"Don't patronise me, dog."

Peeling yourself off the ground, you look the proud wolf in the eye. This symbol of your homeland, this hero of the darkest day. How could they ever possibly understand you? They weren't some scrounging Poochyena living in the gutter. They're a legend in the flesh. They couldn't possibly comprehened you.

"The person you think I am doesn't exist anymore." You say bluntly. "They never did."

But still, as you cling to Grigori Sokolov for support, you drag yourself to your feet. As the frozen giant prepares to detonate, you raise your arm up to the sky. The orichalcum on your arm glows once more.

"But I'll do it. For him."

And so, ancient sunlight shines upon Hyperborea.

---

Navy

"Howard." You look at the man behind your shades, eyes wide with disbelief. You've had the misfortune of encountering far too many legendary Pokemon in your lifetime: Ancient golems, ruinous treasures, toxic slaves and more. But even among those many foes, this supermassive Regice reached the pinnacle and scraped the sky. It couldn't be taken lightly. It WOULD kill him.

"You can't--"

Thud. A belt full of Pokeballs lands in your hand. You grip it tightly. You already understand where this is going.

"Don't."

Alas.

As Howard flies off, you scramble to try and catch him, but your path is blocked as his Aerodactyl, his Shirley, Dynamaxes. All of a sudden, a hundred foot wall of stone and grief rises in your path. Despite your best efforts, you can't even get close to it, let alone scale it. The sheer force of the phenomena sends you stumbling, tumbling, falling down to the ground. No matter how badly you want to, you can't follow.

When did Howard... Get so much stronger than you...?

You can't save him. How could you? You can't even save yourself. Ironic, ain't it? You only have one choice, and it's the last choice you'd ever want to make, but you've got no choice.

"Navy..."

Once, you saw this man as a rival, an equal, a worthy challenger and somebody worth being challenged. But now? He's stronger than you, too, with that wolf by his side. That's why he's the only one that can do it. Pulling yourself up to your knees, you toss away what little pride you have left, and bow your head so far that it's practically buried in the mud.

"You gotta save him, man. Please."

---

howard slayte Navy

[googlefont=Rubik Burned]What was wrong with us?

There was no place for you in this world.

All your attempts to fit in, to conform, to find a place to belong, they all failed. You could not be a cog in the machine in the League. You could not be an effective pawn in Rocket. No matter where you went, it'd only be a matter of time before you screwed something up.

You're too inferior. Too fallible. Too flawed.

Too human...

...

"...I HATE THEM."

A burning hand rest upon your chest. Stumps of fingers dig deep into your chest. Traces of orichalcum tease the surface of your heart.

"...MY BROKEN BODY. MY TANGLED BONDS. MY MISFORTUNATE BIRTH. MYSELF. I HATE THEM. I HATE THEM ALL! MY WRETCHED HUMANITY! IT'S DONE NOTHING FOR ME! NOTHING BUT BRING ME WEAKNESS! I WOULD RATHER HAVE BEEN BORN A BEAST THAN A MAN! WILD AND PURE AND FOREVER FREE..."

Scarlet and Violet clash. Two serpents, circling each other endlessly. An ouroborous, circling unto forever. From one perspective, it might seem like futility. But here and now, you see it for what it really is - Infinity.

From nowhere, a name enters your head. You do not hesitate to speak it.

"...KORAIDON! I REJECT IT! I REJECT MY HUMANITY! I CAST IT ASIDE AND THROW IT AWAY! GIVE ME POWER! MAKE ME A BEAST! MAKE ME A MONSTER! MAKE ME A GOD OF A NEW WORLD IN WHICH WE ARE THE KINGS OF IT ALL!"

---

june sleigh

[googlefont=Rubik Burned]What the fuck is wrong with you?!

That was a question you'd been forced to reckon with for your entire life. A question asked to you since you were old enough to remember. Asked by your parents and your teachers whenever you'd cause trouble and misbehave. Asked by your mates when you'd snitch them out and girlfriends when you'd cheat on them. Asked by cops when you were locked up in cells and judges when they read out your sentences. Asked by debtors as they squirmed under your grip and defectors as they pleaded for mercy. Asked by doctors and nurses as they stared upon your scarred body, touched by fire and envy and ruin. Murmured by grunts under their breath as you stormed past them in the halls.

Every time, you'd swear you'd be better. Every time, you'd falter. But every time you failed you were punished, and every punishment hit the nail harder. Eventually, you'd learn your lesson. Still, they asked.

You learned to keep quiet and stay in your room. You learned to do your homework and speak when spoken to. You learned to never betray your friends and stay faithful to your lovers. You learned how to dodge the cops and legal trouble alike. You learned to break the jaw first so rats couldn't squeak. You learned how to wrap bandages neatly and tightly so nothing was revealed. You learned how to bottle up your anger so it wouldn't spill where people might step.

And still, still, STILL, they asked.

What's wrong with you?

What WAS wrong with you?

What was the problem that they saw in you that you couldn't see in yourself? What was it that constantly made you the outsider where others were allowed in with open arms? What was it that made you the Kyurem and not the Palkia?

What was so bad about you that was so good about everyone else?

Her boot hits your face hard. As it pulls away, so too does your skin. Little pieces, breaking and crumbling and falling from your face. Blood pours from the wounds. Only the bone remains. That, and your rage.

"Fuck's sake! It's three in the fuckin' morning! And you're fuckin' screaming at the telly! AND I GOT FUCKIN' WORK AT SEVEN IN THE MORNING! KEEP IT FUCKING DOWN! I swear to God, Paul... Why the FUCK are you like this?!"

"Shut up!"

You stomp hard on her flailing leg, pinning her to the ground.

"You're such a dick, Paul. No, stop, just-- JUST STOP, OKAY? I gave you a second chance, and a third, and I'm not giving you a fourth. If you want sympathy, then why don't you go back to Roxy? No, Paul, stop, stop-- Stop crying! I warned you, and you... Oh, grow up, Meatles! Why are you even like this?!"

"Shut up!!"

Your hand lunges out. Yellowed nails drag against her face, leaving bloody marks behind.

"Let me see here... Paul Alexander Meatles, arrested for... Shoplifting, vandalism, and picking fights? What a disgrace! It's young men like you that give the rest of us a bad name! Tell me, why'd you do it, son...? For fun?! You find wrecking my town fun?! What's wrong with you, you scumbag?!"

"Shut up!!!"

And again. Another strike. Another scratch. Another set of claw marks upon her face.

"Please... Please...! I already told you, I can't pay you this week! Just one more extension! Please! I won't be able to make rent! I'll... We'll all be homeless! No! PLEASE! STOP! WHY! WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?! PLEASE!!"

"SHUT UP!!!"

And again, harder, deeper, angrier. Your nails begin to crack and break and fall apart. The wounds are jagged and uneven.

"Major third degree burns to the entire body, that's gonna need several months of transplants to fix, and there's no guarantee you'd survive one, let alone multiple... Honestly, Beast Zeppelin, I don't know how you got like this, but I don't think anyone in the world could help you."

"SHUT UP!!!"

And again. And again. And again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again--

"H-Huh. So, that's Beast Zeppelin, huh? What? No, nothing! It's nothing, sir, nothing... Man, what a fucking freak... Why the fuck is he like that, anyway...?"

"▂▄▄▃▄▄▅▅!!!"

--Until your fingers are left mangled wrecks and your words are little more than the pained howling of a man who had lost everything long before the Silent Icelands. Her face is covered in blood. More hers than yours.

Ironic, isn't it? That this childish spat between wayward childrens means everything, and the battle between distant aeons is meaningless.

This isn't the first time they've fought. This isn't the last time, either. Across a million years and a million universes, this clash must have played out a billion times. Maybe not with this King, and this Serpent, but this Scarlet and this Violet? They are colours that reach far beyond what you can see and echo even further than that. It is destiny that they meet like this again and again. Destiny that is playing out once more.

Scarlet eyes Violet from across the clearing. Is it even possible for one to truly best the other? Can the mouth swallow the tail whole? Can the tail pull free from the mouth? Across those million universes and billions of battles, there are no answers to those question. Only the continuation of the cycle, going onward and onward and onward.

And now, onward.

The Scarlet challenges the Violet with a Collision Course.

---

june sleigh

Flame meets flame, but as Scarlet advances, Violet retreats. The two might be evenly matched, but the differences between them are becoming clear. One, a savage brawler, looking to close to distance, hit hard, and hit often. The other, a piece of living artillery, firing out devastating blasts from afar. What makes them truly even is their speed, their pace. Neither can outrun the other. They cannot catch up to each other, nor can they escape.

Like a dragon devouring its own tail, going around and around, on and on, forever and evermore. Call it equilibrium, or call it stalemate. It carried on all the same.

Amidst the flames left from its clash, the King lets out a mighty roar. Its heart beats harder, its blood flows faster, and so too does its body. If speed is the cause of this deadlock, then it will push its Agility to the limits and put an end to the endless cycling.

An inspiring sight, to witness an apex climb even higher than they had before. Though you must confess, you're far too busy fighting your own battle to witness it.

Despite your best efforts, June Sleigh evades your grasp. Fearful hands push away your claw, and a desperate kick hits your shin and sends you toppling down. Yet you don't even hit the ground before you scramble back on the offensive, relentless in your assault. You grab her outstretched ankle and drag her towards you.

And then, you try and bite her.

Your lips are burnt smooth. Your tongue is pathetic and atrophied. Your teeth are yellow and cracked and incapable of chewing even the softest fruit. They are not glorious fangs meant to pierce and rip. They're the broken remnants of a broken man. They're more likely to splinter and break in her skin than they are to devour her flesh. You're more like to hurt yourself than hurt her.

But does the Zangoose care when the Seviper's venom flows through its veins? Does the Heatmor care when the Durant bites its snout? Does the Groudon care when the Kyogre rains fury upon it?

No. They don't. And you don't, either.

Because within those proud eyes, you saw a better way, and you'll be damned before you let it get away.

---

june sleigh

PURCHASING/REDEEMING

welcome to the poké mart!

1X Tera Shard on Koraidon, Fire Type (From Dream Drop Distance)
3X TM/TRS on Koraidon, learning Wild Charge, Shadow Claw, and Solar Beam. Forgetting Flamethrower (From Dream Drop Distance)
1X Kasib Berry on Koraidon (From the VCT Battle Pass)
1X Extra Move Slot of Koraidon (Bought from First Wave MP Shop)

TOTAL

do come again!

0 PD

EXCHANGING MP

THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONTRIBUTIONS!

[break]



EXCHANGING: 1250 MP FOR EXTRA MOVE SLOT[break]
250 MP FOR SHADOW SLUDGE[break]
250 MP FOR CRYSTABLOOM[break]

CURRENT TOTAL MP: 560MP

"If you insist."

He wasn't insisting, but frankly, who gives a fuck? This is like, your ninth interrogation this week. You couldn't care about this is you tried, but it's what they pay you for, so...

As you stand at the door, you take a moment to adjust your outfit. Tightening the bandages around your knuckle, shifting your jacket, tidying up your hair. Considering how much of a wreck you look at all times, it's like trying to dress up a Grimer. Still, once you're "satisfied" with your look, you push through the door and approach the table.

Gently, you pull up a chair, sit down, and lean in close to the prisoner.

"Look, bud, I haven't slept in two days and I'm getting really sick of all this bullshit. You tell me what you know, and I'll slip you a twenty and get you out of here alive. Deal?"

---

Grigori Sokolov

"It's fine. Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

It's not fine. You're so fucking tired, man. Why the hell do they have your crippled ass running around doing all this bullshit? Couldn't they get priam conrad to do it? He's the new guy, he should pick up the slack! God, fuckin' Zev Harcourt, man. Must be nice, being the "God General" instead of "Rocket Beast #4". Get to sit in a nice fancy room with a comfy chair you can sit on for hours at...

With a shake of your head, you lean against the concrete wall and pull out your phone. You've already had to interrogate far too many people for your liking, so you're going to take it easy on this one. Sit back, relax, and wait for Howard to figure this out.

"Yeah, dude, like... Just hand it over, yeah? We'll set up you real nice in... Kanto or, Alola, or... Some shit like that."

Idly, the the flashing lights and chirpy sounds of Flapping Spearow begin to leak out from the palm of your hand.

---

howard slayte

As Yuan introduces himself to you, you turn and give the man a look.

It's the same look you give someone when they cut you in line at the Pokemart. It's the same look you give someone when they leave the coffee pot empty. It's the same look you give to strangers when they try to talk to you on the bus, or the train, or the waiting room for... Whatever the fuck this is. A look of pure, pointed, perfect annoyance.

You're just about to start tutting him (or maybe telling him to fuck off, hard to say), before the doors swing open. Seems like things are finally getting started, huh? So, taking the opportunity to leave this wretched situation, you stand up and walk into the facility.

As for who you'll be training with? Easy. You've already beaten Elisabeth Fiorelli's stupid snail, as dire as that win might've been. So, might as well flex your muscles, spread your wings, see what BARNABY FINCH's Galarian Moltres can do...

...God, you hope that weirdo doesn't follow you.

---

Yuan Wright