Tales of Mossdeep
He doesn’t look like much. A timid teenager, with wiry hair and lack of muscle. His eyes leap around the room, his sight never remaining on anything for long enough to take something in. He wears sagging trousers, some “ironic” t-shirt and a backwards cap in a cut-and-paste attempt to be a fad. He keeps on fidgeting, palms coated with sweat.
Upon seeing the huge Mossdeep gym arena, his attitude has been quashed somewhat. He wishes that he’d caught that Murkow; its immunity would come in handy here. But the little bugger had flown off, leaving him several ultra-balls down. Still, he’ll just have to make the best of his current team. He’s already gotten four badges with them after all.
“The Challenge will now begin!” a hidden loudspeaker booms, causing him to do something unmanly.
He composes himself, humming a tune in order to calm his nerves. The last he needs is for his commands to come out as gibbering. You’re the Mikey, who totally owned Watson’s three watt arse. Why Mike can take on a pair of toddlers now can’t he? Yeah! They’re going down, no questions asked. The gym trainers? Easy meat that shouldn't even be factored in. He thinks to himself.
This thinking may be suicidal and over confident, but since when did modesty get you the badges? Hell, Wallace is the most overblown person ever to stride the earth.
“You, Mike Harrison, will battle three trainers, before taking on the leader in double battle. There are a set of rules in these matches,”
Mike listens, trying to find the speaker, but he finds nothing. He shrugs. Doesn't matter anyway, if these people want to hide, they can. They’ll just have to weep in the shadows when he kicks all there arses.
“Firstly, you cannot use more than one Pokémon of the same species, so no teams of six Magikarp, mmm kay?” The sounds different this time, less foreboding and happier.
“Sister! You’ll ruin everything!” A voice that sounds like the first voice says.
“Look, I want to add some fun to this, you’re such a crap announcer. Why can’t we get good ones?”
“Because we have to pay for our university fees. We’re lucky we kept our license after last year. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Fine, fine! You comment. I’ll just go off somewhere. Fuck the double battle!”
Mike winces, having heard every word.
“No, Liza, wait. I’m sorry!” The voice sounds like it is pleading.
“Thank you Tate,”
There is a long pause. Sibling bickering? Really? Talk about breaking the mould. Now he knows this gym will be a breeze. What can psychic types do anyway, mumbo jumbo him to death?
“Ahem! You cannot use any X Drugs, and you are limited to three disposable items. You may not have duplicate held items. If you wish to forfeit a Pokémon from a match, press the green button near you,”
X-Drugs? What are X-Drugs? Judging by their illegality in this match, he assumes that they are black market. Maybe Tony knows something; he’s in with that sort of crowd. A rumbling can be heard and Mike watches as a small pit in the ground opens up and a little tower with a large green button on it rises from it.
“You may use your team of six Pokémon in these three matches. Each of your opponents shall use one Pokémon. You will not be healed between matches. Two of your Pokémon will be selected by you to fight myself and my teammate,”
“Do you understand? Puny mortal!” The speaker booms through a fit of giggles.
Mike nods, before gripping his first ball and thumbing the activation button, causing it to swell in his hand. This Pokémon is gonna wreck your psi shit!
“Very well, the first match shall be against Gym Trainer Lustrous,”
From the far side of the field, the ground opens, sending a few tremors across the field. Three glass pods arise from the gap, each one containing a gym trainer. Each one opens cleanly and without sound. Three trainers step out, with two remaining at the back. The third steps out, swaying her hips rhythmically. Damn! She is so hot! The last thing he needs is for an inopportune erection to spout. Her hair is dyed purple, and she wearing a similar outfit to him, only the saying was actually ironic. Her whole body is something that draws hungry gazes towards it and her top hugged every inch of here body, emphasizing the size of her breasts. She smiles at him and he nods back, fearing that anything coming out of his mouth would be idiotic.
Dammit! He’s here to win, not to play dates. He composes himself, mental blocking off her beauty. She’s just something to step over, nothing more.
“The match will now begin!” The loudspeaker booms again.
“Magenton! Show them you’re the best!” Mike sends his pokéball forward, thumbing the centre and watching a trail of white light burst forth.
“Mag-ne-ton,” The Pokémon that emerges from the blaze of white light mutters.
It has three eyes, each on attached to a silver node, which are stuck together in a triangle shape. A total of six magnets are attached to edge of its body, rotating with its movements. It floats with electromagnetism above the ground. He laughs, nothing can weather its tri-attack and its thunderbolts are second to none.
“Kadabra!” she commands, flinging her ball forward.
A golden, like Pokémon floats in a lotus pose above the ground. Its body looks thin, its limbs weak. It clasps two spoons in its hands, which bend forward and backwards slowly. It is a golden brown color, with a large bushy tail. Its eyes remain closed, the star on its forehead pulsing in and out. Its concentration seems so deep, its body barely moving, that Mike thinks for a moment it might be dead. Then he sees the steady rising of its chest and the gentle flickering of its mustache.
Right, don’t be gentle; beat this spoony fucker to the ground! Hit it like a truck and leave no room for error.
“Magenton! Tri-attack” He bellows, leaping in the air and thrusting his arm forward.
“Ton!” It screams, each magnet rotating frantically,
A dance of flames, a crescendo of thunder and a flurry of ice glide towards the figure, which doesn’t make any indication to move. Its trainer smiles at him again, causing Mike to shuffle awkwardly. Should he have attacked the Kadabra? Surely something just waiting for an attack would have a brutal counter attack? Thunder wave would have been better, it takes less power and it would make Tri-attack work for sure.
The blast hits it full on, causing it fall into a heap of shivering, singed and twitching limbs. He can hear the sound of flash crackling and parts of its body is encased in ice. Woah. He knew Kadabra weren’t castles when it came to defence, but he didn’t expect them to be this weak.
Inhumane sounds escape from its lips, and it is lying in a pool of blood. It moves pathetically, barely stretching its limbs forward.
Mike fights the urge to vomit, eying the noxious substance. Guilt wells up inside him and he wonders if his Pokémon has killed it. He looks up at it nervously. It just floats there, not taking anything from the carnage. He shudders, its creepy movements unnerving him. Watson’s Voltorb sure as hell didn’t look as scary when it blasted his Zubat with shockwaves.
“Shit, I’m sorry!” he wails, all potential emotions spilling out at once like a sewage vomiting into the open sea.
“Kadabra! Recover. Lick your wounds!”
It weakly flexes its hand and nothing happens. Then it stops shivering, slowly making its way to its feet. The burns across its body simply disappear, as if they were mere stains. The shocks running through its limbs halt altogether and it looks as the blow never came. Disturbing though, the blood is still pooled at its feet.
“Fuck!” Mike panics, forgetting to give a command, arms flailing like an electrocuted windmill.
“Game,” Lustrous says, as the Kadabra bends both its spoons.
Magenton screams as it is brutally torn in three, each node struggling against the arcane power. Massive power surges burst several lights and the loudspeaker curses.
The attack stops, leaving Magenton so weakened that it plummets to the floor, Mike calling it back.
Damn, that Kadabra is gonna be a problem. He needs aim for a kill, to take it down once and for all. All he needs is a power attack, to smash it before it can recover
“Duskull! Destroy it!” He yells, sending another ball forward.
“Skulllll,” It moans, eye bouncing around in its socket.
To say Duskull gives him the creeps would be a major understatement. Like most ghost types, Duskull has plenty of campfire stories about it, not any of them pleasant. The ghost is small, roughly the size of his head and shoulders and barely weighs five pounds. The whole of its body is a single, oddly shaped skull wrapped in an ethereal cowl.
“Duskull, double team!” He yells, pumping his fists up.
There is a blur of motion, and then over one hundred Duskull appear around Kadabra, who eyes them nervously. Ha! He knew putting those extra hours into making double team this powerful would be worth it.
“Now! Illusion barrage!”
Kadabra gasps as all the Duskulls float towards it, limiting its movement. It manages to blast a couple with lightning, which fade instantly when hit.
Then Kadabra vanishes, all of the illusions gone in a massive burst of psychic energy. Duskull remains away from the blast, floating several feet above Kadabra.
“Was that a strategy? Don’t think too hard!” Lustrous taunts.
“Scary face!” He yells, adrenaline pumping through him.
Kadabra makes a motion as if shot, as an image of Duskull’s face burns itself into its retinas. It tries to shakes of the image, but this only makes Duskull stronger. Pure fear is flowing through Kadabra’s brain, making it unable to attack.
“Now Duskull, Night shade!”
A bolt of ethereal energy fires from Duskull’s eye socket, hitting Kadabra with a low fizzle. It topples over, spoon comically whacking it on the head.
“Kadabra is knocked out!” The loudspeaker booms.
“You’ll pay!” Lustrous spits, storming off.
“The second match will be against Gym Trainer Harry,”
The second trainer looks like Mike, ten kilograms bulkier, half a foot taller and with a killer dress sense. There isn’t a single item of clothing that costs less than 100 poképounds, be it his expensive leather jacket or mirror shine shoes. Oddly enough, his hair is silver white already. His face looks tough, eyes acting as if no sight surprises them.
“Metagross, show him real power!” He shouts, watching as his powerhouse emerges.
“Wait, what is that thing?” Mike asks, getting his Pokédex out.
“Metagross, the Iron leg Pokémon. The evolved form of Metang, 1.6 Metres tall, 550 kilograms. Steel-Psychic types. General power level, nine. Metagross has a total of for brains and despite the fact it weighs near to a tonne it can float effortlessly by tucking its limbs into its body. Would you like further information?” The Dex says.
“No,” He mutters, confidence drained from the information.
A level nine? Damn! How the hell is he supposed to take it on? He looks it over. Four large iron legs, with three claws at their base, silver coat with a large golden cross across its body. Maw just below the X and two piercing eyes just above that. It looks like it can take on his whole team.
And it does.
Winning, no less.
A single blow from its massive claw had smashed Duskull. Hitmonchan’s punches barely dented it, and he was broken by a wave of psychic energy. Lombre was simply one-shotted by Hyper Beam, obliterating its leech seed in the process. Phanphy, bless its pachyderm heart, tried to hit it with everything. It spat mud; shot shards of ice, rolled around at it and even cried for a bit. Alas, the Pokémon was barely the size of its claw, and was swatted away like a backhanded tennis ball. His last Pokémon, Bayleaf, did manage to pull off a solar beam on it, but a lack of sunlight meant that the attack’s true power couldn’t be unleashed. A wave of intense pressure crushed it, breaking two of its legs. The moan it let out is the kind of thing that loves to make its home in nightmares.
One thing is clear. His team aren’t going to be fighting for a while. But he’ll be back, oh he’ll be back. Nothing can stop Mike, not wind, not rain and not iron crab murder-machines.
“Man, this sucks!” Tate exclaims, taking a sip from his soda.
“Oh pipe down! What, was that fight against this Squeaky person not good enough for you?”
“That was four months ago sister. We haven’t had a competent challenger since,”
“Maybe Steven would be willing,”
Tate shakes his head. Liza nods in return. Steven, the sixteenth champion of Hohen, is notorious for his Pokémon’s defense. Battling him is like fighting a mountain, it’ll hardly ever directly fight back, but boy can it weather countless blows.
“Well I’m going to visit him today. You coming?” Liza asks, typing something on her computer.
“I think I’ll get drunk,” Tate replies, getting up and walking out of the room.
Liza rolls her eyes and continues to type, responding to various messages in a chat forum. She is nineteen years old and she and her brother were the youngest gym leaders ever, at just twelve years old. She isn’t wearing her gym attire; such clothes haven’t been worn in weeks. Tate is right; they need to get competent challengers and fast. Money is running dry and they are slowly sinking off the map. Hell, some people are even going to challenge Juan first! Short of an expensive airline ticket, Sotopolis city is the hardest gym town to get to, requiring expensive diving equipment and a strong swimming Pokémon. On top of that, the gym fee is simply fatal and his team leaves no room for slackers. Why the hell are they often the last to challenge then? Maybe it is the lack of strong dark types in Hohen. Sure Migthyena is good, but Houndoom is better, and they are only distributed into the safari zone from limited periods of time.
Liza has the body of a pin up model, along with her brother Tate. Tall, long, deep hair, soft, white skin. The two were blessed with good genes and a confidence beyond their years. To survive this job you need the second. That and money. She spins around on the chair a second time, letting her fingers run across her hair.
“You have mail Mistress,” Her Porygon 2 says, its bodiless voice coming out of the speaker in a calm and respectful tone.
“Thank you, Helios,” She says, opening up said mail.
Her face falls.
This is just great, she thought she was rid of them, evidently, she is not. She takes her phone out, sending out a short text to Steven, saying how she was busy and couldn't make it to see him.
Then, she takes Golduck’s and Gothia’s pokéballs from her shelf clips them to her belt with four others and goes to see her brother.
It isn't every day you bump into the former champion, but Mike does. It takes him by complete surprise.
“Are you alright?” Steven Stone asks, tapping the boy on the shoulder, his legs dangling over the cliffs.
Mike leaps up and swears the kind of swearing from somebody who was used to using them. The worst of it is drowned out by the consistent pounding of the waves on the rocks.
“I’m fine; I mean you’re Steven fucking Stone!”
Mike looks the man over. Mid-forties, grey hair, tall, thin, black eyes. Dressed like a… jogger? The concept is baffling; champions don’t do normal people things. They spend their time posing for magazine shots and standing on pedestals being shat on by Pidoves.
“You got beat pretty bad,” Steven says, coming to sit next to the boy.
Is that pop music coming from his earplugs?
“It’s not even on the TV yet,” Mike says, frowning.
“Thank you for the conformation. I've seen many come here. You can always tell they've lost. They sulk for a bit, kick a rock, swear then storm off,”
“I didn’t even get to the leader. Man I got my arse kicked pretty bad back there,”
“Your Pokémon got their “arses” kicked, not you. You’ll never stand a chance at defeating the eight unless you understand that your Pokémon are your friends in this. Not just helpers, but friends,”
“Steven sir, I don’t know what the help you’re yapping about,”
“Tell me, young man, the story of your team,”
“Well, I’ll guess I’ll start with…”