This world is many things to many people. It is a stage on which they all dance. Some dance to remember, some dance to forget. That first night, after the battle, they celebrate him like he’s some kind of hero. All he did was swing his sword around. He climbs to the city walls, leaning his katana over his shoulder, looking up at the moon.[break]
It’s quiet, and reflective. Eventually, someone drags him against his will down to the celebration. That first night, he thinks this is all a dream, a short-lived fantasy. This is enough, right? They can wake up the hero with this. They’ll go to sleep here and wake up back in Hoenn. It’ll be back to business as usual.[break]
The next morning, he’s still in Galar. Pushing himself up, chasing away his hangover with bread and water, he realizes he’s here for the long haul. They’re lost in a dream of another life. He sees the writing on the wall. Many take to this illusion, this dream. They become different people. The skin’s the same, but they’re different. They have to be, to survive.[break]
Something’s waiting for them, an existential threat that means to kill them. He wonders if it’s walking amongst their bodies right now, wondering who to bargain with, biding its time. Maybe it has fled. All he knows is that he must kill that creature. He must be strong. He has to grow, hone his skills. He has to protect Yumi Hasegawa from what’s coming.[break]
So, he trains. Day in, day out. He does not lose himself to the fantasy. Every day is real to him, every day matters. Every day is met with a determination of steel. He starts with his Pokemon. Having never cared much for them, or thought much of their existence, he takes the time to get to know them. So many of the trainers around him seem to have whole armies of the things.[break]
When you’re one person, what good is one thousand blades? Better to hone but a few. Polish them, turn their edge into something sharp enough to cut a god. He remembers the name given to their Spectra team. Godkiller.[break]
Hitoshi trains to kill gods. Civilians, creatures of the dream, ask to join him. Not caring, he allows them. Some keep up. Many don’t. Hitoshi finds most of them to be inadequate training partners. Little by little, they improve. He’s pressed into service by Cillian Quinn and Tempest Quinn . He serves them, but he prefers the title of samurai to knight.[break]
“I’ll kill whatever you need me to kill.” He says in a voice deeper than before. His voice is more even, clear. His amber eyes are sharp, focused on this world. He has been planted in one place and forced to truly know this place.[break]
“But I’m doing it for Yumi. Your dream’s going to end. And when it does, I’m going to kill the thing waiting for us.”[break]
He allows himself to be wielded by them. When they want him to explore the depths and kill the monsters that dwell beneath their feet, he does so. Hitoshi throws himself into every battle like a fanatic. Anyone who cares to notice can tell his bladework is improving. His coordination with his Pokemon improves. He comes to understand his place – a distraction at best, a nuisance at worst. Many a creature is felled when it turns to swat him away, only to be met by Jubei’s bitter blade, Tokugawa’s kowtow cleave, or any of the other tricks his Pokemon have.[break]
Yumi is on his mind every day. He thinks about her kindness. He thinks about her smile. This dog possesses no capacity for delusion. He is no one’s servant, no one’s sword, no one’s dog save her.[break]
Each year, he celebrates his birthday and hers. He holds onto those memories. He resolves to keep his promise to the king, to herald the dawn, and then go back to her. A man has to keep his promises, or so the samurai films tell him.[break]
He’s ten years older before he knows it. The militia of this city is well-trained, oiled. They know how to fight. He’s done that for them.[break][break]
When the Black Knight attacks, he thinks it just might be over. Maybe this battle will be the one that sends him back to Yumi and the true target he must slay. This one delusion dies with the retreat of the Black Knight. Just another in a series of battles.[break]
From the remnants of its body, Hitoshi has a katana forged. In the eyes of a certain famous swordsmith, it would just be another failure. An aggressive blade, red. Thirsting for blood. Scalding. A bitter blade he names after the swordsmith Muramasa.[break]
“Just hold on, Yumi.” He prays, surrounded by cheering men. “I’ll be back soon.”

YY9LexR_

"Oh yeah?" He smiles, knowing this woman never says anything unless she's certain. The prospect of a small vacation perks him up. Watermelon, a warm day with Yumi, and no boring grunt work? It feels just like the old days.[break]
"Guess you'll be needin' yer bodyguard. No tellin' what kind of weirdos you'll meet on the street here." The smile evolves into a grin. Trotting up to his katana, he grabs it, fastens it to his belt right alongside the pokeballs he's been forced to adopt. Let someone try something while he has this.[break]
"Hard to find anywhere as good as that one place back in Goldenrod." Her dog bemoans the shifting tides of fate in his own way. He has as poor a memory for the names of establishments as he does people. Functions matter to him far more than human notions like names. Besides, he's only met three people whose names are import enough to remember.[break]
"They'd better have good vanilla." His eyebrow twitches, as if he would do more than yap if he found the vanilla insufficient. This strange creature's only hurt someone of his own volition once.[break]
Only when someone laughed at them, all those years ago.[break]
"We could catch a movie, too! One of the big summer blockbusters! Maybe there'll be a samurai flick." There won't be, just like there wasn't last year, or the year before that. Samurai movies are out of fashion. But he never gives up hope, lost in the present, happy for the company he keeps.

To the old fellow's credit, he tries to help her out. The nameless Lapras tries to guide her with grunts as best she can. He is no swordsman, but has watched Hitoshi enough to predict how people will swing. He hears the thump and giggles once more.[break]
Hitoshi loses his mind, like he always does. When she hits it, he jumps in the air. Cheering, he kicks sand everywhere.[break]
"Yeah-eeaaah! Go Yumi! Show that watermelon who's boss!" That she didn't so much as dent the thing doesn't matter to him. He's just happy someone shares in some version of his hobby. It's not proper swordplay, but who cares? It's fun, shared with the person he cares about.[break][break]
"C'mon! Hold it steady this time! I'm gettin' hungry!" He says as he redons the blindfold and is spun. Training takes some of the fun out of this. Listening to the waves as the world spins, he adjusts himself.[break][break]
"And---"[break]
"SMACK!" Lapras doesn't play any silly tricks this time. Watermelon viscera goes flying into the surf. The fruit splinters and lands on the cardboard Hitoshi put down.[break][break]
His stomach growls at the sight of the watermelon. Reaching down, he helps himself to a piece. Digging in, falling back in the sand. Everything feels normal for a few precious bites.[break][break]
"That was one helluva good swing!" He compliments her again with utmost sincerity. She can do no wrong after all the kindness she has given him. "Eat up!" Lapras steals a portion for himself, drifting off and letting the two talk. All the while, it's smile.[break]
"What're you smilin' about, codger?!" He berates the laughing Pokemon, who tilts his flipper in faux salute.

The old creature closes its weathered eyes and smiles at the woman. Manners are in such short supply, whether among people or Pokemon. He simply wades there, listening to the orders the woman gives.[break][break]They're not meant as orders, but that's how Hitoshi chooses to interpret them. With all the energy of an excited puppy, he sets about securing the watermelon with a thorough inlay of rope. Securing it with a knot, he offers one end to the Lapras. Thanks to his size, the watermelon is left dangling just above eye level.[break][break]"Now, it's just like Suikawari. Yer blindfolded. Ya take a spin." Hitoshi can spin perfectly well by himself, practically turning into an old Unovan cartoon character in his haste to demonstrate. Even wobbling like a drunkard, he has his senses. Snatching the stick from the shore, he swerves. Stills. Lets his ears guide him. He couldn't tell you a complicated math problem, but he can remember how the wind blows and understand what it means when it rolls over his skin.[break]"And ya hit it like this!" His arc is perfect. Hitoshi's arcs are never anything but. Yet the watermelon remains intact. He hears no thud, feels no fruit break.[break]At the last moment, the old Lapras lifted up the fruit just out of reach. Despite his great concentration on the task of keeping the rope in place, the edges of his mouth are raised in a toothless grin.[break][break]"Like this!" A second blow, mirroring the first, reversing the trajectory along the path he knows it should take.[break][break]"This!" Frustration builds as he decides to swing from below this time. The Lapras simply tilts its head.[break][break]"What gives, ya old fart?!" Hitoshi rips the blindfold off and curses up at the Lapras, who has left the watermelon drop so that he can give a deep, full-bellied laugh.

"Bigger than the meteor, huh? Man. What I'd give to fight that thing. Heck, or have it fight with me." Nothing but the barking of a dog - a creature who little understands the implications of his own words. On some level, he knows that path is not one meant for him. He will only ever serve one person. If anything, be that a god or even Rocket, tried to get between him and that person, he would turn his blade upon them - would fight the world for her.[break][break]
"Tch...this sucks. So nothin' in the whole world can melt this flame, Bossy?" He doesn't catch his own words nor draw attention to his new epithet for the person in charge. It's merely his mind on some instinctual level trying to incorporate the orders. It's far from a perfect attempt, but his heart is in the right place. Maybe that old Lapras was onto something.[break][break]
Jubei tries. Arceus help him, when it's his turn again, he tries. His flame blade strikes against the ice, working in the up-down criss-cross pattern of a sawblade. Nothing seems to work. Perhaps they collect slivers, or slivers of shards, or shards of shards, but nothing here looks like true progress to him.[break][break]
"Meeeeh..." He finally declares in frustration, sitting down out of frustration. Munenori, his Gallade, teleports into view with a massive Steelix in tow. The creature has been thoroughly knocked out - hunted into submission by the psychic swordsman's keen edged blade. An impressive feat. As if to give himself a consolation prize, Hitoshi pulls out a ball and gives it a weak throw at the unconscious steel snake.[break][break]
"Hope you're havin' fun at least." He says to the boss.

EXPEDITION TEAM

FAREWELL, MY FREE ADVENTURERS!

CHARACTERS: Hitoshi Inoue , jayden cross , Felix Gallagher , bryan delarosa EXPEDITION #: 2nd for Hitoshi, 2nd time in the crater. Believe it's the 2nd time for everyone else as wellSELECTED PROMPT #s: 12, 22, 23, 26TREASURES BROUGHT: none NOTES: cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1108771145966170123/1113703391198187570/image.png all the stuff listed here + Hitoshi having a mega stone.

His eyes are manic, frantic. Even under this mound of muscle, this pile of aggression aged to perfection, Hitoshi does not quake. There is no room for fear in this dog's world. Everything is a blur. This dojo with its grumbling, groaning students may as well be a white room. A void where it's just him and the blonde foreigner.[break][break]His eyes convey something urgent, as if this contest is the sum of all contests. His muscles are loose, swaying. His feet are never still. Never flat. This dog studies the man with every movement. Powerful, quicker than anyone so tall has any right to be. Hitoshi has to leverage his strengths.[break][break] He's scooped up like a cub in a mother tiger's jaw. Protesting, swinging his sword one-handed. If his opponent is going to grab him like that, Hitoshi will not go gently into that good night.[break][break]Actually...[break][break]If his foe is so strong, why not use that strength against him? Hitoshi kicks up, using his compact height and short legs to press against the man's chest. He tries to force himself free with a jump backwards. His robe will rip, maybe exposing his chest and back, but that's a fair trade. Anything to be free. Anything to avoid getting grappled properly. That's death in a real fight.

The dog's eyes are filled with unabashed, unmistakable curiosity. Rocket's blade, for that is a title this creature can remember more than any name, lives up to his reputation. With a blade in hand, he slaughters his foe. This earns him this creature's recognition and respect. A bridge is built in moments - or at least the first few bricks are laid. Something approaching understanding forms in the dog's mind.[break][break]
"Uhuh?" There's respect in his voice. Surprise, too. "Tell me somethin', Blade. How'd you manage that? Is it just 'cause your sword's a Pokemon, too?" He briefly owned a Doublade as well. It evolved into an Aegislash before Hitoshi could really get used to the whole two-swords thing.[break][break]
"How the heck do you use that thing? Western swords're so unwieldy." He almost never gets to talk shop. Usually, he talks a big game. Tries to appear aloof and mysterious. None of that here. He's like a dog wagging his tail.[break][break]
Jubei slaughters while his master talks. None of these creatures are that special on their own. They're not the big boss. They dive into the depths, where it starts to stink. No lights trail them. They're left in the dark with flashlights and Jubei's ghostly flames to guide them.

"Well..." There's a bashful cadence in his voice, like he's having to justify a report card. "...he's some guy I met on a mission, helpin' out one of the bosses. Asked for my help. Made the mistake of helpin' him, now he won't leave me alone whenever I get near water." Even he, for all his lack of social grace, understands how strange that must sound. He doesn't usually make friends. Even the people he drank and gambled with within the Hasegawa family were never more than acquaintances.[break]Perhaps the confusion clears up when they arrive at the preordained stretch of beach. Sitting near the shore, lazing in the shallow sands, is a Lapras. Judging by the scars and the wrinkles, this is an old specimen. The creature's eyes light up. His eyes pass between Yumi and Hitoshi. Something he sees in this eccentric pair makes the old creature beam.[break]"I told this old fart I was gonna split a watermelon with ya and he got all excited! Started trying to ask about ya, so I spilled the beans. Started insisting he wanted in on the fun." How much of that is accurate is hazy. Pokemon can't exactly talk, but these creatures are famed for their intelligence.[break]"But - er, yeah! Watermelon splittin'! Glad I gotcha away from that casino! You need a break!" Half-buried in the sand is a stick. Hitoshi draws the long pole as if it is a sword from a stone, swinging it with grace greater than any Galarian swordsman.[break]"This guy volunteered to help out. We'll set up the cardboard, but to make it interestin' this year, he's gonna bite down on a bit of rope the melon's tied too. Sorta turn it into one of those Paldean pinatas."

All of this death to sharpen his sword. All these blows. Hitoshi's used to working alone. He's not used to having to watch people and Pokemon fall around him. An Umbreon does for him. There is no difference between real and fake. Death usually leaves him feeling nothing at all, but that creature's death makes him grit his teeth. Not even Jubei's death makes him react this way.[break]
Perhaps the god towering above them sees the fury in his eyes. Perhaps it shares the inverse of his frustration. It wishes them dead. That's the point of this, right? A battle to the death, winner takes all.[break][break]
Munenori's frantic bladework seems to be working. Small cracks appear along the armor. There's a chink in there somewhere. Afforded some measure of protection from the blows, he has the luxury of seconds. He treats every moment like the gift that it is. Frantic as his bladework is, the mind that serves as an extension of the blade is nothing but the reflection of moonlight upon a pond.[break]
The first ripple upon that pond is a tremor in the lava. It is but a taste of what follows. The creature's frustration builds as the dark links of its armor begin to glow as if lit by magma. A massive orb glows, showing a symbol Hitoshi does not recognize. In a brilliant flash of light that puts even mega evolution to shame, Groudon reverts to its primal form.[break]
With but a strike of its hand, this creature that shaped the earth tears it apart. Fissures open beneath each of the trainers. It seeks to swallow them whole. Hitoshi himself is about to be pulled in, only to be saved by Munenori.[break]
He is teleported to safety, but between the heat and the exhaustion of mega evolution, it pushes him to his limit. Stumbling, the second of Hitoshi's Pokemon falls into the rift. The safeguarded Tokugawa patiently appears at Hitoshi's side.[break]
"Just a few more seconds. This has gotta count for somethin'!" He says to his swords danceing Pokemon and the other members of his team. "I'm not lettin' this bastard win."

Every blow is repetition, a strike carried out to its natural conclusion. Say what you will about these poisoned hands, but they are neither creative nor inspired. Munenori falls into an easy pattern of attack under Hitoshi's direction. It passes the time. There's no grand ideas in his mind, no notions about how to truly remedy these problems. These are human matters.[break]
But he is a sword, and nothing cuts quite as well as a honed blade. This he can do. He can do it for hours without losing focus or interest. As the townsfolk move, they do so under his watchful eye. He guards the flock.[break]
When they show him gratitude, he does not know how to react. In his line of work, it is a rare thing to be thanked. Killers are usually reviled, but these people cheer for a man willing to cut down all challengers.[break]
The dog blushes, waves them off. Acts aloof, mysterious. Pulling his straw hat down tighter over his head, he says something cryptic and walks off as the fighting for the day seems to die down.[break]
At least that's what it looks like at first. Right up until a giant monster appears. The city walls are besieged. There's an army of the claws surrounding some strange bird.[break]
It's another of the legends the higher ups in Rocket are all so weary of. He doesn't know anything beyond that, but he can recognize power at a glance. Best to leave fighting that thing to the big shots. He's a nobody. Just a sword.[break]
But, like he's already said, a blade can cut. That's what a blade is for. Munenori is recalled into his pokeball. In his place is drawn an Aegislash. Muramasa, named for an famed swordsman.[break]
Muramasa shrieks in surprise when Hitoshi grips him by the handle. Before he met Gwyar Wledig, he would have never thought to do this. Leaning the blade against his shoulder, he grins from ear to ear. Falling in alongside his fellow Rockets, he makes them a promise.[break]
"Oi, Bosses. I can't fight the purple bird, but I'll keep everything else off of ya. Let's show 'em a good time."[break]
He needs no order. His place is to attack. So, he dives into the claws, blade in hand. His Aegislash shrieks but does what an Aegislash is supposed to do. It cuts. Tearing into the horde, he howls like a mad dog.[break]
He could get used to this.[break]

F9_c6LxA+15

There must always be a specter at the feast. Wolves prowl the feywild as much as they do any other forest. Despite the insistence of certain parties that he dress up like a certain small fairy boy, Hitoshi ultimately decides to wear a wolf mask. It's heavy. It obscures his vision. It gets the point across. Between a heavy gray coat that trails behind him, the mask, and his weapons obscured just out of sight, it evokes a certain image. He is no beast, but this is his domain. Those who trespass upon the sanctity of the fairy queen's domain do so at their own peril. The summer court needs its knight.[break]
Hitoshi likes to think of himself as a samurai, but he supposes he can play the part of a fey knight for one night. As Yumi Hasegawa gives her grand speech, he stands silent at her side. That he is shorter than her does nothing, at this juncture, but sell her own beauty. She's larger than life, otherworldly, dwarfing even the most fearsome beasts of the wood in all her glory.[break]
"I'm gonna walk the crowd. Make sure there's not any trouble." His voice carries more gravity than usual. It has a sharper edge. Her safety is paramount. The safety of her realm is paramount. To suffer fools and slights at this juncture is to invite threats upon her authority. That he can't allow.[break]
The illusion cracks at the sight of Gwyar Wledig. Seeing through the disguise with an animal's instincts, he walks right up to the man. His smile is broad under the wolf mask.[break]
"Master, you may be a great swordsman, but you suck at at gambling."