The dog realizes when she takes his hand in hers how little contact he has had with humans. His hands are calloused. Rough. There's old scars along some of the joints, the beginning of arthritis in his middle finger. It's a warm hand, and he doesn't pull away.[break]
His eyes meet hers. He listens. Animals are far better at sensing intent than humans. Those instincts, honed to a fine edge, are what led him to Yumi in the first place. There is no lie in this woman's words. He senses the pain inside her too, just like he can with Yumi. That clawing, gnawing loneliness.[break]
This creature possesses no capacity to love as a human loves. He wishes he could plunge his blade into the chests of those that dug this pain deep into her flesh. Whoever would inflict so human a hurt on someone who can speak this gently to a dog deserves to be nothing but red paint. She's special in a way all the girls back home weren't.[break]
He hopes she can make Yumi happy. He'd give anything to always see Yumi smile the way she did that day when he killed for her, in that dark Galarian alley.[break]
"I don't know how to love her." It is an admission he would never give to the woman herself. He confesses to this woman as if she is some priestess, taking her one hand in both of his own. His sword cradles his chest, useless with how it's leveraged. She could open his throat. He's baring himself to her.[break]
"She's always been alone...and I've just wanted to reach out. Let her know she's not. But I can't." He feels what he always feels when his eyes turn inward. A sense that something's wrong within him. That some flaw within him drove his mother to cast him out. That somehow, that same flaw will drive Yumi to chase him away one day.[break]
"I'd give anything for you to be her friend." A confession that brings him to tears, tears born of unconditional, absolute love. The sort of love only gods and dogs can give.

The invention of the Apricot ball ruined the human warrior. A history of training alongside monsters dulls humanity. Makes their senses weak, sharpens them towards a certain skillset.[break]
Bluntly put, most people can't sense intent. Not in any real combat sense. That, more than any practice with the blade, is Inoue Hitoshi's greatest skill. Despite mankind's incessant desire to tame the world around them, he has never allowed his own instincts to be tamed. With every word, he senses the growing tension. Any scholarly meaning or true depth from much of those words is lost on him. Words like oft, erroneous, and Gwyar Ap Wledig are lost on this dog-shaped blade.[break]
But he understands what comes next. He knows well the dance. The only true choice in life is whether or not to join that dance. There's a subtle shift in his footing, a preparation to charge. This man, Master, has a foot on him in height. He has the advantage of reach.[break]
He has a decade. No, two decades of experience on him. This is no pampered summer lord. This is a warrior, one who has perfected his craft. In his eyes, Hitoshi sees the same glimmer he sees when he looks in a mirror.[break]
This man has something to lose. Everything. His strength is drawn from a well most well never know. That well is deep enough to drown someone.[break]
When the charge comes, the smaller creature meets him head-on. It is the mark of a foolish dog indeed to charge a bear, but what choice does the cornered dog have? Even a mutt still carries the blood of a wolf in his veins.[break]
"Oh, you're fast, Master!" Titles and roles carry more meaning in this dog's world than names. This is a man. Not a sleeping slave, not a Mareep, but a man.[break]
It takes a dog to spot such a creature among the masses. His blade twists in his hand, drawn into a low stance. He spends the spare milliseconds afforded by the bigger man's charge building his upward momentum, sending it into a slash that would tear into the ribs of a lesser foe, were he armed with a real blade. Instinct drives the cut. It is a self-taught technique. The principles are laid in the foundations of eastern swordplay, but no manual teaches this technique.[break]
This dog has never had a teacher before.

The dog senses the malice in the smile. Even before the blonde states that he's furious, Hitoshi senses what's to come. His instinct, like his blade, is sharp. Reflexively, he backs up. Readies his bokken. Raises it in preparation for an impending parry. This is his kind of battle. No Pokemon, no interference. Just two men and all the terrible harm they can do to one another.[break]
"Eh? Reason?" Faced with a human dealing with all too human emotion, Hitoshi is confused. "Whatcha mean reason? This is a place where people practice with a sword, right? Then folks should be prepared to deal with the consequences of pickin' up a sword." He repeats a phrase from a song he listened to a long time ago.[break]
"There ain't no such thing as half-way crooks. Or half-way swordsmen. This ain't a hobby. Not my fault if they're not ready." It's hard for him to control his strength. Hitoshi's style is a killer's style. No wasted movement. Heedless, deadly.[break]
"C'mon. Let's get to it." The dog commands.

So much happens in so little time.[break]
Worms scurry before this great titan. Their blades pang against his armor. Their tricks make him close his eyes in annoyance. The mere act of walking causes the ground to tremble. Hitoshi almost loses his balance. Were it not for his years of training, he probably would have.[break]
No one gets left behind. Their leader rallies them with those words. Healing is dolled out. Protection. Munenori is freed.[break]
Jubei takes heart. They're winning. They're winning. He charges up again, listening to the orders of the one behind his trainer. If he can just find a weak spot. A chink in the armor. Somewhere his blade can sink into...[break]
This god quickly shows the humans what he thinks of their plans. Plans, technique, skills are things created to combat beings such as he. He cares not for their plans. His hand swipes out. Precipice Blades, sharper than any sword in Hitoshi's arsenal, strike out towards all of them - a brilliant line of obsidian spikes meaning to end this before it truly begins.[break]
Hitoshi is only spared thanks to Jubei. The black knight rushes back, his heart pierced by one of the spikes. Looking back to his master, he dies with a sigh on his lips. This is the sad fate of a man who would go against gods.[break]
"Why, you big bastard...!" Hitoshi growls up at the god. Even blinded, with his very nature shifting thanks to the magic powder, this creature is leagues above them.[break]
Hitoshi draws his katana. A stone in its center begins to glow. Munenori understands what's about to happen. He charges forward, over the blades. Teleporting behind the creature, he is enveloped in white light. What emerges is a gallant warrior with a long white cape streaming behind him. Mega Gallade levels a psycho cut on the rampaging titan. He runs up its back, trying to find a vulnerable spot. His blade is sharp. He will not fall yet.[break]
But that's not all this team has to contend with. Primal power seems to be building in the Groudon. From its chest hangs a red orb. It begins to glow. Sensing the impending change, the volcano they're standing on erupts, blasting lava everywhere.[break]
In the midst of this chaos, the supreme overlord sits. His sword dance continues. All proceeds according to plan.

"Well..." The dog's voice trails off as he hears the click of the pokeball. "...this one must be busted if they think I'm kindhearted. I'll just get 'em back to open sea and then let him go. Seems like the right thing to do." An odd sentiment. If he was the heartless creature he likes to pretend he is, sometimes, when fantasizing about samurai movies, he'd just leave it to rot. But he doesn't.[break]
No point in dwelling on any of that. They have a task to do. Someone has to deal with this ice. Chop it up. Deliver it back to the lab for samples. Hitoshi nods at his boss. He can't even remember the guy's name, he just knows that he's important. Important enough for Yumi to listen to him.[break]
"You heard Frosty, Jubei." He commands Jubei. Jubei may as well just be a sword at this point. An extension of his will. That'd be easier for everyone involved. His blade cuts into the ice. It becomes superheated. It skids against the ice...[break]
And the blade comes away having made not a single scratch on the ice.[break]
"This cubey guy must be tough as nails." The dog grumbles. "C'mon, Jubei! You can try harder than that!" The blade cuts again, and again, and again. Nothing.

"Well..." His voice is small, soft. No hardened killer. A lost boy. Amber eyes that had the joy beaten out of them young can't seem to find Mei's eyes. He looks away. Not relaxed. Shy. Hating what he admits next.[break]
"She's all I have." The one thing tethering him to the world. He feels like if he loses her, he'll drift. Go back to being another wild, rabid dog on the street. No blade. Just a beast.[break]
"How can I trust you?" Anyone as skilled at reading men as this woman surely is can read the tone. He wants her to give him something, anything. A lifeline he can use to build that trust. He sees wisdom in her words. Yumi has always been so lonely. He's never been able to truly reach her, give her true human companionship. A friendship of equals, not like all the sniveling schoolgirls who followed Yumi around like a pack of yapping little poodles.[break]
He'd be grateful if this woman could give her that.

A dog wandered into the community center. At first, these would be disciples of the Galarian blade regarded him as a joke. He brought with him a wooden bokken. For all intents and purposes, it's just an exquisitely carved sliver of wood. Compared to the fancy synthetic plastic and intricate wood favored by western swordsmen, it's downright plain.[break]
They stop laughing when they see him in action. There's nothing pretty about the way this dog swings his sword. No movement is wasted. Nothing extra finds its way into the motions of his muscles. They're meant for one purpose. Were it not for the dull edge of the bokken and his propensity to go for the chest rather than the head, someone would be dead. As it stands, most of the people who showed up for this excursion are walking away with broken ribs. Men groan. Many lay on the flood.[break]
Even with a dull blade like this, he's drawn some blood. Even holding back, these kids are no match for him. The dog sighs, pacing around the room.[break]
"Man. You guys're the first people I've met since I moved here that're willing to fight me mano a mano. Everybody hides behind their Pokemon. You guys are awesome." He sways his bokken across the field of groaning men.[break]
"But yer too darn weak! You gotta fight like hell if ya wanna beat someone like me! You think this is a joke?!" He's only ever found meaning in life when there's a sword in his hands. These are just weekend warriors.[break]
Someone else enters the room. Someone who understands.[break]
Hitoshi turns to greet him.

“Got it.” The only command he needs. Dogs are creatures better suited to faith than humans. Hitoshi trusts in them to do as they say. The one at his side will be the shield. The woman in the back will serve as the hands guiding them.[break]

“Then let’s get this show on the road!” Two pokemon join Munenori. Jubei, wreathed in armor, hatred, and indignity. A Ceruledge with a keen blade. Behind them, at Selena’s side, is a Kingambit. Tokugawa is patient. Sitting with the brain of this organization, he observes. Battle is about waiting for the right moment to strike. Watching the battle play out, he devises his strategy.[break]

Woe be upon his comrades should his tactic come to pass. For now, he prepares with a quiet swords dance. His blade must be sharp.[break]

Jubei breaks left. Munenori breaks right. The Groudon roars and slams the ground with primal power. Every trainer knows the move earthquake. How could they not? It’s a popular move, the stuff that wins battles with the right set-up. Groudon, primal champion of the raging earth, needs no set-up. The volcano erupts around them. The ground trembles. Fissures open beneath the feet of the trainers watching the battle.[break]

Their shield will have to put his money where his mouth is. This promises to be a devastating strike on all three involved.[break]

Jubei’s blade grows, basking in bitter power. Munenori’s arm once more glows blue with the power of water.[break]

“You boys gotta know where the heart is!” Hitoshi orders them. “Strike there! We’ll find a chink in his armor!!”[break][break]

The two sword Pokemons’ blades meet across the Groudon’s chest as psychic energy converges onto its armored body. A medley of devastating attacks. Munenori’s aqua cutter is enhanced by the brief rainstorm. Jubei’s bitter blade blazes with the heat Groudon exudes simply by existing in this place.[break]

Everything looks like it’s going to plan…[break]

Until Groudon grabs Munenori in one clawed hand. It dwarfs all of them. The sheer power of the primal Pokemon ensures there will be no escape.[break]

The ground shakes under them. The claw closes around the Gallade. Magma erupts in spouts around them. It’s a scene out of hell.[break]

And they’re supposed to survive. No. Screw that. They’re not gonna survive. They’re gonna win.

It's cold. Hitoshi's one hope is that he'd end up somewhere warmer. It'll take months to adjust to this weather. His blood's too thin up here. If there's any solace or consolation, it's that he'll have time to adjust.[break]
At least, for the first time since coming to this place, he has a task that he can understand. He doesn't even need to look at Cillian Quinn to know what order's coming. Someone has to deal with the claws.[break]
With a perfectly impartial expression, he observes how one of the peasants is grabbed. He watches with methodical, clinical impassiveness as they are pulled kicking and screaming into the sludge. A necessary sacrifice - one that informs him on how to kill these monsters. There's a solution to this problem. He has the perfect blade for the job.[break]
Munenori, his Gallade, is drawn out of its pokeball. The creature looks around, unsure of what to make of this place, but ultimately looks to Hitoshi for orders.[break]
"Seems like we've got ourselves a game of whack a mole. If we don't want more folks to die, we have to figure out where the claws are gonna pop up before they pop up. You know what to do." It's future sight, the same maneuver that almost killed Melody Miro back in the cave beneath a podunk town. Munenori teleports with Hitoshi to a central point of the town, somewhere they can respond to threats from.[break][break]
The Gallade closes his eyes...[break]
The hours that follow are a blur. Half-lived in the present, half-lived in the future. He foresees a peasant being grabbed by claws. He rushes in to save them, cutting down the claws with psychic force. Afterwards, Munenori always returns to that central point.[break]
"Don't worry, folks. We'll kill anything that tries to kill ya." The dog gives any passing townsfolk an awkward thumbs up. He doesn't know the first thing about being a hero, or inspiring people, or telling tales of heroism, but he's trying. He made someone a vow, sworn in his blood. That means something for a man who wears his identity on his back.

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With every step the legend takes, the walls around them shake. They are fighting a primordial monster on its home turf. This monster was old when the world was young. That this is merely a simulation carries no weight in the dog's mind. All he knows is that he has his target.[break]
His eyes betray no fear. As Groudon comes into view, Hitoshi's eyes are on its chest. There's a heart under there. It pumps blood, just like every other creature. The presence of arms, a tail, and gold eyes tells him all that he needs to know.[break]
Even a god can die. It's been done before. It can be done again.[break]
Here in this active volcano, the heat is unbearable. Amidst his bravado, Hitoshi almost faints straight away. He rips a Pokeball free and tosses out Munenori once more. The Gallade looks up at the legend and knows fear his trainer doesn't.[break]
"Oi. Cool us down. The smart ones gotta think." Munenori blinks, eventually forming a blade of water along his arm and flicking torrents of water over the three of them. As the creature lumbers forward, it'll keep them cool.[break]
"Alright, you two. Gimme a plan. Use your sword well." He commands his leaders.

Maybe he's just used to being ordered around. Maybe he's just a natural at taking the orders. Either way, he listens to her. Jumps back. Lets go of her wrists. Jumps back, like he remembers being scolded in a tone just like that.[break]
That's how it goes when a dog tries to help someone. Its tongue gets mistaken for its fangs as it tries to lick wounds. He bites back protest, tries to remember that this woman is a stranger. Not Yumi, not his mother. A near perfect stranger. Yet still, her singular anguish torments him. A creature so keyed into the emotions of the people around him cannot stand this anguish. He hated when the Hasegawa made him stand guard while someone his tortured.[break]
There's only one thing he can really do. Throwing out Munenori, his Gallade, he shouts an order.[break]
"Help her, will ya?!" The red-eyed warrior looks at her. Scans her. The heal pulse is given with utmost reluctance. It can't heal her mind. He recalls himself to the ball as soon as it's done.[break]
Hitoshi hovers near the cell entrance, aiming to block her exit. If she leaves, he has to kill her.[break]
"You can't let 'em win!" He implores her.

Create everlasting stories? Be a hero? Do deeds worthy of song? Hitoshi blinks. He'd say dogs can't be heroes, but heroic dogs sparked this whole conflict.[break]

It's terrible, what happens next. Calyrex is killed. Killed in such a cruel way. He begs to be killed and they all tear him apart. This is a death without dignity. A death without honor or compassion or any of the things humans are supposed to feel. Gripping his katana with one hand, he almost wishes...[break]

His own wishes don't matter. He is a sword. A tool handed to Cillian Quinn for this mission. Nodding to the rest, he starts walking towards the portal alongside the blonde.[break]

But then, he feels an urge. A human urge. Stopping in his tracks, he turns. Looks on the ground. Eventually, he finds a suitable stone. Large. Round. One on which he can write.[break]

Pulling out a tanto, he pierces the tip of his finger. In the absence of ink, blood will do. He paints words in the language spoken in his youth. Makes a vow. This king, with all his dignity, asked a command of him.[break]

He walks to the king's body. He places a stone at his feet. On it, written in blood, are these words:

休んだ王

血の約束が

俺の剣が明け

With that done, he turns and walks through the portal behind Blondie without a word. There's work to do.

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