Grigori Sokolov had faced his past for so long, it ought to be easy to channel the version of himself capable of going to war.

But it wasn’t.

Doubts wracked his mind, and for the first time in… ever, was another feeling. One best locked up and hidden, never to emerge, for it spelled death for whomever dared voice it to a superior: discontent. He did not want to be here. The wrinkles on his face and weariness in his bones had never felt as prominent as they were.

Below the depths of the deck. He waited with unsteady breaths and tired eyes. How many would fall today? How many by his hand?

What would june sleigh decide? These thoughts kept his mind away from reality, of choppy waves and a terrible god that desired destroy all that stood in its path. Perhaps that is what his mind should focus on. Defense. A first for the veteran. Most of the time, he was deployed to murder, maim, and kill all who stood against Rocket.

He still was. But now, there was the idea of ‘self-defense’. It was anything but, yet the flimsy reminder helped keep his arms steady against his chair. He sat alone, at the bottom of the stairs. He was the last line of defense for their cargo. It buzzed dangerously but a few meters below, another reminder.

They were expendable. If the opportunity arose, then the sea would be their graves. It was all he deserved.

Unfortunately, he could hear the creak of a door above. Above the drum of the waves, he could hear the footsteps. Careful, cautious, each punctuated near-silent creak a bombshell on his ears. If it were a Rocket member, they would not bother with attempted silence. Alternatives fell to one answer.

An intruder. It was only a matter of time. Yet when the minute creaks finished and all fell still… there was no one there. Invisibility? Likely. Meant his foe was a capable one, with powerful tools on their side. Whatever would he do?

Suddenly, the world exploded in red. Paint, like the kind that adorned the ship they sat on. It coated the walls, the ceiling, and everything in between. A bucket clattered to the floor, and the remnants of its contents dribbled onto the planks. The disguised fisherman rose.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you any further.”

---

Caleb Harcourt

10 MP for Posting in Prelude
50 MP for 50 MP have your character self-doubt or cast doubt on another's confidence/allegiances/beliefs, etc.

60 MP Total

Grigori let the quiet thrum of raw potential energy speak for itself. Watched the intruder draw their weapon, its soft draw an indication of what it was.

“A knife? Is that all they could afford to arm you with?”

From his own belt came a hammer. Made of pure metal, one that Aurelie Lefevre knew as well. Less from direct make, but more of association and profession. She’d ensured it stayed in prime shape for combat. Once a simple tool for mochi, found in the swamp caves with the Megalopolans. Now a force of destruction.

Neither of them could let go of the past, it seemed. Instead, they kept it around and wondered why connections kept arising from seemingly nowhere.

“It does not matter,” he answered. “Do you seriously think a grunt like me would be told of such information?”

A bright flash erupted into the room, and a Poke Ball produced a Pokémon. A rival to the Zoroark emerged, tall and proud and hard to miss. Almost in direct competition to the sly weasel was a Druddigon. Brick stared down the dark creature but did not yet move from beside the grunt.

“But you, on the other hand…” he tilted his head slightly. A predator who sized up the prey before the hunt. “You likely know many things… Hm. I think I can make you a tempting offer, one that you can’t refuse.”

“Stand. Down. Interrogation is a mercy,” he pointed the hammer straight at the red-painted figure. “Death is the sentence otherwise. Those are my orders, and your options. Choose wisely.”

Even after Kanto, and even after Dewford, the mask slipped on all too easily. Old habits died hard, and ghosts even harder. But what never went away was the idea. Unkillable, that one. It stuck around and clung and never let go. But its influence could be lessened. Subdued. The Grigori from then would've wasted no time and aimed to kill immediately.

Now, he waited patiently. Hopefully. This did not have to end with blood on his hands.

---

Caleb Harcourt

10 MP for post in Prelude
70 MP Total

It wasn’t just a hammer, but he was just a grunt.

It always came down to position. Grigori did not have sway. No rank to pull. He was at the bottom of the totem pole and there was no way out. To move up was to kill his soul, and to leave was to kill his physical body. To hunker down meant he rotted away. But he would never leave and did not want to move up.

He languished. But sometimes, no progress was better than negative progress.

Grigori raised an eyebrow at Caleb’s knife while it descended. “I am given the information needed for my work– I am certain you aren’t privy to every little minute detail of your faction either.”

Those who were did not sneak aboard random Rocket vessels in search of whatever information they could find. They were kept in safe places, tucked into corners so that no one may find them. Not sent to die behind enemy lines.

“You…” Grigori’s hammer wavered. Amnesty? An out?

"... are foolish." Absurd. He could not take it. He had sworn an oath: Rocket forever. Even if he disagreed with much of what they did, he was here. Stuck, but never with an inkling of freedom on his mind.

“Save your false hopes for someone worth them,” he said. He took one step forward, and so too did Brick. Together, they narrowed the gap– but only by the single step. He did not rush forth like a bloodthirsty criminal. Men like this deserved slight mercies. Only slight.

“Kanto calls. Raise your blade and fight.”

---

Caleb Harcourt

10 MP For Posting in Prelude
50 MP for having your character reflect on why they're fighting/reflect on their loyalties
130 MP Total

Brick Glared directly at the Hisuian Zoroark, his eyes imposing on the creature. To think it can get in the way of the trainer, as if to be the one to attack Grigori? Foolish. Reckless. It would be crumpled into a ball before it ever got the chance.

“Like the rest of the supposed defectors,” Grigori muttered. Something snapped. His posture shifted to a straighter back and hollow eyes. Shoulders rose and fell mightier, greater than before. His hammer finally fell to the wayside, but not for lack of desire to use it.

“I am worth nothing,” he spat out. A fire ignited in his pupils, and a snarl formed on his lips. “You understand? I am one of the the men they send after those who leave. If I go, they will send their best after me– and they will not fail.”

Zev Harcourt had only grown more powerful since their last defector mission all those months ago. It would be trivial for the pseudo-divine man to smite Grigori down. He’d be lucky to have the ability to recognize his death before he croaked. Safety did not exist in the League– in the far-fetched land that it was even an option on his mind.

“If you think me worthy of your pathetic hope,” his hammer trembled as his deepest, most internalized emotions threatened to claw their way to the surface, cement himself for what he truly was. “Then you spit on the mountain of graves left in my wake. The skeletons in my closet. The souls stuck in Kanto.”

“I chose to do what I did in Kanto,” finally, the hammer rose once more. Rage bubbled, threatened to explode. “And the only place I deserve is the darkest pit of hell.”

Grigori surged forth, more monstrous, brutal killing machine than man. He aimed to cave in the skull of the only one who ever gave him hope, for that was not what he deserved.

Gabriel rolled in his grave, and june sleigh suffered by his hand. Mercy was a luxury he was not allowed to have.

---

Caleb Harcourt

10 MP for Prelude Post

50 MP having your character experience great fear, hatred, envy, or have a grudge worsen (Hatred/Anger)

190 Total

While the Zoroark sent wispy flames to burn Brick, he charged forth regardless. His trainer had chosen his path, so he must follow. That was the strength of their relationship: Scizor brutally attacked like a Rocket and left no survivors. Pumpkin slew foes with the conviction of a leader.

Brick simply followed the path of Grigori. They were much alike in philosophy of the soul, rather than age or faction affiliation. That’s why he aimed to fling away the foe with a sweep of his Dragon’s Tail. Off into the far wall, to create distance for the true battle to happen.

A physical one, as well as the philosophical one.

Did all deserve mercy and forgiveness?

Grigori’s hammer met blade, and the head struck doorway. Caleb was faster, and this was true. He ducked beneath his arm and the grunt’s elbow struck the whip of air behind his enemy. Yet he was not slow enough to earn a significant reprieve. He did not even let the man monologue for free, as another flurry of blows went his way.

Grigori tapped his own earpiece as his weapon still didn't find purchase, “THEY KNOW– PLEASE ADVISE!”

They were too deep for anyone else to know or even hear. A massive behemoth of a creature threatened to drown an entire city, and tension kept them occupied. They were meant to stop the sea god one way or another, not fight with League. That was not their purpose, and one Caleb didn’t know.

His sole message was all his bosses knew.

Caleb would hear another. “I fight with nothing but conviction. And there is no choice to make. I’ve slain dozens upon dozens of souls, innocent or otherwise. I’ve stolen, destroyed, ruined, all in the name of Rocket’s glory. Even if I no longer desire to do so, such is the path I’ve chosen.”

Grigori pushed the man away, finally offering a slight lull in the combat. His own eyes held fury, in the opposite direction. He beheld the sight of a hypocrite. And how did he know?

“Tell me, with your heart: to say redemption lies within me is to say all above me deserve the same. If I were Elisabeth Fiorelli , or Cillian Quinn , would you say the same as you do now? If you were…”

Something clicked. This poor soul's face looked too familiar. From Kanto. From Hoenn. From Zev Harcourt .

His face of fury transformed. Shifted to empathy, but not pity. Never. Once more, his weapon stayed still. Raised, ready to swing, but stayed its course by an invisible force.

“Would you forgive him?”

“Mr. Harcourt?”

They both knew he did not mean the avatar of Necrozma, destroyer of worlds and devourer of light.

---

Caleb Harcourt

10 MP for Prelude Post
50 MP for having your character's Pokemon symbolize or represent in some way, the condition of your character (Brick and Greg are similar philisophically and share that trait as opposed to the Scizor's loyalty to Rocket and Kingambits trait of leadership (grigori is kinda like a leader for the grunts, I think))
250 MP Total

Love was something Grigori understood perfectly. Even before Hoenn, there had once been a family-esque love. Someone to be there for him, whenever he needed it. Through thick and thin, and when times were tough. And now, he could understand it more than perhaps anyone in Rocket.

But he also remembered what the price of such love had been. Heartbreak, twenty-seven years ago. And now, the guillotine hung high and the rope taut. Eventually, he would be the one to cut it loose and let the blade plummet onto his heart once more. june sleigh deserved the truth, and their friendship was built upon a bomb.

He knew of love, but he knew of its cold void as well. When it was gone and left him with nothing but a shell of violence and rage against those who hurt him. Kanto had been the first victim.

Would he be his own next?

Rage disappeared, and another emotion engulfed him entirely. A visible spark against the metal frame behind him as the hammer was tossed away. He had two perfectly good tools attached to his wrists. His primary weapons of choice for thirty-one years. Why had he ever stopped?

“Then you know absolutely nothing, CALEB!”

Hell hath no fury like a man with everything lost. Two jumbled messes of broken relationships and a life of hard decisions clashed. Grigori had absolutely no intention to lose this time, however. Even as he unarmed himself, he proved to be no less a worthy opponent.

Blade met leather protection hidden underneath clothing, and flesh met flesh. If Caleb landed two slashes of the blade, then it was met with a bone-crunching fist. Soon enough, scratch marks met flesh and blood droplets flowed freely from cuts and scrapes. All it did was serve to make his knuckles red and white as he assaulted the ranger.

“My best friend left me, and Kanto wept. Petty squabbles sent hundreds to their graves, all because of me. And back then?”

“I relished it,” he spit out. Another attempted punch. “It felt good to be the one who hurt others. Tore them apart. Like I was finally in control. I had finally taken what I longed for. The only thing that separates us, is that he was never content with anything. He kept reaching, and he'll keep doing it until the world dies or the world finally crushes him.”

Another attempted punch. “And if your own brother is worthy of such affection, such care, such mercy…”

“Then why not the same with I?”

It was the thorns of vicious, barbed Envy that danced in his eyes and drove his muscles ever forward. Not the flames of Wrath, for they had burnt out upon his arrival to Hoenn. Nor the Pride that infected Rocket like the plague. Nor Lust, or Gluttony, or Greed or Sloth. But Envy of what? What did he long to see in himself from his foe– no, the world?

Not even Grigori himself knew. But he wanted something. Desired it beyond belief. Enough to keep him going against Caleb, when all sensible roads lead to him giving up and turning over a new leaf. He was chained, but wanted to be free.

But it wouldn’t matter in this exact moment, as his mouth opened and started to scream. His body flung forward to tackle and take the life from the rangers eyes. And in that exact moment, the intercom blared to life all around them.

“WORD FROM HIGH, THE SEALEO IS VAST! HOLD ON!”

And the world tilted.

---

Caleb Harcourt

10 MP for Prelude Post
50 MP for hitting rock bottom (lol, lmao)