This is the beginning of a trilogy called The Edge Chronicles. Each book is made up of three Parts; each Part is made up of several chapters. Simple enough? Please tell me what you think, and feel free to ask any questions you may have, to me or the characters. Remember, we can only answer questions relating to where I'm up to with the story! ;)
Rated M15 for violence and mild language.
Is this a darkfic? You could say that...
Book One: EDGE OF DESTINY
Introduction-this is just to familiarise yourself a bit with the world of my fic
The world of this story is a Pokémon world. But it is not the happy, joy-filled Pokémon world that you may think I am referring to. This is a bitter world, a twisted world, a world that is cold and unforgiving. In the Pokémon world that we are all familiar with, there is darkness, yes. There is evil, yes. But there are places where tiny, cute Pokémon live their lives in blissful ignorance, playing games or drifting lackadaisically across beautiful green fields and vibrant flowerbeds; where Pokémon large and small live in peaceful harmony with humans. In this harsh world, there is no such place.
The world of this story is based around the old theme of “Survival of the fittest”. If you are born as a Shinx, you had better become a Luxray quickly, or you’re dead. Pokémon fight to kill, and woe betide the young Pokémon that stumbles across a pack of hungry Mightyena.
In your sweet little Pokémon universe, humans coexist more or less in harmony with each other. Sure, there are nefarious criminals like Team Rocket, but they pale in comparison with this world. This world is overrun by warring factions, all battling desperately for the right to survive. Nations and empires rise and fall in the blink of an eye, and the land is ravaged by war. There are no Pokémon Trainers. Pokémon are a law unto themselves, and the vast majority of humans simply don’t care.
Some, however, use Pokémon as servants, or warriors in their armies, but these Pokémon are never treated as well as they are in your little sugar-coated universe.
However, there are a select few, a very few, who choose to work with humans as equals. These Pokémon-human teams are rare, but usually very skilled and secretive. Some are evil, and plot to turn all nations against each other, to ultimate destruction. Others are soldiers of righteousness, fighting desperately to restore some semblance of order to the world.
This war-torn world, known as Fulareif, is unknowingly approaching a tipping point. If nothing is done to correct the balance, the world will collapse upon itself.
Now the Prologue :)
Prologue-A Dark Night
The white moon hung in the sky, fighting for dominance over the dark clouds that threatened to overwhelm it. If one was to look up from the ground below, one might be able to catch a glimpse of the stars above, twinkling feebly through the dusty haze of fog that lay like a blanket over everything. A light, hot breeze stirred the haze, which swirled around everything, playing softly with the brittle branches of the dead, stunted trees and tickling the tips of the brown bulrushes by the dried-up riverbeds. In their hidden dens, wild Pokémon slept lightly, one eye always open for trouble, one ear always pricked for danger.
All of this, however, was lost on one particular Pokémon, an Absol, who was running for his life. He sped across the dusty plateau, his black-clawed feet kicking up dust clouds as he desperately sought to elude his pursuers. He could not see them, as he dared not look back, but he could hear them, panting rapidly.
“Wea! Vile! Wea! Vile!” The three Sharp Claw Pokémon were right on his tail, he could tell. This chase was only tiring all four of them; sooner or later, he would have to turn and fight. Sooner, he decided, and dug his front paw into the dirt, skidding several yards to an impressive stop, facing the Weavile, who had also stopped, eyeing him warily. They were trained hunters, bred for the chase and the kill. Moving as a unit, they spread out, so that Absol had to take a step back to keep them all in his line of sight.
Absol opened his mouth. It was risky, but if he pulled it off, it would send the Ice-types packing. He felt the heat build in his throat, growing from a tiny tickle, to a burning flame, to a raging inferno. He lifted his head, and then flicked it forward, loosing the Fire Blast attack. That wasn’t really a great success, he thought critically. It wasn’t; he really had to work on that attack. The fireball had flown half-heartedly through the air, landing between two of the Weavile with a pitiful pfft. The only purpose it had really serves was as a distraction, but it was enough. Absol focused his mind on the elemental powers at his core, drawing them out and moulding them quickly into a whirling tornado.
The Weavile were recovering from their unpleasant surprise. They might be swift, but mentally, they were a bit slow. The Razor Wind swept two of them up, hurling them into the third. All three fell in an ungainly heap, but quickly extricated themselves, hissing angrily as they returned to their original formation. The one in the centre began to form a Shadow Ball between its claws, and the other two followed suit immediately. Within seconds, all three Shadow Balls were flung towards Absol at great speed. He waited for them to come near, and then leaped, pushing off hard from the dusty ground and springing several feet in the air. He soared majestically through the air, landing behind the Weavile as the Shadow Balls collided with each other exactly where he had been standing, causing a sizable explosion.
Absol turned to face the Weavile as they whirled around to seek him. The moon burst out from behind a cloud, sending a ray of pure white light down upon Absol. With the eerie light of the full moon casting shadows upon his face, he looked quite terrifying. The Weavile backed off slightly, regarding him warily. This was an opponent not to be trifled with, they realised now.
“Finish him,” came a voice, cold, clear and commanding. Absol jerked his head around, eyeing this new potential threat. He couldn’t make out many details; he saw a dark figure, standing calmly on the brow of a hill several yards away. The head seemed oddly shapeless, so he guessed it was wearing a hood. He also made out the blurry outline of what appeared to be a large scabbard, hanging from the stranger’s belt. Scabbard meant sword, and sword meant –
Absol paused. He had bad memories of swords. As he eyed the figure warily, the long, dark scar that ran along his side seemed to twinge at the very thought. A long time ago... it had been such a long time ago...
It was as if he was being sucked down a tunnel, a long, murky tunnel of memory. It had been a cloudy night like this, six years ago. Absol had been on a mission known only to himself, when he had had an unfortunate meeting with an old enemy. A fierce battle had ensued, eventually leaving Absol the victor; however, he had been badly wounded. His foe’s razor-sharp sword had sliced Absol along his left flank, but it had been the man’s dying act; even though in agony, Absol had swung his head around and gutted him with the scythe-like blade that protruded from his skull. Leaving his opponent to die on the ground, Absol had staggered away, leaving a trail of blood behind. He had almost died that night...
A sudden whssh startled him from his reverie, and he threw himself instinctively to one side as the lead Weavile attempted to take him down with a Night Slash. Unfortunately, he dodged directly into the path of the second Weavile’s X-Scissor. The Bug-type move pulverized Absol, but he somehow managed to stay standing, glaring defiantly at his opponents. He would keep fighting. He would continue to resist, and he would beat them all, he could tell. However, he had forgotten about the third Weavile. That is, until he was hit from behind by its Focus Blast.
Absol lay, semi-conscious, in the dirt. He tried to stand, but his limbs failed him, causing him to collapse painfully once more. A pair of heavy brown boots came into his rapidly fading field of vision, and Absol forced himself to look up, into the face of the mysterious figure with the sword. It was as if his old enemy had come back to haunt him. Absol’s breath came in ragged gasps. The figure simply stood and looked at him for a moment. After a few painful seconds, it pulled back its hood, revealing the face beneath.
It was a woman, a woman with wispy, fair blonde hair and deep black eyes set harshly against pale skin, he saw by the suddenly bright moonlight. Under normal circumstances, she would have been pretty, but all chance of that was dashed by the cold, hard look on her face. She regarded Absol with undisguised hatred, as if he were something pure evil, something to be despised. He growled feebly at her, but she simply laughed, obviously not intimidated in the slightest. Absol winced; the high, cold laugh had hurt his ears. As if this was the final trigger, his vision clouded over completely, and Absol lost all awareness, drifting away... drifting...