PURCHASING/REDEEMING

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2X TM (Runerigus, Sandstorm for Memento and Stone Edge for Shadow Claw, from PP)(0 PD)

1X Tera Shard (Runerigus, Tera Rock, also from PP) (0 PD)

TOTAL

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0 PD

“Don’t be,” he said swiftly. “I appreciate the thought, but I’ve moved on since then.”

Time healed all wounds. Subtly, like the gentle river of time. One day, it stopped hurting and didn’t have the battery of emotions that accompanied it the first time. It was something ‘that happened’ and little else. Strange, but a good kind.

How long for his most recent wound to heal, he wondered. Where was Preston Fugu ?

“The issue with revenge isn’t necessarily the mere idea of it,” Grigori started, as he leaned further back. “Of course, people who do bad should be punished. No one reasonable will disagree. There exist legal means to try and obtain justice– the other side of the coin.”

“It’s the cost.”

Its weight hung heavy in the air, left to dissolve into the tension accrued from the last minute.

“You’ve already started to accumulate interest, or debt, for your desire, Miss Alison. You’ve left the only place you’ve ever known and joined an organization that only wants the anger from your past, not your motives. Rocket gave you bad company, and took everything else,” he explained.

“And for better or worse, Rocket will not help you. Not yet. Your best hopes are to gain friends in high places or join them yourself. I never paid, so I can’t tell you how much it costs. But if you are curious, I can get you a receipt from someone who has.”

And for that, he was grateful. A nonspecific desire for revenge only ran him thirty years of service and all the crimes that came with it. howard slayte was making good progress to rival him, and in one-thirtieth of the time.

---

Alison Everly

Cables was truly free.

Not bound by the trainer that could never hope to keep up with it (try as Grigori might, but the setting was too good for it). A perfect target to track, and not enough distractions to draw it off the Luxray’s trail. A challenge in the hunt too, as a flood of flowers threatened to drown it off.

It almost worked. Everything but one cabled arm gripped against a light pole disappeared underneath the pink. Grigori had to dodge into a side alley himself, who couldn’t get all the flowers out of his armor.

But Cables would not be stopped. Whatever distance the pair gained was quickly subtracted as something soared through the air. Petals streaked behind it in an artistic manner. Perfect for the green energy infused in its limbs.

The Power Whip destroyed the street as it slammed back into the earth. Grigori heard it down the block. Despite the worry that ate into his nerves, he pressed on. His heavy footsteps echoed down the street, a steady tempo against the constant chaos far away.

---

Eris Halla

As described and envisioned in his mind, the scene came to the forefront of the simulation. Several bright red toolboxes illuminated underneath the dingy yellow lights. An expensive car hung from a machine in the middle of the floor, and oil covered the dusty concrete.

Even the quiet hum of a radio, which played hard rock from forty years ago, was present. Subconscious memories that not even he could recall with such detail. It was familiar, painfully so. What such technology of capable of would’ve been impressive.

If it were not for the matter at hand.

He was back. Elisabeth held the grudge from the meeting in the Cave of Origin, and he held the memory of the mistakes committed by himself. It combined together into a bastard child, a wispy shadow figure molded into the problems of his past.

The form walked confidently towards Grigori, unbothered or unaware of how events were supposed to go in the memory. Tall, lanky, and filled to the brim with murderous intent. “You wish I could abandon you, Grigori.”

“And I wish I could–”

The words never got out, as Gabriel threw the first punch. The grunt spun to the side, only able to balance himself with the help of a workshop bench. Despite being a simulation, he could feel the blood start to emerge from the wound. The first drop of crimson stained its scratched wooden top. Gabriel snickered, and cracked his knuckles.

And thus began the second-most one-sided fight between Grigori and the man he’d beaten the first time.

---

Elisabeth Fiorelli

Oh, how Grigori wanted to turn the other way. A blind eye to the obvious attempt to go toward Howard. In all honesty, she likely knew where to find him better than even he. It’d be easier. Much easier. No one even had to know– the odds of this teenager telling on him to his superiors were zero.

But he had a duty. Cause chaos, create an opening for Fox to delve into the Deep Sea, and ensure no one got hurt if he could help it. She was a problem, and he was a problem solver. “I warned you.”

A white light emerged, and a creature from the depths of insanity branched its thick, black arms to the sides. The Xurkitree pulsed its light and whipped its head around. There were no easy points of power around here, but… it could sense the source that ran away. The one that Grigori started to run after.

“Stop them by any means.”

Like a rabid dog, the cables bunched and pulled together. Its lanky, long body traversed down the street with surprising speed. Its head alight, always able to smell the electric pulses left by the Luxray. A perfect scent to chase. She made him do this. He had no choice.

---

Eris Halla

Grigori lets out the breath unknowingly held in his chest, and his hammer falters slightly. If he could prevent one soul from damnation, then that would be enough for tonight. Even if he had to ignore the sense of dread and doubts in his mind. That this was a lie, and he was falling for it in real-time.

“I will not.”

But he was not foolish enough to fall any further into the world of fiction. This was not a negotiation, and they were not friends of friends. “Be grateful you did not into anyone else as is.”

“Go. Now.”

His hand pulled the ball off the belt, and rubbed the release mechanism. One twitch, one errant distraction, and hell would unleash. This time for certain.

---

Eris Halla

Howard Slatye? He had a lot more friends than Grigori. Especially outside of Rocket. If Rocket ever caught on– no. They surely had to have known by now. Nothing got past Cillian Quinn . No one. This entire plan had to have been run by all the Underbosses, if not Delcan himself. They knew of his allies.

Regardless of their side of the conflict.

Even if it included children or teenagers. “We both know why I am here. But what you don’t know, is that I don’t want to hurt people. Hurt you.”

A truth. Cold, hard, like the hammer that’ll bash in her skull if she doesn’t comply.

“Forget howard slayte . No one can help him. Save him. All you can do is save. Yourself.”

Another harsh truth. Either this worked, and Rocket congratulated him, or it didn’t and he befell a few alternating fates. The higher-ups assassinated him. The League captured, tortured, and executed him. Eternatus awoke from his raid, and nobody here would live to see tomorrow. The odds of him surviving a failed raid were next to none. 

“So run. Hide. And don’t look back. You’ll be complicit,” he said. From his point of view, it was a warning. If she was in a position to help but didn’t, then some people might not be happy with her conduct. ‘Why didn’t you try?’ he could hear them demand. ‘If you can run to help one you care about, you can help everyone else.’

"Last. Chance." Grigori readjusted his grip on the hammer, and reached for a Poke ball on his belt. He could not back down. It was not an option.

---

Eris Halla

The little one looked familiar. From that Arceus-forsaken prison, perhaps? Unfortunately, she’d likely recognize him before he did her– he bore the all-too-familiar mask from it. Despite missing a piece, it still hid his identity well enough to make putting a name to the face impossible. Very important for the task at hand.

“You should be in the bunkers. Locked away, safe,” he stabbed his hammer into the wall. Bits of brick crumbled down from where it struck, and its metallic surface caught the moon. From the caverns of the doomed search party last year. With the bear and Megalopolans. “Yet here. You. Are.”

The Luxray did little to dissuade him, as he took a heavy step forward. The mask blocked the emotion from his sound, filtered out to only leave the harsh bitterness of an old, hardened criminal. “Run. Away. Go. Home. Hide. You will be safe– you have my word.”

His free eye spoke anger and violence, yet his hidden one was burdened with desperation. Please. Run. Spare us both the misery.

---

Eris Halla

Despite everything, he’s still alive.

Grigori, still with his cracked, broken mask, emerged from the blackness of unconsciousness. The world rings, and he answers with a vibrating grunt as his limbs reactivate. Everything hurt but in a much more physical way. The mental trauma has disappated, if only for now.

They crashed. That was the first thought that trickled back, and he pushed himself upright. Everything was a wreck. The hull split open and revealed the ancient ruins of the Megalopolan city. Decrepit and lifeless, much like their wardens. He does not spare them more than a single glance, a confirmation before he rose with the grace of a newborn Ducklett.

Everyone else was up and active as well. Chains gripped them tightly, and he did not struggle against them. Pumpkin stood stalwartly beside him, content to sit and watch rather than act. Sounds reverberated off his skin, but not his ears. He bent down and felt the inside of the ear canal. Wet. He pulled back. Blood.

Momentarily deaf. Long enough to see the main perpetrator, Cyllora, and their retched creature. They said something, his lips ablaze with words he couldn’t understand. The memory of their experience bubbled in his skill. The pain. Torment. Humiliation. Feelings he understood all too well. Anger broiled.

Then, his stomach turned poisonous. He gagged. Gagged. Revenge. What a… disgusting flavor. It mixed wretchedly with the anger and distracted his senses. Revenge. A dish best served cold, but one that’d made his mouth numb and his hands frozen against his sides.

Revenge. It sent him to Rocket, where he felt powerful. It sent him to Hoenn and made his heart pour blood. It sent him to the garage and devour its frigid contents of twenty-four years. Even now, its aftertaste ruined the kinship of the only person connected to his true best friend. It clung to his muscles and bones, a parasite that never left him alone.

Revenge. An infection. Like the magenta chains that held him down.

If the situation weren’t as dire as it was, he’d consider it a lot more thematic and metaphorical. Instead, he pulled against them. Shred was going on the attack, against people he didn’t know. Another looked to him with a violent tint in her eyes. A massive, monstrous beast stood by illeana reyes side.

Where the hell was howard slayte ? Where was he when Shred needed him most?!

He pulled, and pulled, and pulled. Purple snapped, twisted, and then, he broke free. No longer bound. “STOP, STOP!”

He did not know if they heard, and he did not know if he yelled loud enough. But fighting would only make things worse. He ran to Shred and jumped in the way. Space, in all of its infantasemial mass, barreled on. There would not be another loss due to revenge. It could no longer control him. Loss did not have to be a guarantee.

Pumpkin broke her chains without a sweat. She had never been bound by such things to begin with. For her will was Grigori’s, and her aim was to protect the weak. Such was the way of a leader. “KINGAMBIT!”

"FALL BENEATH THE WILL OF THE WEAK, WEAKLING." The Kowtow Cleave raced down from the heavens, its decree directly against the Palkia's. Through heaven and earth would her will be enforced. Through sickness and poison and death.

---

Tl;dr
 - Grigori comes to and gets up (man everyone sure looks pissed)
 - Momentarily deaf and his ears are a ring-a-lingin'
 - Revenge makes him sick, and he finds that it's no longer a thing he finds even remotely stomachable
 - However, doesn't know what's going on EXACTLY, but doesn't want to hurt the Cyllora (Votes for them TO BE FREE)
 - He runs to Shred's side and tries to eat the attacks aimed for him
 - Kingambit attacks Palkia with Kowtow Cleave because that's what a good Pokemon does (Attacks the big strong legendary attached to the trainer now inadvertently attacking her trainer)

 3XDLKNcC

“Yo, Fisher, where the hell are you going– the raid just started!”

“Apologies. I must handle other matters. Continue your work– you know what to do.”

“Fisher, get the– fuck, where’d he go?!”

“Ya heard him lads! Keep formation– not like a bugger like him needs the help.”

“Physically, nah. Mentally, fuck yea! Why the hell has he got his Kanto Uniform on?!”

-

Grigori’s armor clacked and crinkled in the dead of night. Despite the alarms, his movements cut through the intermittent silence of the night. Sure, scuffles sounded from a distance, and there was the occasional creak or flutter of footsteps. But at this point, the night no longer held the flurry of confused and dazed people.

They either hid, or took up arms. The former he had no qualms with. The latter, though… it was up to him to cause chaos and sow discord as much as possible. howard slayte ’s command clung to his mind like an overboard sailer to a wooden splitter of their now broken ship. He must not kill unless absolutely necessary, a hope he hung onto for dear life.

But he must cause problems. And to start… there. Someone ran down the street. In the distance. He clung to the shadows, as still as the darkness that masked his presence. Slowly, the footsteps got closer. Closer. Don’t kill, don’t kill, don’t kill. Not another repeat of Kanto.

Now. He emerged.



From the pitch black, a monster donned in red and silver. And his metallic body sent Eris to the wayside. Not his entire strength-- that'd surely break her neck. 

Was that... a kid? "What are you doing here?"

---

Eris Halla

Alison reminded him a lot more of June than he first surmised. Except she would’ve been a lot more combative with her deep desire to not remember. Alison, for better or worse, approached it much more timidly. Cautiously. A hot pan, ready to burn her again if she wasn’t careful. But burns could be healed, and scars remembered fondly.

The pan still sizzled, a constant reminder of what was to come. No one could walk away from its tantalizing heat.

“Of course,” Grigori agreed. Much smarter than June as well: let him set the tone for what was ‘expected’. Do no more than expected, as to not out herself as the odd one out. No wonder she was in the vicious world of beauty.

“I’ll keep it brief, then: when I was sixteen, I left Hoenn on the run. I had murdered my alcoholic of a father after he had done the same to my mother. Messy stuff, and complicated,” he said quietly. So casually, like he read it off a page of a newspaper. “So, I joined this organization.”

“I felt as though the people of my hometown had abandoned me when I needed them most. Or, perhaps, I was angry with the world at large. ‘Why me’, I constantly wondered,” he returned the coffee to the table. “I took it out on the people of Kanto. I felt powerful. In control.”

“And there isn’t much else to say, as anti-climactic as it is,” he tapped the metal once more. Maybe June was rubbing off on him as well. “Revenge is a hell of a meal, but it does not age well. Like milk, or an infection. It's memory even less.”

It was impossible to expect a young lass like Alison to meet any expectations if he told her about the twenty-four-year-old infection that was Gabe. And it would send a bad message. “How much of that sounded familiar?”

---

Alison Everly

Oh.

So that meeting still lingered in her mind. “Ms. Fiorelli, I will do my best to complete what you’ve set out for me. But I must recommend you let sleeping dogs rest– it’s not good for your long-term mental health. Please understand, I speak from personal experience.”

Either have him properly punished by decree of the other underbosses, or let the matter stay where it belonged: in the past. But, as he took her hand into his and met her eyes with confidence and compassion, he could not let the matter sit in his own mind. Everyone had their vices. Elisabeth’s was past slights.

His was past mistakes.

As he stepped through the doors, he could already feel the environment be molded by his thoughts. Sudden hatred towards Gabe. That night in the garage. The cold chill of the concrete-padded floors and cinderblocks that made up that prison of emotion. Faint smell of oil, mixed with blood…

How he entered with such cold, calculated rage and left with the deepest of shames. He looked at his hand, the one that shook with the venomous viper. She… did she do this?

As the doors closed on this sudden prison, he met her eyes. Disappointment filled his deep-blue irises. Metal snapped together, and he was locked in.

“What past perils await me, I wonder,” he quipped. They both knew where this would go. There was never more than one path for this encounter to follow.

---

Elisabeth Fiorelli

PURCHASING/REDEEMING

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TOTAL

do come again!

300 PD