescue and what to abandon was a cruel choice; he had managed the library for years and it was one of the most complete botanical libraries in all of Kanto. To see it abandoned to the marauding pokémon was sacrilegious.

But then again, in wartime — especially against a foe as brutal and ruthless as the ones besieging Xanadu Nursery — hard choices had to be made. He sucked in a breath. "The most important books are the employee records and the biography of Florinda Showers," he said. "However, we also have records of the contents of the greenhouse as well as seed samples. Furthermore, we have books on various herbal medications and poisons."

The team leader nodded as she analyzed the data. "We're taking the books on medicines, poisons, greenhouse records and seeds. Everything else gets left behind. Get to it!"

The men immediately dispersed, save for the gardener. He winced as one of the soldiers roughly shoved a large encyclopedia of herbal medicines into his rucksack.

"Hey! Give us a hand so we can un-ass this place before the Big Birds get here!" the team leader shouted.

The gardener, well aware that "Big Birds" was Coalition slang for "fully evolved flying types", immediately got to work. He placed his pruning knife back in his belt sheath and snatched a backpack from the library's lost and found. Seeing as the backpack was full of loose papers and some bagged food, he unceremoniously dumped the contents on the floor and went into the stacks to help gather books.

The first thing he grabbed was an autobiography of Florinda Showers. He shivered as he saw the clock. It was stopped at 10 AM — the exact time the generators were knocked out. All he knew that it was at least 4 PM. The next item to go into his stolen backpack was a thin hardcover book titled Herbal Remedies for the Traveling Trainer. He then carefully routed around PFC Claris, who was attempting to cram The Pocket Guide to Wild Herbs into his rucksack and unlocked the seed storage room. Even through his jacket, he could feel the chill of the room — a testament to how heavily insulated the room was.

Taking care not to slip on the condensation-slick concrete, he entered and did a quick scan of the contents. A binder on the wall contained a listing of all the plants in the bank. He unceremoniously shoved the thick binder into his backpack. The gardener let out a sigh, causing a puff of vapor to hang in the air. Again, he had to make a choice: what to sacrifice and what to rescue.

The gardener made a beeline for the medicinal and toxic plants section. Opening his backpack, he yanked open the drawers and simply threw the sealed plastic vials into his backpack. Thankfully, all the vials had their contents written on their labels. Once he was done with one section, he moved onto the next and repeated the step.

He was partway through the section on food plants when gunfire got his attention. His heart leapt into his throat as he tossed the vials in his hand into his backpack. Hastily zipping it up, he threw the backpack over his shoulder and rushed for the exit to the seed bank.

Only to slip on a small puddle. He swore profusely as he landed on the hard concrete floor. He pushed himself to his feet, wincing as a spike of pain shot through his bruised hip.

"Glad to see you're still here!" the team leader shouted as she fired a burst from her rifle into the air. A Fearow squawked and flew upwards through the holed roof. "The Big Birds are real close."

The gardener felt his buttocks involuntarily clench as he heard the distinct cry of a Fearow. Every Kantoian survivor knew that a flock of Fearow had razed the Oak Ranch and massacred the inhabitants of Pallet Town. As a result, they all hated and feared the Beak pokémon.

The team leader took point as she led the men through the winding pathways of the greenhouse. Glass shattered as additional Fearow let loose with concussive blasts of air and blades of wind as they attempted to attack the five. Luckily, the Fearow were squabbling over who got to kill them. Soon, the squabble degenerated into a brawl. Glass shards rained down as one of the Fearow slammed its opponent through one of the greenhouse panes.

***

"Shit." The team leader looked over the battlefield.

Gunfire rent the air as the Coalition machine gunners fired their weapons into horde of Fearow about 150 meters out from where the trucks were located. Despite the distance, the Fearow were rapidly closing in. The remaining infantry were ushering the rescued civilians and supplies aboard the two armored vehicles. The vehicles' arms and vibrosaw were raised high like Arbok ready to strike. Unfortunately, the Fearow flew too high and fast for them to reach. Of course, the operators did get a few lucky strikes on the Fearow who had foolishly flown too low; those who did so were either reduced to bloody chunks by the saw or had their bodies broken with a single swift blow of the metallic arm.

"Corporal!" PFC Claris shouted over the din of battle. "Incoming!"

The team leader dove to the ground as a Fearow used Drill Run in an attempt to skewer the soldier. Swearing, she raised her rifle and fired a few rounds at the pokémon. Thanks to its speed, the rounds missed it as the Fearow wheeled around for another run. It was during that miniscule window of time where a pokémon using Drill Run would pause for a brief moment so it could turn that the woman aimed her rifle. Two swift cracks rent the air and two puffs of blood and vaporized tissue spurted from the gravely wounded pokémon. A dull thud was heard as it crashed into the ground. Its agonized squawks echoed through the area.

***

"Holy shit! Help me!" Private Lauri was huddled in a ball as two Fearow began pecking at him. His helmet and protective vest had absorbed most of the abuse. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his arms and legs. He had fallen behind the other soldiers and this had made him an attractive target to the Fearow.

Seeking to assist the soldiers in any way possible, the gardener dropped his backpack, unsheathed his pruning knife and charged towards Private Lauri. One of the soldiers also ran to assist his fallen comrade.

The gardener was the first to arrive. Swinging his knife with two hands, he aimed at the long sinuous neck of a Fearow. As it moved to peck some more at Private Lauri, he wasn't able to get a clean decapitation. Instead, he lopped off one of the Fearow's wings. Squawking angrily, the pokémon flapped its remaining wing as it tried to attack him. Blood droplets flew into the air as the Fearow charged him with its beak open wide and its eyes burning with rage.

Suddenly feeling warm liquid (that was most certainly not blood) running down his leg, the gardener gulped as he got his knife ready for a second blow. As the Fearow got in range, he swung his knife with two hands like a baseball player trying to hit a home run.

It was a direct hit. Flesh, bone and muscle provided no resistance to a honed steel blade designed to chop through thick branches with a single stroke. The Fearow's head flew through the air as the headless corpse continued forward under its own momentum. The body collapsed onto the ground where it continued to twitch.

A small arc of blood spurted out from the body with each dying heartbeat, staining the gardener's boots.

The thud of metal meeting flesh and bone indicated that the other soldier had clubbed the other Fearow to death with his battle rifle. The gardener turned to the stricken soldier.

He choked down the bile that began to climb in his throat and fought through a surge of dizziness that threatened to knock him down as he laid eyes on Private Lauri. The young soldier's arms and legs were covered in deep gouges where the knife-edged beaks of the Fearow had peeled away his skin and muscle. The dull white of bone that peeked out from some of the gashes testified how vicious the attack was. If it weren't for the helmet and protective vest, Private Lauri would have lost his eyes or worse. Even then, his arms and legs would be permanently scarred. The infantryman who had helped the gardener kill the two Fearow pulled out a yellow spray bottle from a pocket on his vest. The gardener recognized it as hyper potion bottle. Granted, hyper potion wasn't the cure-all in humans as it was in pokémon. Nevertheless its ability to staunch bleeding, kill pathogens in the wound, provide a temporary barrier to infection and greatly reduce pain made it an invaluable part of any soldier's kit. The soldier sprayed the solution over Private Lauri's wounds, evoking a loud stream of profanities.

The team leader had seen the whole incident unfolding. She dared not shoot at the Fearow lest she hit her own men. Instead she spoke into her headset mike.

***

"Sergeant Harris, this is Corporal Lulalais! We need you to get closer! We've got a casualty who can't walk! Corporal Lulalais out!"

In a few minutes, the massive armored vehicle rumbled up to Corporal Lulalais. The rear ramp descended and four soldiers bearing a stretcher between hustled down the ramp and headed for Private Lauri.

At the same time, the gardener had now retrieved his backpack and slowly plodded towards the vehicle. The exertion of battle, the sheer weight of the backpack and the fading adrenaline rush all conspired to make his limbs feel like they were made of lead.

"Hurry the fuck up!" Corporal Lulalais shouted as she periodically looked skywards for any sign of Fearow or Pidgeot.

"Cut me some Arceusdamned slack! I ain't an infantryman!" the gardener snapped. He bent over to catch his breath. His chest heaved as he sucked in the smoky air. The distinct bite of Potter's ad hoc flamethrower fuel and blood hung in the air.

After a minute of rest, he had gotten enough of his energy back to make it aboard the vehicle's boarding ramp. There, he collapsed in a heap on the steel floor. Two soldiers helped pull him to his feet and helped him into a seat. The gardener dumped his backpack on the floor and turned to Potter, who was in the seat next to him. The man was statute-still, despite how uncomfortable the bench seat was.

"Hey Potter." No response.

The gardener took a closer look at his fellow Xanadu Nursery employee. Potter's formerly jovial expression was replaced by a distant and dead stare — as if he were staring through the vehicle's concrete and steel hull. Indeed, it was as if he was unaware of his surroundings.

A few moments later, the four soldiers arrived with Private Lauri. They placed the stretcher on an empty bench as they began tending to his wounds. With the whirring of electric motors, the rear ramp slid shut.

The vehicle lurched slightly as it began to move.

The gardener breathed a sigh of relief. At least now he and the surviving employees can get away from this shithole. And in his case, change into some clean clothing.

***

Sergeant Harris radioed Sergeant Danche to let her know that everyone and that they were returning to Fort Pallet for debriefing.

He looked at the feed from the rearview camera and swore profusely. Behind them was a massive black cloud. The "Big Birds" had come after them. He spoke into his headset mike "Sergeant Danche! This is Sergeant Harris. The 'Big Birds' are coming after us! Over!"

He waited for a moment and then Sergeant Danche's voice came over the headset radio. "We do not have the capabilities to engage. Evade! Danche out!"

Sergeant Harris pushed the accelerator down to the floor. The vehicle lurched and shuddered as he watched the speedometer climb past 70 km/h. A rough jolt indicated that he had driven over a crater.

***

The flock of Pidgeot and Fearow blotted out the sun as they chased the two vehicles across plains marked with craters and black scorch marks. Two long plumes of tan dust marked the paths of the two vehicles. Despite the head start of the Coalition troops, the flock was rapidly gaining on them.

Furious squawks and trills filled the air as the birds jostled for position — each wanting to be the one to draw first blood. Eventually, the birds resorted to flinging shockwaves of compressed air, stellate energy bolts and other projectiles at the two vehicles. Luckily, the Fearow and Pidgeot were so focused on landing the first hit that they had forgotten to aim.

***

Sergeant Danche let loose a rather remarkable array of profanity as she wrestled with the steering levers as she attempted to avoid the craters that the attacks had gouged into the muddy ground as well as the attacks themselves. Air Cutter, Razor Wind, Sonic Boom and Air Slash could mostly be ignored as they lacked the power to pierce even the thin top armor.

She felt the vehicle shake as it took a direct hit from a Razor Wind attack. Luckily, her headset was able to cancel the otherwise deafening noise. She looked at the map on the console. Fort Pallet was only about forty kilometers away.

Another impact rocked the vehicle. She turned to the gunner/radioman as she struggled with the steering levers. "Get Fort Pallet on the horn and tell them that the 'Big Birds' are coming after us!"

The radioman nodded and grabbed the handset. "Fort Pallet! This is Foxtrot Actual! We have hostiles in pursuit. They are flying-types! Over!"

"Roger that. Defenses will be coming online. Fort Pallet out."

"Thank Arceus!" Sergeant Danche said as she watched the radioman put the handset back. She watched as a glowing star ricocheted off of the vehicle's glacis and into the sky. It was the Swift projectiles that she had to worry about; the energy bolts were capable of piercing personal and thin vehicle armor — such as the one that was atop the Grotle truck.

She shot a glance at the rearview camera feed; the black cloud was getting closer. She pushed the accelerator down to the floor and watched as the speedometer touched 100 km/h.

All she had to do was get within range of Fort Pallet's guns.

***

Fort Pallet interior

Sirens ripped through the dusk air as soon as command had received word of Foxtrot Team's predicament. Columns of white light soared into the sky as the soldiers prepared for the air raid.

M162 Remoraid 75 mm guns — controlled, loaded and fired by artillerymen safely within each tower's armored base — slowly traversed as they aimed in the direction where the flock of "Big Birds" was anticipated to arrive.

The creaking of metal doors could be heard as autonomous M122 Kamex CIWS rose from behind their armored shutters. Their electric motors whirred as the guns were aimed at the sky. Unlike the Remoraids, these guns were completely autonomous — once hostiles were detected by radar they were be ripped to shreds by a hail of 20 mm HE/fragmentation shells. Owing to their role as point-defense weapons, their effective range was below 500 meters in contrast to the 13 kilometer effective range of the Remoraids.

***

Fort Pallet – Central Control Room

"Steady, steady," the fire control officer said as he looked at the screen showing the position of the flock. A train of numbers flickered at the bottom of the screen as the "Big Birds" got closer. All around him were numerous other officers of Fort Pallet dealing with communications, troop movement and other important matters. The dim overhead lighting of Fort Pallet's central control room contrasted with the white glare of the numerous monitors.

A few seconds later, the numbers on the radar screen flashed red. "Big Birds in range! Fire guns!" the fire control officer barked into the intercom.

The very air itself seemed to shudder as Fort Pallet's Remoraid guns flung their deadly payloads into the sky. Thanks to a modified teleportation system derived from the PC poké ball transport system, the guns were fed from a central armory, giving them essentially unlimited ammunition. For obvious reasons, a double-feed of the explosive shells was not something the gunners wished to see. Unfortunately, this came at a price: the Fort Pallet guns were more maintenance intensive and their rate of fire was much lower.

***

12 km from Fort Pallet

The fecal stink of death permeated the passenger compartment of Sergeant Harris's Grotle truck. Two stellate holes, their ragged edges still softly glowing red from the Swift attack, in the ceiling let in the chill night air. Corporal Lulalais, in an attempt to preserve Private Lauri's dignity, had draped a tarp over the man's mutilated body. A hole in his abdomen, through which charred coils of viscera poked through, heralded the cause of death — a Swift star that had pierced the Grotle truck's thin top armor and his ballistic vest. Despite the application of hyper potion, his previous injuries had weakened him to the point that the Swift projectile would have killed him.

The corporal sighed. Sometime during this war, she was going to end up like Private Lauri. Dead in a pool of her own bodily wastes. She pushed the unpleasant thoughts from her head — and replaced them with an even more morbid thought: if the Coalition lost the war, the Human race was fucked. Best-case scenario: Humanity was completely killed. Worse-case scenario: Humanity would become the slaves of the enemy Legendaries or worse, the playthings of the psychopathic mad scientist, Uxie. She shuddered; many a Coalition recruit had suffered sleepless nights from the intel that Mesprit had divulged about her brother — tales of clones, vivisection, artificial pokémon and worse.

A loud explosion broke her from her reverie. She peered through the hole in the roof and saw a massive burst of fire. She smiled. They were almost home! A Swift projectile deflecting into her vehicle's corundum windshield and leaving a molten puddle was a stark reminder that the key word was almost.

***

A cloud of steel rods tore into the flock of birds like a school of ravenous Carvanha. The steel rods would actually bend and wobble in flight, acting like miniature razors. Many of the "birds" blinked into nonexistence, the lethal shrapnel continuing as if nothing had happened. Those closest to the exploding shell were reduced to a puff of feathers and meat that drifted to the ground. Those further away had body parts ripped off or organs pulverized from the lethal combination of shockwave and shrapnel.

Pidgeot and Fearow with missing limbs or torn-open bodies plummeted from the sky along with feathers, blood and bits of meat.

Again and again, the flock tried to push forward in pursuit of the two vehicles but again and again, the hail of stinging flak drove them back.

Deciding to cut their losses, the now greatly reduced flock gave a few angry squawks and broke off the attack, heading back to the Viridian Forest.

***

Sergeant Danche let out a rather incongruous whoop as she watched the flock retreat through her vehicle's rearview camera. Soon, she saw the gates of Fort Pallet lit up by her vehicle's headlights. Her vision whited out as the twin spotlights shone down from the watchtowers flanking the gate.

The radio buzzed. "Foxtrot Actual, recite passphrase. Over."

The woman racked her brain for a moment before she picked up the radio handset. "To understand the power inside," she said. She then released the talk button and awaited a response.

"Acknowledged. Please proceed. Fort Pallet out." The gates slid back with a groaning creak and the two battle-scarred vehicles trundled through.

The uninjured civilians were quickly hustled out of the vehicles and into the temporary quarters. Medics removed at least six wounded and two dead. Two mechanics entered the vehicle and drove them into the motor pool where their batteries would be charged and any damage sustained would be repaired.

Sergeant Danche dismounted her vehicle. She yawned. "Fucking damn it," she muttered.

She looked at her watch: 2100 hours.

Chalk up another successful mission for the 95th Kanto Armor Regiment, she thought as she headed for the sleeping quarters.

Ghostsoul · Jul 17, 2018

I don't remember when I first started 'writing' as such. But most of it came in the form of Hetalia fanfiction (read: not Pokemon) fanfiction at first.

Before me, lay a vortex of red.

Not just any red, that horrifying hellish red that blinded your eyes when you looked at it.

My vision was filled with that red.

It was so very odd, one minute we were at the top of the atmosphere, sitting, watching, waiting… The next our stomachs were flipped upside-down and all we could see was bewildering, spine-chilling visions of colour.
Tripping and spinning landscapes of colour. First I saw the colour of white. A colour associated with angels, life and purity. I guess that wasn’t true anymore …it was the colour which foresaw incoming fatal injury, or your ultimate demise. Second came the colour of red, the colour of hell, flames and the underworld. This one felt accurate for sure. It was a quick flash of what was to happen, or what should have happened. Visions of a new home, a new life after your death! Finally, appeared the shade of black. Black is a shade, not a colour, but it is surely grimmer than all the colours combined together. Black was the shade of the night; endings and scars. That’s what I think now anyway…

After some time of piercing darkness, my mind came back around. How long had I laid unconscious? Was it an hour? Perhaps a day? Even a whole week? My eyes felt heavy and groggy. I smelt something, it was salty and sick. Something around me felt cold, freezing. It felt as if it was trying to consume me, to drag me under, but I must not let it win. Voided and Numb, I waited for my brain to reconnect. I wanted everything inside me to light up once again. To shine, to feel sweet life.

Ivan, please wake up!

Calling to myself, the world outside me awakened. I found myself gazing at a sky I had never seen before. The sky looked like a scattered artist’s canvas, painted with a deep grey brush. The stars looked like empty spaces, yet to be painted. There was water below me, foreign waters perhaps man has yet to see, or feel. It laid deep green, as the colour of nausea. If no man had touched this water, how could it feel so polluted? My thoughts where scrambled. I laid there and looked around, perplexed. Where was this place? I saw nothing, nothing but water and wooden crates. I had no idea what the crates were carrying... What was in the hold of that plane? The plane had crashed and I had almost died.

That’s all I knew.

Can you say Purple Prose?

Then I kinda moved onto this prose poetry style for a bit, not for long (but I still did it).

You do not need a new name in this story, no persona or alternate self.
You are you, and that is the way it’s going to stay.

✺
Light had begun to trail in from the blinds; you opened your eyes, still fixed on the cotton white pillow. You felt as if you had more fainted than slept. You hoped to see a scene that would help you get over the horror of the night before.

Alas, that was not true.

As you opened your eyelids for a second time, you were presented with the same scene. You could see clearly now though, see what lay ahead. The room was white, the sheets were white. Most the furniture was white too, apart from the draws and wardrobe which were a deep rust red mahogany. You slowly lifted your damaged head off the duck feather pillows and took and proper look around. You carefully tip-toed out of bed, the carpet was clean and soft; a cream colour it almost made you feel a little better, not enough. You went over to the wardrobe, with hope that possibly, it would have a mirror.

You rushed over to its doors, light on your feet being careful not to fall onto the ground below you. Ambling, you opened the door, to your delight a mirror had been placed…But there was no reflection. Your mind was beyond the point of confusion. Was it possible you were no longer human? You blinked rapidly, in horrifying frustration. With your hands shaking you closed the door and rapidly stepped back.

“Quit panicking.”

They were back…Whoever they were.

“What’s wrong you seem scared?”

Was it the same voice? Was it a different voice?

They both spoke in the same chilling howl, but at altered pitches.

You tried to think, hard enough for them to hear.

'Who are you?'

A chorus of laughter broke out; as bells rung they blinded your ears.

“Are you joking?”

“Don’t mess with us like that.”

“You do play funny games Finland!”

You shut your eyes for a bit and took a deep breath. Finland is not a name. It couldn’t be, perhaps the less you trusted these spectres the better.

You traced back on the carpet, missing your footing in panic. Your right foot slipped on the smooth bed sheets, you once again hit your head, as you quickly scrambled back up to the pillow.

Shaking, you dived your head under the covers and went back to the only thing familiar to you.

‘Go to sleep’
‘Please, go to sleep’

You told this to yourself, over and over. But no rest came.

“Ha, but you don’t need to sleep.”
“Finland, what are you worrying about?”
“You are safe, stop hurting us”.

You didn’t care what they said or what it meant; you blocked them out and focused on yourself. Your rolled and turned in the bed sheet covers, restless.

“Finland?”

That wasn’t from inside your head that time; it was someone else, another living being. You slowed your breathing and hid deeper....But your aims of remaining unnoticed were pointless.

“Hey, Finland wake up, or I will wake you up myself!”

It was booming, shaking. The wind came over you as they lifted off the bed sheets in a quick tug. You fluttered your eyes open, the man’s face; nearly as bewildered as your mind.

Continuing with the Hetalia theme, this is a reader insert. Yes, you read that right, a reader self-insert.

You gazed down at the almost perfectly planned out map. It’s almost as if he knew the place like the back of his hand! That or he was just a stalking expert… You were making your way round the back of the house. The house was large and grand; you wondered how many people really lived in it! Perhaps it was just a nation thing.

After reaching the very back window, you could see Lithuania lustfully smiling into glass, attempting to picture Belarus no doubt. He scrapped his long nails against the fragile material before smashing it with his fist. “Come on now ____, we are closer to my dear!” You gently made your way through fragments, not hurting yourself in the process.

We began lurking about the house; Lithuania had never held your hand tighter. He was probably just excited. It seemed he was really infatuated with this girl, though you could barely tell if she really liked him or not. You could only hope.

Creeping through the empty air, you finally could see a softly warmed room. Were Belarus and Russia really still awake? You could hear sounds and voices creeping from inside.

“Oh, Belarus, how did I misjudge for so long, you are my sister, is this what you were really like all this time?” this was Russia’s voice, you were sure.

“No, but you can say I had a sudden change of heart” It was Belarus, her voice deep with romance.
“But is this how you really loved me? How deeply you did? Or did you just stalk me for the fun of it!” there was an obscure hesitance Russia spoke.

In 2015 I did write, but not much and what I did write is still personal to me now, so none of you will get to see it.

2016 is the next point I have content here and the first is a Gravity Falls fic that didn't last very long.

I couldn’t tell if the trees were dead or alive at this point. The stood in a perfect, empty silence and their colours were of pure monochrome. I couldn’t tell if the sun was shining either. The light of the sun should have been a good indication of the life of the trees, but how long had it been like this? A bright white nothing.

How long have I been lying like this? Have I even been conscious so long? I feel as if there is a weighted block on my neck, preventing me from any motion at all; or as if gravity didn’t even want me to move, so it just kept me here. There was also the feeling of the ground underneath me burning, and dragging me down into the fire along with it. In fact, my entire body felt as if it had been scalded by something…

Trying to move any more than my eyes was a struggle. Standing up? Forget about it. There was nothing to do but to look at this little world of nothing.

It was like the remains of a great disaster, as if a sort of demonic fire had swept through the proximity of the area, leaving it painted in the ashes of the burning bodies. Perhaps these trees are dead after all.
I’m not dead, I’m feeling pain aren’t I? I have colour too don’t I?

I hadn’t questioned my belonging in this place yet. At least I can see the bright tones of my skin stand out against the stone grass and grey sky. Could it be that I am the only one left?

Is it my job to rebuild this town? I would like that. I could reshape everything the way I wanted it to. I would have a city with no walls this time, in fact there would be no plastic, or wood, or bricks. Just metal. I’ll add my colour; I was here first! Nobody else can use their colour.

Is there anybody even here?

My enthusiasm is cut a little by the continued burning sensation in my stomach, it was as if someone had attempted to cut it open. There is no blood anywhere, from what I know, I am completely unharmed, my arms, hands aren’t even bruised. My vision is as good as ever, even if there is nothing to look at.
I feel like I could remember something, very faintly.

That thing was, being obliterated

2016 is also the year I manifested here, and The [Detriment] turned up.

People had very swiftly forgotten my old master. Mars and Jupiter had disappeared, many of the old members of team Galactic had simple decided to flee. Either for fear of being caught for their old schemes, like cowards, or because they had refused to acknowledge me as a leader.

It was only today that I had met Cyrus’s grandfather, the only other person, aside from me, who appeared to want to remember Cyrus. He made passing comments of how Cyrus used to be a ‘bright’ yet troubled child. How his parents had forced so many restrictions upon him. How they saw the passing of time as an enemy, how they forced Cyrus into the ‘grand race of life’ too soon. He mentioned how he wanted to take the young Cyrus away from him! How he regretted it ever since…

The grave will soon be covered in ivy.

I will not leave flowers.

Will it appear I am uncommitted? Does it look like I did not care enough to even bring flowers!

Flowers are not the answer because Master Cyrus is still alive.

But there are those who just simply overlook him upon his disappearance! Cyrus, the true leader of Team Galactic! The only guide they had for so many years of their lives Yet they abandoned him. They showed no remorse when he had left them, not one of them with a clue as to what Cyrus was really going through.

Would he have forgotten me too?

The few grunts that had, rather begrudgingly chose to come to the ceremony, had now vanished. Cyrus’s grandfather had given me a quiet nod and had headed off too. I thanked him for his time, he smiled back. Now I am completely alone, as me and Cyrus often once were, I was his lieutenant-commander after all. We are alone again.

Cyrus isn’t here.

I am simply alone.

As I am left with only my thoughts.

The sun is setting now, and the subtle glows of its tired beams had scattered the ground, giving it the subtle illusion of burning. It will be some time before the night comes to put out the fire. When the fire has gone out, I decided, I will be gone with it. I’ll keep Cyrus with me, in this state, at least till the light’s end.

If Cyrus had chosen this fate himself, I think, would it have been so different? The fate of death that is. Cyrus had sought oblivion, there are many ways to find oblivion. In fact, oblivion had become his one true goal. Such as the night kills the broken sun, the light is sucked into the darkness.

I had realised I had forgot to bring a coat, I was so tied up in the methods of this grave marking. To me, every detail had to be perfect, As perfection was once my true goal; My purpose for remaining within Team Galactic. I was restricting the operation too much, was I? Sure, Mars didn’t get to ‘see’ Cyrus as much as she would have really had liked to but was all her crazy fawning necessary! And we succeeded in the end, didn’t we! Is this what success looks like? A secret I must take to my grave? Or the very end of spirit…

They must never find out.

They will never find him.

There a few moments left of mourning for me.

Morning will be soon

I cannot stay too long.

I will be asleep.

I should be asleep.

I still hold tight, what is to me, all my reckless disregard.

2017 brought us Rock and Mortification because why not.

It was monotone, I think the route was specifically chosen by C – 849 so we saw no other Ricks or Mortys, or any organic life whatsoever. It was a series of corridors, mostly confined by tubes and stairways. White ones. No air and no sky to distract us.

I spent most of my time trying to clean up the trail of sickly liquid followed us. I hate how it was left to me, but I suppose that every glimpse I caught of it made the sense of revulsion for it go down in my stomach bit by bit, although I still mostly hated myself for doing it.

We stood by the gate, two of the guards looming over us, one of them with his shoulders hunched and was staring at the floor, the other looking straight ahead with almost a stare. Both of them were behind an unnecessarily huge white door with its imminent stature almost created to make those who looked upon it feel insignificant by comparison.

“Umm, sorry, we can’t let Mortys down here. Go – go back somewhere else.” One of them said.

“Don’t worry, Rick, we’ve got passes, we’ve come from the academy, we’re here to drop a body off.” He handed them the crumbled bit of paper, smug about it.

The guard squinted at it, before tossing it aside and letting it fall to the floor with little regard.

“Be quick about it.”

After a brief ‘wrestle’ with his keys, the guard unlocked the door; revealing an ice coloured chamber-like room with rows of dark windows each containing an abyss. It stretched out into an unknowable distance of loneliness.

“Not to worry Rick! Come on, F – 020, Morty!” C – 849 skipped forward.

“Okay…” I wanted to stare for just a bit longer, but decided to keep walking, C – 849 would want to drag me in if I didn’t.

“This is the airlock, it’s kinda like a graveyard. We don’t bury our dead though, that’ll be impractical. We just throw them into space!”

He was posed over a small silver screen with a few controls, poking around with it, mostly kinds of buttons, red, green and blue. He was waiting for something to happen.

“Hey, do you mind dragging the body over while I open the door?”

I hesitantly looked towards the body. Even though I had spent possibly hours cleaning up the trail of blood I was still disgusted with the idea of moving it. I didn’t want to have blood on my hands, metaphorically or physically.

“Absolutely not!”

“Fine. Be like that. Just a fair warning, you’ll probably have to do it someday, you know.”

He looked up from the screen. I heard a clunking sound from behind me as the circular door opened, giving us both a clearer view of space. C – 849 walked past me, dragging the body behind him before throwing it onto the platform.

From the angle you could see the thousands of tiny marks made along the dead Morty’s neck, like circular silver dots, but none of them uniform. They looked like a misshapen cluster of holes, like the scales on a lizard, or spots created by disease. I imagined myself falling sick if I touched it. Before exiting, C – 849 had knelt down by the body, and was glaring at it with an odd enthusiasm.

“Oh boy, I hadn’t noticed this before. How many marks is that? This Morty was chipped by at least 6, perhaps 7 different Ricks. How did he get abandoned like that, was he that weak of a fighter? He couldn’t have been that weak, if he’s been in so many…”

“He did-didn’t kill those Ricks, did he?”

“Oh no! He just got released by them, abandoned, his Rick didn’t want him. His Rick wanted better Mortys.”

“Better Mortys?”

“He simply wasn’t good enough, now he’ll never get to be good enough.”

He returned to the control-unit and pressed a button, releasing the body into the black chasm. I stepped back, unblinking. I place my arms on a window ledge and placed my hands on my cheeks. I just, let myself look out into nothing.

“You see, F – 020, out there are the bodies of all those who have died on the Citadel, the whole 15 years, with perhaps a few time travel accidents here and there, who am I to know?”

But how can I see them? Their corpses could have been stars in the empty vastness of space.

“Do we even remember who these Ricks and Mortys are?”

“Do you want me to name them or something? What’s the point! They are endless copies of the same fucking person!”

“I’m sorry I asked. Doesn't this feel wrong to you, at all?”

“The Citadel is a fast-moving place, alright, if we wasted time with petty ‘funerals’ like you had on Earth then we wouldn’t be able to do anything! Do you know how sensitive those Ricks are…”?

Another Morty was approaching us, he looked as chaos incarnate. Hair like a whirlwind with green sparks buzzing like carrion flies in a carcass. Eyes focused, and burning red with arteries like circuit boards, with a bandage, slapped around his head, it was hard to tell if it was just some kind of accessory, or he was hiding some long-held scar from view.

I went back to Hetalia finally after 5 years with my two newest projects. Although, their writing tends to veer from the canon universe of Hetalia, and the second fic almost being an entirely new thing altogether.

“What do you mean this isn’t awful! You – I turned into a monster! I have no idea if I killed someone – when I caused that fire and held those weapons – I looked, felt just like those Nations of old did. Did I really fix time, did Germany just tell me so I wouldn’t feel sad? I’m probably hurting him, too aren’t I?” I held my head in my hands to try and prevent myself from crying again, it didn’t work. All this guilt, I couldn’t get rid of it.

There were moments of silence, did Luciano not know how to respond? I felt a gentle tap on my arm.
“It’s nowhere near as bad as you think.”

Was Luciano’s touch actually warm? Did he just make it that way because he somehow could? It is resonating with my rattling skin. The sense of heat ran through my body. He placed it on my arm for a few seconds, oh god, get off me! I bashed it away, I think I would have hurt him if he hadn’t been this ethereal – thing! The cosy spikes of his ‘skin’ ran fuzzy. “As bad as I think? Bad as I –”

I kept sobbing. It was as if every little small reminder set me off. I couldn’t control my thoughts. What I needed to do if I was to get even the slightest amount of sleep tonight. Luciano wanted to confront me. I couldn't duck this life in the way that I wanted to. I was bound to it now. There was no escape, no matter where I went. I wanted to force myself to listen to Luciano; even if my entire body told me I hated him. “Why-how can, I -”

“You’re asking how it can be any better than you think it is?” Luciano replied calmly.

I struggled to move my tongue, make any words at all. Too bogged down by the phlegm clinging to my throat, pouring from my nose. I forced a nod.

“First of all, this job is only a temporary one.”

“W-w-what?”

I had always thought Nations were immortal spirits. Even if stripped of human form, they always endured in some way.

“Y-you can take my Nationhood from me?” I asked.

“I don’t take it away, it – goes away on its own.”

“How – How do I get rid of it then?”

Luciano sighed before folding his arms. “You know that beast you fought today?”

“Beast – would be a kind word to describe it.”

“Well, it’s actually called an anomaly. They are representative of ‘abnormalities’ in human history, and time itself is kind of important to the existence of the universe, I thought -”

“Thought what?”

“You would treat this role with a bit more respect!”

“Respect? R-Respect!” I huffed. Beginning to scramble around on the floor. I gripped the carpet and pulled myself closer to him. A faint voice inside me wanted to hurt him, it immediately flickered out. I placed both arms back onto the carpet. He looked down at me, kind of dear. I grovelled at his feet.

The green smudge faded. A blur of cooling white, blue. My body was still a haze. A numbing sensation fizzing all along my body. Like dying nerves forcibly regenerating. It took me a while to realize I was still inside of it – my body. I had seen myself, look into my own eyes among the earth. The cloth dug into my fingers. Was it velvet? I was alive, and I was awake. Touching the material world. It was lush and soft like water. I heard footsteps – someone was coming.

“Hmph, you’re awake then, told Monte you wouldn’t die!”

Wait – die? I saw him, a brown, black blur.

“What – what were you – what were you waiting for?” I said, stumbling over my words.

“I was waiting for you, yes…”

The blur was becoming clearer, was that… Croatia?

“You were waiting for me to die?”

I could just about see his bright green eyes. Flashing like headlights. I couldn’t remember what happened, but I know Croatia was a part of it – no more than that – to blame for it!

“No! Of course, you wouldn’t have died! Ugh…”

I would have twisted my head, my neck ached far too much, “Then you were waiting for something worse! Did you do what you were planning needed to or-”

He felt my cold head and lifted one of my arms; rocks – they moved straight back down onto the sofa. I blinked at him and managed to find the energy to properly sit up. My body was deeply tender and heavy – like I had turned to steel. I could move my arms and legs, but only with such sore difficulty.

I thought the sofa was pure, new and calm at first but looking down, it was old. Frayed – probably in a very cheap material. The sun shone behind me. I slid my eyes back to notice a breath-taking view outside of the window.

unrepentantAuthor · Jul 19, 2018

@Drakon, @Ghostsoul and @Iggy, thank you for sharing. Drakon, that is rather a lot to read! I confess I usually expect to read much shorter excerpts in a thread like this. Ghostsoul, congratulations on beginning your writing career with technically competent prose and for learning to discard the purple element given time. Iggy, that excerpt isn't half bad! Do you have some current writing you're proud of by comparison?

Griff4815 · Jul 23, 2018

Here's an excerpt of the first chapter from my godawful Pokemon fanfic, Never in the Wrong Time or Wrong Place.

Now this is the very first version of the story, which never saw the light of day until it was heavily edited. This is raw and uncut garbage.

“PIDGEO, PIDGEO, PIDGEO”

Those are the words that Jeff heard as he awoke in a puzzled daze. He opened his eyes. There was a bright light from the windows shining into his eyes causing his pupils to constrict in miosis. He looked around; he lying was on the wood paneled floor of his room. He felt a pain that would return every few seconds along with the words “PIDGEO”. He lazily rolled from his side onto his back. The pain was gone. He got up on one knee, lying beside him was a copy of “Catch-22,” by Joseph Heller, as well as the “Hoenn Edition to the Guide of Starter Pokemon,” by Professor Birch.

“I must have fallen out of bed” Jeff thought to himself.

He saw that the pain was brought on by his Pidgeotto alarm clock which was lying sideways on the floor, with the wooden bird extending and contracting, and squawking from its static perch on the clock.

Jeff’s eyes widened.

“Oh crap, I’m REALLY late!” Jeff groaned.

Jeff double checked the clock that lay sideways on the ground

“Oh, never mind. I thought the minute hand was the hour hand, again.” Jeff thought to himself, grinning and relieved.

Jeff got changed into his favorite set of clothes; his green T-shirt, a pair of roughed up, light blue jeans, holey socks, and sunglasses. He took one arm of the sunglasses and placed it onto the collar of his green shirt, so that they hung from his neck.

Jeff walked towards the door of his room, but stopped and turned.

“Oops, almost forgot.”

Jeff went over to his desk, picked up his back pack which carried a few potions and antidotes, a great deal of saved up money, a sleeping bag and pillow, and about 3 weeks worth of light meals to be rationed.

He looked to the right of his PC, and picked up his favorite twig and let it rest in his mouth, habitually.

Jeff walked downstairs and went towards the door. He turned and yelled into the kitchen to his mom, Mrs. G.

“Hey, Mom! I’m going to Professor Birch’s lab to get my pokemon, I’ll be back…”

That was Chapter 1 in its entirety.

A year or two after, I edited the first several chapters at some point, but it's definitely teen me over-correcting. Shout out to @diamondpearl876, who I tortured by making her beta read this piece of trash. <3

Now for the edited version. Behold the pretentiousness of a teenager who's trying to be prosey.

“PIDGEO, PIDGEO, PIDGEO.”

Those were the words that Jeff heard as he awoke in a puzzled daze. Jeff twitched uncomfortably; this wasn’t the soft cot that he fell asleep in. He opened his eyes, revealing his green irises tinted with yellow surrounding the pupils.

There was a bright light shining from the windows piercing into his confused cornea, causing his pupils to constrict in miosis. He squinted and he darted his eyes around. He found himself lying on the cold, wood paneled floor of his room. A sharp pain in the back of his head caused him to cringe.

The pain would return every few seconds along with the obnoxiously loud squawks of the ongoing noise. It was as if this unknown force was mocking him. Jeff lazily rolled from his side onto his back. The pain did not return as he had expected it to, a few seconds later, although the sound “PIDGEO” still loudly hollered.

Jeff jerked his head around, quickly looking around the room. He looked down at his bicep revealing a large healed scar down his arm. “Thank Arceus… it was just a dream.” He wiped the sweat from his brow and quickly scanned the room again… just in case.

He got up onto one knee and his hands. Lying to his right was an opened copy of “Catch-22,” by Joseph Heller, as well as the “Hoenn Edition to the Guide of Starter Pokemon,” by Professor Birch.

As he lazily read the name “Professor Birch” he remembered that the man was the local Pokemon professor for his small but lush hometown of Littleroot. He also taught Jeff in high school about the many different aspects of pokemon.

“I must’ve fallen out of bed,” Jeff thought to himself, remaining on one knee.

He looked to the side of his end table and saw that the cause of the pain in his head was brought on by his Pidgeotto alarm clock, which was lying sideways on the floor. The wooden bird extended and contracted, and squawked from its static perch on the clock.

And yes, the entire story was in bold for some reason that I can't remember.

I mainly write Digimon now. I like to think that I've improved.

Here's an excerpt from Holy War, the sequel to my Digimon story, "A Dragon in Shining Armour". Also my most recent writing project.

Beelzebumon bathed himself in the thick of the fighting.

His dual Berenjena shotguns snarled as he pumped bullets out of their twin barrels. The heavy slugs tore through flesh and gnarled armour. The lithe demon spun around acrobatically, firing blast after blast in a graceful dance of death. There was a dark smirk on his face and his narrow, focused, red eyes glimmered with adrenaline and excitement. As he tore through the crowd of angel Digimon, Beelzebumon was surrounded by the scent of gunpowder, blood, and exhaust. His senses were alert and his reflexes instinctive as he immersed his body in the violence that he craved.

Beelzebumon lunged up into the air and landed onto the Behemoth as it came tearing down the gold-hued street. Upon seating himself on the large motorcycle, he immediately spun around and fired a bullet through a HippoGriffomon who tried to catch him off guard.

He scoffed and lowered his smoking shotgun as the avian beast crumpled to the street and burst into data. "Tch. This is too easy. Where's the challenge in fighting all these small fry?" he asked, glaring with disappointment. "How am I supposed to enjoy myself if they all keep dying so easily?! I need to be fighting somebody who's on my level!"

As if on cue, a pillar of holy light streaked towards him. Sneering, Beelzebumon suddenly pivoted his bike to the side. The tires screeched as the rubber dragged along the marble road, sending spider hair cracks through the glossy stone. Beelzebumon veered to the left as the beam slammed into the ground in front of him, tearing up the middle of the street with destructive power.

He felt the blast against his body as the holy light stung his eyes and burned the ground beside him. He was nearly thrown from the Behemoth, but he shifted gears and caught himself. He pivoted towards the beam to keep himself balanced as he drove. After righting himself, Beelzebumon looked ahead of him to see the Digimon that fired at him.

The Demon Lord of Gluttony's trio of eyes narrowed and locked onto a white and crimson clad figure in the distance. He spotted Dukemon riding atop Grani, his shield raised protectively and his lance poised forwards as if racing down a jousting lane. Beelzebumon grinned competitively as he sized up the Royal Knight, watching as he sped towards him. Quickly, he looked the knight's body up and down. "Not bad…" he murmured, still wearing a debauched and excited smirk on his face. "Not bad at all…" He put his foot on the gas.

Dukemon bent his knees for balance and prepared his assault. The steel surface of the Gram still glowed dimly in his hand after his last Royal Sabre attack.

Grani swerved to the side as Beelzebumon started shooting at them with a spray of scattershot. Dukemon adjusted for Grani's curve and watched as Beelzebumon fired at them with one hand while driving and steering with the other.

"He's strong, but undisciplined and new to his form," Dukemon said to Grani, raising his shields to allow the bullets to rebound off the sturdy surface. "The other six are too. I think we have the advantage here. They're vicious and brutal, but I think we can beat them as they are now."

"Hm," Grani affirmatively responded. "How do you wish to proceed, Dukemon? Shall we perform a direct charge on him?"

"Let's go, Grani," Dukemon answered in agreement. He raised the Aegis in front of their bodies as Grani began circling around. The aerial Zero Arms set a direct course for Beelzebumon.

I've pretty much been writing non-stop since I started with that Pokemon fic in 2006/7. I hope I've been gradually improving with everything that I write.

unrepentantAuthor · Jul 23, 2018

@Griff4815, welcome! It's a pleasure to see a new face. Thank you for sharing, you've certainly shown some real improvement after a decade's passing. Keep it up! I'm not in-fandom for Digimon, but the prose quality is clearly better in that last excerpt.

unrepentantAuthor · Jul 24, 2018

@Iggy, there's some exciting qualities about that prologue, and it's certainly different! Daring might be a good word for it. I think it could use some polishing, but you can certainly be proud of your progress. Thank you again for sharing, and be sure to keep up your craft!

Misfit Angel · Aug 4, 2018

Here's the earliest writing of mine that I could find. I do have something from 2004, but that's on an old laptop that I can't locate anymore.

Dozens of citizens roamed the streets, carrying about their business. A bulletin board hung on the tree, a map on it. The soldier stopped and looked at the map, nodded, and walked to the east. He walked past several straw-roofed houses, stopping at one with a tattered scarecrow in front of it. He approached the door and pounded on it, shouting, "Open up! This is the Royal Guard!"
The man inside of the house was reading a book about weapon tactics. He set it down and ran his hand through his wavy, brown hair. "What now..." he asked himself. He opened the door and looked at the soldier. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, you can. Get a softer door, I almost broke my hand." The soldier joked. "Are you Rex Mayburn?"
"Yeah, I am. Why? Am I finally getting recognized?"
"In a way, yes. I'm Marin Lionsmane, head of the Royal Guard." Marin reached his hand out to shake Rex's hand. "You've been chosen to escort the princess to Lancastershire."
"Really... So Princess Lana's finally noticed my skills, eh?" Rex said, triumphantly.
"Actually..." Marin started. "No. I recognized you. Your skill at the last sword tourney was quite impressive, young man."
"Ah, alright. So, when is this escort of the lovely princess?" Rex asked.
"It's tomorrow morning."
"I'll be ready."
"Then I'll take my leave." Marin said and tipped his hat. He started to walk away but turned around. "By the way... if you can protect her and keep her in one piece, you may just wheedle yourself into the King's goodbooks and be hired by the Royal Guard."
"I'll do my best."
"Indeed. Now, I'll take my leave." Marin walked away and headed back to the town square.

This is just an excerpt, rather than a full chapter. I lightly edited it to change the names around, but everything else is how my young fingers typed it.

This was basically a generic teen hero-complex fantasy: there's the protagonist who's inexplicably good at everything he does, gets all the girls (including two princesses) and defeats every challenge (including killing god beasts and an entire enemy army) without breaking a sweat or even showing a smidge of fear or doubt. The only twist to the genre/tropes involved, that I'm actually still quite proud my young feeble brain could think up, is that the protagonist wasn't actually the one on the world-saving quest, he just joined someone else's campaign.

kintsugi · Aug 7, 2018

As promised, here's some unironic ~~shitposting~~ oldshame:

2011: The oldest drafts I can find are for this conglomerate of an idea that was about a bunch of kids who were born with the power of various legendaries from Unova/themed around certain elements, called Incarnates. It was a totally legitimate excuse for pokemorphs in all of the best and nuanced ways. I forget what was on what side/what the justification for sides was, but the gist was that there was this big Yin vs Yang schism headed off by the Reshiram (Fire) and Zekrom (Electric) Incarnates. Except they were all teenagers so there was a ton of backstabbing and awkward romance and somehow even though they were all literally immortal (the main character is like four thousand) they all behaved like dumbass kids.

If you thought I had a strange fascination with over-dramatic meta and self-referential humor now, you haven't seen shit.

“Sheera,” the boy spat, his silvery hair blowing dramatically in the wind.

“Gale,” she replied flatly, gazing coldly at him. “It’s been a while.”

“It’s been too long,” he agreed. “Our blades have not crossed in battle for nearly a century.”

She frowned, her eyes blazing. “And I had been hoping to keep it that way.” Sparks of fire flickered around her fingers, but she wasn’t going to attack yet.

The boy—Gale—smirked, twirling his own fingers, as well. The sphere of metal in his hands expanded at his touch, morphing into a slim but deadly looking blade. “What will it be this time, my dear?” he asked cynically, staring, fascinated, at the blade as it shortened at his command into a broadsword with a tip sharp enough to cut the air. “Traditional?”

“I’d rather not,” Sheera muttered, not meeting his gaze and glancing tiredly to the side.

“Oh?” His voice carried no humor. “Shuriken?” The blades shortened and folded in on themselves, leaving a collection of razor sharp metallic starbursts in his palms, quivering for blood.

“No,” Sheera said flatly, sighing.

“We could be Frenchies today, ma chérie,” he growled sarcastically. “After all, you were the one who told me to dream of the world, were you not?” The mirth implied in his words was matched neither by his thunderous expression nor the delicate rapiers elongating in his hands.

“No,” Sheera repeated firmly, looking bored now.

Gale frowned angrily. “Katana?” The twin blades were already in his hands before he had finished his word.

“You assume that I’m skilled in the art of twin katanas?” Sheera looked at him coolly. “Do I look like my name is Mary or Sue to you?” she asked venomously, her voice dripping with contempt.

He balked, but muttered something about “immortality” and “angst-crap”. She could have sworn he mentioned something about flaming powers and Technicolor fire… and then something about the only sane guy and dangerously genre savvy. And some lamps. Or lampshades. She couldn’t even tell.

“What.” Sheera’s voice was flat. So was her “what”. In other words, it was a flat what.

“Enough with dropping references, Sheera,” Kage said firmly, stepping forwards.

“Just trying to lighten up the mood,” Sheera muttered under her breath, glaring at the black-haired Incarnate as he stepped forwards, fists clenched. Anyone looking at her could tell that she wasn’t in a joking mood either, though.

“Before what, exactly?” Kuro asked cynically, edging in as well.

“Before we exchange death threats, as is customary, and then I assume you will attack us all.” Sheera sighed, examining her fingers. “Might as well make it happy and not freak the poor boy out, after all.”

Kyle assumed they were talking about him and tried to look as menacing as possible.

Kuro smirked. “He’s been in his share of fights before, from the looks of things,” he growled, sizing Kyle up.

“What makes you think that?” Kyle asked shakily, biting his lip. He clenched his fists as he had seen Sheera do before, but he didn’t think that it was really helping. And besides, he hadn’t actually ever been in a fight before. But if Sheera was afraid… there was no way that this situation would end well.

“I just know,” Kuro said airily, apparently deciding that Kyle was no threat. He turned back to Sheera before continuing. “So, my dear, what shall it be? You can come quietly, or…”

“You know you don’t even have to ask,” Sheera muttered, sighing regretfully. “But the fact that you do ask, each and every time… it’s intriguing, to say the least.”

“It is common courtesy, you know,” Kuro retorted, gazing coolly at her. “After all, if we had eradicated you and then found out that you had accepted our proposition… it’d be rather messy.”

Except then to add another layer of complication, it was disguised as a journeyfic centered around the Kyurem Incarnate, who had almost gotten axed in the last betrayal murdergames but instead survived but lost his memories and powers??? So the whole first five arcs were literally just this dumbass kid named Kyle ~~not Kyurem~~ doing lame badge battles and fetchquests until suddenly it's revealed that they're all smol demigods, and his travelling companion is actually the biggest smol demigod (the Reshiram one) trying to make sure he doesn't walk off a cliff and accidentally kill Kyurem. Also, she keeps telling him suspiciously specific lore about how this one asshole named Reese who had fire powers totally axed the last Kyurem Incarnate and was a super shitty person oh no don't trust them and they're totally not related to the travelling companion, who also has fire powers.

*

A teenage girl, with hair as white as snow, long stained black with ash and pain, opened her eyes. The sapphire flecked irises within reflected the light of the orange fire that burned on the outside world, and their depths showed an age far greater than she appeared. She was surrounded by rubble, but she didn’t care. She had screwed everything up, she knew. She had ruined the balance and had helped Kuro destroy Kyurem’s Incarnate.

*

Deoxys slowly turned to face Kyle and Kyle alone, while Sheera looked away, closing her eyes. But it was Sheera who spoke. “Just like Kyurem’s Incarnate, Reshiram’s Incarnate is not dead, Kyle,” she said gently.

“Wait, what?” Things never made sense around here. “But Kuro told me all about Reese and how he had died and everything…” Kyle trailed off, watching as Sheera clenched her fists, making the knuckles turn pale white.

*

She had screwed everything up.

Mitzi had only cemented that belief in her mind. The memories flashed in her mind. Mitzi glared at her, pale blue eyes darkened with rage as the Water Incarnate glared at her, shaking her fist. “You will never be with us again, traitor,” Mitzi growled. “You left us, Reesah. No matter who you are or who you say you’ve become, we will never forget the days during which you tried to hunt us down. You cannot hope to redeem yourself, fool. What you did tonight changed nothing. We spare you tonight because we have not the resources to fight you. But if we see you again, renegade, you will die.” Her hands were clenched into fists as she looked protectively at the injured Incarnates around her.

Mitzi turned away, her lip curled in disgust. The Incarnates around her stepped in to the portal behind them and vanished in ripples of light. Mitzi turned one last time to stare at the girl she had thought she had known, once. “Farewell.”

And then she, too, vanished into the light.

*

“Firstly, Reese was not a ‘he’,” Sheera whispered bleakly. “Reesah, or Reese, as Kuro called her, was a girl. A very foolish, stupid, and arrogant girl who thought that she knew better than the rest of the universe. Even when she opened her eyes and realized what she had done, it was too late. She survived that night, but she left it an entirely different person. Her personality was as volatile as the flames that possessed her, and her disposition was twice as fierce.” Her voice was hoarse.

*

The girl swayed as she remembered her fall from grace. She had thought that by saving everyone, she could fix what she had done… she was wrong. Tears pooled around her eyes as she realized what she had become.

She was alone, again.

“Fine,” she muttered angrily to the world, the silent and uncaring world which would not hear her vow. “So be it, then.” Her eyes burned with a fire of delight as she thought of the possibilities ahead of her. She would shed her name, she told herself. She would shed her name, her enemies, her past, like a phoenix sheds the ashes from its tarnished wings and rises in a blaze of glory. She would take on a new personality, one that imbued the being of good whom she was supposed to represent. She would truly be Reshiram’s Incarnate, scourge of the darkness and terror of the Shadows. And then, when she was truly who she was meant to be, she would return to the Incarnates of the Light. But until then, she would hunt down the Shadow Incarnates until the day death took her.

“From this day forth,” she whispered fiercely, sapphire eyes blazing, “I am Reesah, child of darkness, no longer. Now, I shall be…”

*

“I am honored that you never accused it of me, Kyle,” Sheera whispered. “I am proud that you would think that I am worthy enough not to be who I am, not to put the pieces together and assume the worst, which is the truth.”

He still did not understand. “What… what the hell are you…”

“Any other person would have seen it right away,” Sheera said huskily, not daring to meet his gaze. “Any person, a crueler person, would have seen me as the monster I am, and not the savior that I wish to be. And for that, I thank you. I never deserved to have a friend like you. I never understood how you could be so kind, after everything that I did… I thought you had forgotten everything, but even then, I doubt that would have changed a single thing.”

Kyle was shocked. “I… I…” And then he shook his head, his eyes widening as the discovery dawned on him.

“…I shall be Sheera, daughter of light.”

Sheera’s voice was broken. “Ree… Reese... Reesah is me.”

So there was this bit where the Reshiram Incarnate tried to end the conflict forever and instead ended up dying and reincarnating without her memories, because that's a common trend. Except this time she got picked up by the Yang side and starts beating the shit out of the Yin side despite being their leader five seconds prior, which results in her nearly killing the Kyurem Incarnate/that hapless journeyfic boi and disrupting all of the balance and making things awkward.

And then the whole thing evolved into this messy three-way conflict with the OG Reshiram Incarnate vs the Yin Incarnates vs the Yang Incarnates and they're all trying to kill each other but it really, really doesn't work since they're literally all immortal. There was this whole schtick about how the Yang squad wasn't actually evil, just misunderstood, and the Yin squad was kind of all pricks anyway, and OG Reshiram Incarnate is just popping in from time to time to 1v6 people and wipe the floor with giant fire attacks. It was a good time.

Oh yeah and because they all had names that matched their legendaries (Sheera/Reshiram, Kuro/Zekrom, etc), I named the Kyurem Incarnate Yuri. Because I was stupid.

---

Takeaways: I think I actually got worse at proofreading as the years progressed. Sad.

Other takeaways: this was a gigantic clusterfuck. The cast was massive (like 18 recurring characters massive), the scope varied from "gotta beat the gym leader" to "the world is literally about to end" within the span of a few chapters, and the main character was about as useful as a bag of potatoes. The side characters ranged from small-level nukes to world-ending weapons of mass destruction that had Fire/Dragon/Psychic powers combined into one (it's a long story, really), everyone kept backstabbing each other and then feeling angsty about it, and no one really had any motivations except "kill the heck out of that guy".

2012: I abandoned the above project because it was ridiculously over-ambitious. You'll notice a trend soon.

I briefly toyed with the idea of a Nuzlocke-themed murderdeath game about a bunch of trainers travelling the region and murdering the heck out of each other for fame and glory. This sentiment would later be reworked into the master shitpost/saffron gods.

We all only wanted to be heroes.

It started as a Game.

It was some sort of ingrained thing in culture, I think. As if we’d rather die heroes than anything else. That’s a lie, though. Heroes are rare, extinct to the point of nonexistence. And in my world, there were none. And I certainly wouldn't have considered myself one. No one could be a hero in that world.

There is a time in your life where you question who you are and what you are doing. When you question your morals and your actions, and you come to the unfortunate conclusion that you have, yet again, screwed everything up. When you realize that you’ve failed the ones that you love and there’s nothing you can do about it, and you find yourself with no other choice but to don the garb of the villain, or die. That’s when you realize just how twisted this world is.

My story was not a happy one. It had no happy ending, no guardian angels. It was no fairy tale. There was no hero.

Most stories begin in fire. So does mine. I could talk about how fire is uncontrollable and defiant, free and untamed, a force of nature that doesn’t know any boundaries. But that’s not true. Fire is squashed. Quelled by winds, extinguished by waters, smothered. And when it’s gone, it leaves no trace.

That’s like how my story turns out. My story was unique and indistinguishable from the rest, at the same time. It began long before it should have, and ends long before it should have, as well.

My story showed darkness and pain, terror and death, and what happens when a creature is pushed too far. It showed the time that we all face in life when we find the darkness inside, and the price that we pay to survive. I paid the full price, and at all costs.

It started as a Game. A simple game, in theory.

We fought to survive.

Of course, it became much more complicated than that.

If you won, you got everything. Fame, fortune, food, money, anything. Safety.

But if you lost, you died.

Or, more accurately, if you died, you lost.

And everyone struck to kill.

Except then, The Hunger Games hit mainstream media, and this was basically just that with a side less hunger and a bit more games.

2013: I revisited the idea of teenagers with world-ending powers going around and murdering each other a ton, except with a bit less tongue-in-cheek and a bit more attention to worldbuilding. Except alas, this resulted in the Pokemorph fic that I keep laughing to @unrepentantAuthor about, complete with evil-for-the-lulz scientists who mutate kids because clearly raising genetic abominations from childhood to teenage years is the most effective means of fighting the giant feral pokemon that landed on your door. The main character was named Tiresias, and her schtick was living in a world where most kids were pocket nukes and her power was "enhanced regeneration". Her goal was to somehow redeem the world she'd once called home, and her toolkit was strictly the ability to come back from fatal wounds, in a world where the least powerful person on her squad could level a building with a snap. It was a fun exercise in writing action-based plot with a character who had literally no action skills in her toolkit, and it failed miserably.

This passage is actually pretty fun to me -- you can see quite a few ideas that I've cannibalized into other works. There's the "I'm Gatsby" schtick that would later make its way into D&D, the "meteors fall and giant feral pokemon monsters ravage the world" bit that would go into spectra, and the snide interrogation vibe that later became saffron gods.

“Nice suit,” she muttered, casting another appraising look at the kid and struggling to remain calm. Closer inspection showed that her original estimate of his age couldn’t have been too far off, but that still didn’t explain what was going on in here. The suit indicated a fair amount of money, the kid’s neatly-combed black hair indicated that he’d at least had a shower more recently than she had, and the soles of the patent leather shoes that were staring at her from across the table indicated some degree of class.

None of which explained why she was here, but if rich-boy had done something bad enough that the police would sidestep normal precautions and throw him in the same cell as her, he was probably a complete monster, which meant she could probably provoke him into attacking her, at which point someone would have to intervene, at which point she could escape while they tried to move her, at which point—

“Clever.”

That hadn’t been the response she had been expecting. “I’m sorry?”

No response. The boy smiled serenely and said nothing else before beginning to tap an abstract pattern on his sharply-creased black pants. Ty scratched at the metal of her cuffs and tried to avoid looking at her neighbor, which proved surprisingly easy.

Unfortunately: “So,” the boy began idly, drumming his fingers on his chair. When he spoke, his entire body seemed to move along with him, from the glint in his eyes to his gangly limbs. “What exactly brings you here?”

For a moment, Ty thought, or maybe even hoped, that the boy was talking to someone else. His voice was authoritative, calm, and scarily polite—not something she’d expected from anyone her age. There was also the matter that the idiot didn’t seem to—

“I haven’t the foggiest.” The lie came easily, but Ty was beginning to get the sinking feeling that this was more than a normal bust on Crim territory, and that she was playing with dangerous forces far beyond her level.

“Cute.” Pause. “Are you really going to try to run with that story? They’ll never buy it.”

There was something off about all of this, about the interrogation cell, about his calm demeanor, about the cutting banter exchanged between two strangers. “I’ll take my chances.” She mimicked him and began studying her fingernails as well. Calloused. “So this is the newest attempt at psychological warfare, huh?”

The boy smiled at her this time, twisting his lips up in a crooked grin to reveal too-sharp teeth. “I’d hope that it isn’t working, but I think we’re both a bit nervous.”

“So they shoved you in here for some idiot to interrogate you later too, did they?” Ty asked, desperate to change the subject. If anything, she might’ve been able to convince him to join her side and bust out of here, somehow. Details were irrelevant at this stage. “No clocks, obviously, but it’s been a few hours for me, I think.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

More silence. Ty was torn between restarting the conversation and calling it quits; at this point, there didn’t seem to be a point.

A sigh. “This situation is now so depressingly obvious it’s not even funny.” The boy looked up with barely-veiled disinterest. “I would make some joke about a hydroplane right now, but I assume you wouldn’t get it.”

“What?”

“A pity.” He looked at Ty, expectant, but when no response was imminent, he tried again: “You know, borne ceaselessly into the past? Beating against the current?” When he got no response, the interest faded away from his face again and he seemed bored once more. The boy flapped his arms a little, the action half-hearted. “Big green light?”

He was probably quoting books and trying to sound important, too. She decided to ignore him and began studying the lock on her handcuffs again.

“This is just pathet—hi, my name is Twenty, and I’ll be pressing charges and conducting your criminal interview for the time being,” the boy replied wearily. A wry smile lifted one edge of his mouth, and it was then that Ty decided for certain he was an arrogant prick and she wouldn’t mind bashing his head in during her escape attempt. “Hello, old sport,” he added. “Nice to meet you. Hit anyone with a giant yellow car while blindly chasing your dreams lately?”

There was no possible way that this could be serious and not—

Then again, here she was, handcuffed to a table, so it seemed to be a day of improbabilities. There was so much wrong with this change of events, though, starting with the fact that— “You’re a bit young to be on the force, aren’t you?”

The response was immediate: “One, you’re a bit young to be a felon, and two, I’m with Gehenna, not with our good policemen who are doing such a wonderful job of cleaning up Opia’s streets.” There was a hard edge of steel in his voice. Ty realized then that she was most certainly up a very deep creek with no paddle.

It clicked. She was screwed. “You can’t legally keep me here this long,” she began, trying to keep the fear from creeping out of her fingertips and into her voice. “I’ll request a lawyer.”

Her questions earned her a dry laugh, at the very least. “You’ve got a criminal record that’ll keep you locked up for twenty years, at best. Please. Try us.”

“And?”

“I mean, if you’d like to waste our time, be my guest.”

There was a note of hesitation there, but it was buried deep. Ty mulled it over for a moment. She’d been prepared for arrest at some point, but this took all of her stock responses and blew them out of the water. “You know you can’t criminally charge me until—”

“Until you turn eighteen? Please, try that too. You’ll be a legal adult in three months.”

Ty frowned and tried again. “Why do you—”

“Keep finishing your sentences?” Twenty shrugged. “You’re kind of predictable, and I’m bored, arrogant, and in the mood to show off right now; I was supposed to be doing field work in the south ward hunting down your boss, not sitting at this desk; and instead I got stuck interrogating some idiot who’s trying to play stupid, and here we all are now.”

At least the feeling was mutual. Now for the important details. “Are you a—”

“Telepath? Empath? Clairvoyant?” Another smirk, this time almost unintentional, and it occurred to Ty that the boy probably wanted to be an asshole, because there was no way he could be doing this on accident. “No. It’s a nice segue to what I was going to ask, though.”

He was waiting patiently for her to ask him what his question was, so Ty decided to change the subject. “So then I’m—”

“—just really that predictable, yeah, or I might just happen to be smart,” the boy replied lazily, now resuming his careful examination of his shoelaces, still propped on the table. To his credit, he seemed to notice Ty’s irritation and added half-heartedly, “Sorry.”

“Could you—”

“Stop?” He almost sounded petulant this time.

“Yeah.” She bristled a little, struggled for a moment to keep the surge of anger from clouding her thoughts. Turner wasn’t going to save her this time, not if Gehenna was trying to get her on their side. He wouldn’t be able to, for one, and he wouldn’t want to, for another, so Ty figured she’d be on her own for a while.

If we're going to be honest, this is probably the story that I've always wanted to write.

But instead fall of 2013 rolled around I wrote some rise by sin eyyy lmao.

The aftermath of that particular adventure, and my inexplicable love for John Green, is available all over the SRBS thread for your entertainment, so we'll gloss over it.

2014 - 2018 is pretty much documented here on WW, except for a smattering of one-shots that I didn't particularly like enough to post here. Not much to see here.

In 2016 I started dabbling in a reboot of the Tiresias story, which in turn was a reboot of the Incarnate story. It was called CTRL+ALT+DEL and it was, you guessed it, a story about teenagers with elemental powers murdering the shit out of each other. Except this time I put a modicum of thought into worldbuilding. Additionally, I started deconstructing the superhero genre hard here -- anyone could have powers, and the powers came from wearing a a superhero mask, which was tied to a specific Pokemon. There was a lot of thematics with appearances and deception and putting your heroes on pedestals only to find that beneath the mask they're just as ugly as you are.

...this turned out to be woefully ironic for many reasons.

For a moment, the room plunged into complete darkness, and it was then that Ty knew she’d really pissed off Karm, to the point that Karm was losing control over her power even for a split second.

And Karm threw her head back and laughed, the sound grating like breaking glass and too forced and corny and out of place here, but what other option did any of them have in the face of this horror but to laugh? Karm’s voice was calm and level and as pointed as a knife when she looked back down and retorted, “We aren’t all immortal like you, Ty. Maybe some of us take drastic measures because we know the price and we’ll have to pay it anyway if we fail. Maybe some of us are actually invested in making this world a better place than playing god of the hellhole. Maybe some of us don’t get the option of waiting around for the world to fix itself, because we’ll be on that list of causalities in the meantime!”

“Karm, I—”

But Karm was implacable at this point, unyielding and uncaring as she continued on, her voice barely checked to a quiet shout. “That’s what I can’t stand about you sometimes, Ty. You try to find the moral solution in the world even though you’re old enough by now to know that there isn’t always one, but when you’re faced with two equally awful options you think that you’re good enough not to have to pick either one. But we can’t all do that like you, and we can’t all escape the consequences of our actions, and you don’t seem to get that, do you?”

“People die, Ty. That’s what people do. I have the blood of fifty-six on my hands, and the grief of countless more, and you know what? None of them will thank me. But I don’t need their thanks to keep on saving them. I don’t want it. I want their safety, not their gratitude, and you’ve never had to experience that, have you?”

It took Ty a moment to realize that she’d settled into a fighting position without even realizing it, and Karm had as well, just like they’d done so many times before in the past, except now they were no longer on the same side.

And Karm realized it too, for Ty saw her drop her guard for just a moment and look utterly taken aback (or perhaps it was because of the newest wash of fear and pain from Ty she was sensing).

This was the end. Gehenna had been too good to be real, of course, and it wasn’t.

Maybe Karm was right about everything she had said, especially about Ty’s skewed perspective on heroism and the different perspective that invulnerability granted her. And Karm’s words certainly had enough weight to leave a stinging pain even when they’d long since faded from the air, enough to leave Ty wondering, even still.

Ty had wanted to climb out of her shithole and become a hero. That had been her only endgame. No plots, no complexities, no long, drawn out master plans to take over the world. She’d just wanted to be loved and accepted and maybe praised a little, because she’d known that her gifts could do good in the world.

But perhaps wanting it for the love and acceptance and adoration was wrong, even if that was truly the real reason why people helped one another.

“I—”

“Ty, please. Stop. You don’t have to do this.” There was almost an edge of pity in Karm’s voice, but was it even real? How much had been a lie?

But they could both see it now, the line across the sand drawn between them, and it was Ty’s turn again to choose and choose and choose forevermore if she wanted to work for Gehenna or if she wanted to rough it on her own.

“I’m sorry,” Ty said at last.

They’d made a promise sometime in the thick of things, when the situation in the Pits seemed so dire and no one thought they would make it out alive (and Karm had confided in her what it felt like to fear death as someone who knew they wouldn’t come back, and had asked for that field of flowers if Ty ended up being around to see it). All of them had.

There were no farewells among friends. Ty knew that they only meant death, and they would never say die, not among friends like these.

Ty moved forward in the narrow room, unsure of what she was even doing, and she heard Karm make a small sound of disapproval.

“Goodbye, Tiresias,” Karm whispered, her eyes glistening. Slowly, she reached down to pull Vi’s mask over her face.

A small plume of fire appeared by Ty’s hand, and she instinctively shied away from it, even though the rational part of her brain was screaming at her, telling her it wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real, even as it hurt like fire and smelled like fire and burned at her flesh like fire, causing large, painful blisters that—

No. She knew that none of that was real.

How much of Karm’s friendship had been an illusion, like the ones that felt so real even as they threatened to devour Ty’s flesh (but not really, because they weren’t real, and that’s what not-real things did)?

And that didn’t help her at all. The fire still burned. “Karm, you’re—”

Ty had to stop at the sight of her legs withering away into blackened stumps, inches of moldering rot traveling up her calves into her thighs, leeching molds threatening to consume her and suck her dry. For a moment, she stood, frozen and transfixed, helpless.

“See,” Karm said confidently, folding her arms across her chest, all trace of sadness hidden behind that pearly mask with its bloody divide. She cast a longer shadow than anything else in the room. “People tend to fear what they don’t really know. Spiders, for example. They aren’t scary at all. But people don’t seem to get that, do they? That we’re bigger, that thousands of years of evolution have made it so we can just crush the little insects under our feet and move on.”

She didn’t even move, but a wave of insects filled the area, rushing out of the walls and the air vents and the cracks in the floor to come up in a single deluge, threatening to overwhelm Ty, drowning her in a sea of tiny, hairy legs. They crawled into her nose and filled her eyes, leaving her in darkness, but still she could hear Karm’s voice continuing on calmly, as if nothing were happening (and nothing was happening, Ty screamed at her unresponsive body, but everything seemed so real).

“And the dark? Sure, people are scared of what they can’t see, but that’s ridiculous in itself. There’s nothing in your closet that’s going to hurt you, Ty. You may keep your skeletons in there, sure, but the real monsters are outside.”

Someone would come to save her. They had to. Ty knew she could only endure this, could only wait in prolonged misery trapped inside of the recesses of her mind, her fears crawling over her and choking her even as she could feel the insects slipping into her lungs. Someone would come for her.

“See, people are logical, even if they’re stupid. Fear comes from ignorance. I don’t understand something, so I avoid it, and then I feel like I’m safe because, clearly, if I can’t see it, it’s not real. You know how that goes, don’t you?”

Ty, very quietly, gave up and wished that she could die.

“But you’re not logical, Ty, which is why you interested me so much at first. You seemed different, you know? You weren’t really like the others. You planned, you thwarted my plans, and I thought that maybe you were interesting. Twenty was interesting, too, although he was never good enough at making friends to be much of a threat to me.” Karm tilted her head to one side and folded her hands across her chest, regality and cruelty alike palpable. “You weren’t all that good at making friends either, but I don’t know if that was your fault. You had the misfortune to try to befriend Twenty and me first, and you never would’ve known, of course.” Surely this was hell.

“Turns out you weren’t planning on our level at all, though. You just wanted to survive. And you cracked like the rest did, but you still are interesting, Ty. Goddamn weird, to borrow a phrase that seems to amuse you so. Isolation? Being friendless and untrusted? Dying? People fear what they don’t know because they’re ignorant. You fear most what you know most, and I can’t imagine why.”

I will probably be revisiting this in the future, assuming I end up with a few fewer ongoing projects on my plate. Here's the revised intro as of 2018, which started off as a dementia shitpost for @diamondpearl876 and to me is proof that I literally only write well when I'm trying to write badly first.

“You’ll never save anything like that. Again.”

The girl buried her hands in the downed beast’s golden fur, wearing its blood like a second skin. She took a deep breath and let the power inside flow.

Even in the midday, the stars that danced across her bruised arms were blinding. The arcanine’s body bucked as if it had been shocked, and its eyes shot open, pupils rolling around in the back of its skill. A whine of pain escaped its mouth, blood gurgling in the swell of its throat and spilling out of the cut across its neck—

A slashing motion. A sickening schnick. A gasp torn from the mouth of the girl as the arcanine’s chest erupted in a fountain of rapidly-cauterized red.

“Again.”

The girl glared defiantly upward at the masked figure looming over her, so tall that the man seemed to blot out the sun. She wiped the back of one hand across her nose, smearing the beast’s blood with her own, and then wove her fingers into its flank. The crater in its chest. The legs liked splintered toothpicks. The crimson smile traced across its throat. “I’ll fix you,” she murmured into the arcanine’s floppy ear. “I’ll make you right.”

The man swung his hand again, and a bright burst of fire cut its neck open.

Another glare.

“Again.”

“I’ll fix you,” the girl whispered desperately to the dog. She hadn’t even had time to raise her hands off of its chest. “I’ll make you right.”

The man’s mask glinted as he inclined his head to look at her, but the fire in his eyes was the brightest thing in the field. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you?” he said.

“My parents are dead.” Her face was carved from stone.

“Then learn it from me.” Dark crimson metal covered his face, hammered into the shape of a mask made of magma that never truly stood still. The mask gave his words an edge that made the sounds echo across the ravine, made her feel small. Another swing of the hand, another blast of compressed fire, and the dog’s head was entirely blown from its body. He kicked the pieces off the cliff, and watched impassively as they hit the ground below. “You don’t try to save the things that want to kill you, girl.”

The girl stood up and grabbed his arm, the social rules that had been engraved deeply in her forgotten in the heat of the moment. Sooty black hair stuck to her cheeks. “I was going to fix him,” she said hoarsely, dark eyes flaring wild as some of its blood dripped off of her arm and onto the dark fabric of his sleeve. Polluted.

“You’re a fool, girl,” he spat, snatching his sleeve away from her with a disgusted, crinkled frown. “Those things turned your entire village to ash, and if I hadn’t saved you, you would’ve gone the same way.”

She only understood one thing from his sentence. “Why pick me over everyone else?”

“Why? How blind are you?” There was fire in his eyes that burned even through the glinting metal of his mask, embers eating away at cotton clothing. “You’re gifted,” he snarled, pointing to the web of stars that still hung around her fingers. “Humans don’t do things like that. Not the way the pokémon do.”

Her eyes seemed to process what he was holding for the first time, and she stared, transfixed, at the glimmering caged fire that he held in his palm. “You are, too,” she said. Her eyes traced a path between the cruel curve of the inhuman mask her wore and the maroon bloodlust in his eyes. The wild mane of white-bleached hair that cascaded down his back danced with fizzling sparks. “That’s why you were able to get away. That’s why they couldn’t kill you.”

“You and me and the dog. We’re all monsters.”

The girl glared.

“Your village is gone. Come with me. Learn to be better. I can teach you what your parents could not.” He looked at her impassively, the flattened face of a pokémon sewn onto the body of a man. “You kill the things that try to kill you before they do.” He lowered his outstretched hand to her, the one that didn’t cradle the hissing spitfire.

Her dark eyes narrowed, creasing the thin film of blood that had dried on her furrowed forehead. Then she grabbed his outstretched hand, eyes locked with his, and the stars came back, shimmering up the full length of her arm. The bruises on his neck lightened, the slashes on his hands unformed, a video played in reverse. Long-dead scar tissue began to knit itself back to unbroken skin.

The man snatched his arm back as if she had burned him, but she glared defiantly back, the silvery stars around her arms humming as brightly as the sun. “I don’t believe in that,” she whispered in an ash-stained voice.

His unharmed arm holding close, as if the weight of it bothered him, the man deftly palmed the sparks to his other hand. “I don’t like repeating myself,” he said coldly, drawing himself up and pointing his fist toward her. “You don’t try to save the things that try to kill you.”

Golden eyes met dark brown. There was a crack, and the pulse of fire split first the air, then her stomach. The girl staggered back, eyes watering reflexively from the pain, but her hands were already across her chest, silvery stars flooding around her fingertips and rushing to do their ragged work. She took deep, haggard breaths as the fibers of her abdomen slowly knitted back together. “I don’t believe in that,” she repeated, her frayed shirt tattered over her scar-crossed stomach.

The man’s eyes narrowed beneath his mask. The ball of fire he hurled next glinted off of the heated steel of his mask, and the reflection of the girl was too slow to dodge in time. She screamed, but the matrix of silver stars around her refused to let her die.

He watched her slowly pull herself back up. “Again,” she snarled, hair still smoking.

The man obliged.

She wore her blood all over her clothes, and this time, when she stood up, she nearly fell again. Her eyes hardened as she looked to the left and caught the arcanine in the corner of her dark eyes, and then she glared back at the sharp points of the mask of the god that looked impassively down on her. “Again.”

“For as long as your remain blind.” He straightened up, casting his shadow larger than anything she would ever see again. His hand traced through the air like a paintbrush, blue arcs of fire trailing from his fingertips. Flecks of sparks hung in the air, afterimages, and the matrix of energy around him grew crackling-hot, laden with energy.

She braced.

“Enough.”

The girl faltered for a moment, distracted by the voice she’d heard from above, only to have her attention snapped back by the cannon-like blast as the man fired all of his gathered flames at her. One hand was outstretched, prepared to conduit as much as it could—the other braced against her chest, prepared to heal what was left of her—

A massive rush of wind cocooned around her, tendrils of the sky wrapping around and leaving her in the eye of the storm. She watched the kiss of fire skate harmlessly off, redirected and fizzling against itself fruitlessly, and the girl looked up with unchecked amazement at the winged figure descending down, an angel in every sense of the word. Sunlight glinted off of tawny wings striped with red and black, edges sharp against the glare of the sun, and the harsh profile of the mask of another monster covered its face, but she could see those piercing eyes through the fading winds, golden eyes that portended past and future alike.

“Apex,” the man with the flames growled. Sparks rippled down his back, but the mood had changed. No longer did he have the pretense of playing with his food; now, he took half a step backward from the figure descending, his unease flickering through the air in a haze of shifting current.

Some general lessons learned as I look at approaching a decade: I learned a lot about internal structure, character dynamics, and stringing logical plots together. Worldbuilding is still something that doesn't come naturally to me + should be rigorously walked through in order to maintain some semblance of logic. I also love writing disgustingly floral prose.

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