*sai* One more yet-to-be-finished fic before hitting the hay. ~,~;
Chapter Zero—Darkness Flows Through Night
In the dark of night, two figures stood in a field, under a moon with a certain bloodlusty sheen that lent the entire scene with the feel of evil. The air hung dense in its place, the night air unmoving and humid. This fazed the first a bit, but seemed not to bother the other.
The first was a pachyderm by species, but not by spirit. The sheer size of its opponent did not frighten it. Or so it seemed.
This opponent was a dark one, indeed, its eyes the only light from its otherwise shadow of a form. It stood tall, around seven feet, and wore a cloak that looked as though it were made with the tapestry of night. Its narrow, golden eyes glowed with an evil flame, lending an air to its countenance that struck fear in those who spectated such a creature. And yet still the elephant stood its ground.
"Phantill, Rollout!" a third exclaimed from a short distance. At once the elephant rolled up into a tight wheel, and, using the treads along its back and snout, it raced off at an insane speed o'er the ground at its opponent.
The figure did not move, but instead took the full force of the attack. The cloth went flying, landing in a heap a few feet away.
Rounding back in a single, wide turn, the Donphan called Phantill came up to inspect its opponent's condition after the attack. There was but the cloak that was left.
A chill went down Phantill's spine at seeing that its opponent was gone. The thought that it had obliterated it ran through its mind once, but upon remembering those eyes....
The third figure, Phantill's trainer, who was a boy by the name of Tarrœl, broke a cold sweat at seeing what he saw, his mouth dropping open to speak, but his terror shattered the words, wiping them from his tongue before they could escape his lips.
Phantill squealed its elephantine cry of fear when it felt a hot, steamy breath rushing down upon it. When it gained the courage to look up, it found a shadow looming o'er it, with eyes that were a deep, evil gold. Again the pachyderm squealed, racing away from the creature that had somehow survived the hit.
"G—g—gg—et away from my Donphan, you beast!" Tarrœl squeaked, rushing up behind the shade that chased after Phantill. It turned and looked down upon him with absolute hatred in its glare. Again Tarrœl was paralysed.
And he witnessed the demise of his beloved Pokémon; the shade feasted on the Donphan. There hadn't been much of a fight—a single slice from the beast's claws had felled it. When nothing but scraps remained, the creature turned again to Tarrœl.
"I don't particularly enjoy being called a beast," it snarled, its voice that of a youthful woman.
When the youth of about twelve years of age regained his senses, he tore away from the place, leaving only the carcass of the fallen Phantill that could speak of the incident's true nature.
There was a tavern in the town of Blackthorn. It was sort of run down, and the lights were dim, lending a wholely depressing atmosphere to the place.
There sat a boy in his late teens in the farthest corner, hovering distantly o'er a cup of hot tea. His pale gold hair hung down, concealing his face. He arrayed in many shades tan.
A man in all white came to sit across the table from him with a glass of liquor.
"What ails ye, son?" he mused in a dark, gruff voice.
The youth picked his head up, the light from the overhead lamp spilling onto his face, revealing him to be about seventeen. His eyes shone crystal blue, as pallid as his hair. But his flesh was so ghostly pale that the man could scarcely keep from staring at him in disbelief that he could possibly be anything but made of plaster.
"It's been five years today..." he replied, melancholy. The bags under his eyes showed all the more as he said this.
"Five years have passed since she killed my Pokémon...."
This perplexed and frightened the man. Fearful of the youth's response, he quaivered to inquire, "W—who?"
"The beast. She devoured my Donphan as if he were a mere head of cattle." A tear came to his eye and fell down his cheek. "Phantill was my best Pokémon, you know? Since then, I haven't lifted so much as a finger to training."
"C—could ye describe this creacher te meh?"
"Her eyes were a dark, evil gold." He shivered at remembering. "She seemed to be catlike in the way she moved—so agile! And her voice... she sounded like a siren of the seas!"
At hearing this, the man was beside himself both with guilt and with despair. He could not choose whether to tell the boy what he knew. But he was eager to hear the man's response, and, hesitantly, he indulged his information to him.
"They call her... Three."
"Three?" Tarrœl inquired, his dolourous spirits slightly piqued.
"Yes," the man replied. "She sold her soul to the Umbreon to be what she is today." The boy's eyes widened. "She possesses the body of malice, and the power of pure evil. Her heart went with her spirit, and thus nothing concerns her save what's hers."
"I cannot believe that such a human exists!"
"Ah, but you forget," he chided. "She isn't human."
After a moment of silence, the boy wondered, "You have yet to tell me your name."
"Some call me Korun," he mumbled, stroking his smooth chin with his long, wiry fingers.
"Then, Korun, sir, I am grateful that you have told me of my foe. I must tell you that I shall always continue to strive to destroy her."
"Ah, you'll never be able to lay a finger on that beast," Korun muttered, slightly amused by the youth.
This enfuriated the boy. "You do know that you're a rude one to say such a thing to me, do you not? You seem to have come over to me only to aggravate me!"
"I came over to you because I needed companionship for a few fleeting moments. I am but a lonely, old man. I apologise for upsetting you, boy, but I tell you the truth. Three has never been defeated by any mere mortal."
"Then I shall seek aid from the gods!" Tarrœl exclaimed, grasping at straws to appease the old man's insatiable thirst for extinguishing his hopes.
"You truly believe the gods will help one lowly mortal seek vengeance upon a being which is protected by the Umbreon? I should think not."
"I can pray, can I not?"
"I suppose you can, but it won't do you much good."
After a moment, a thought crept through Tarrœl's mind that made his hair stand on end, a plan.
"You said that Three has never been defeated by any mere mortal, correct, old man?"
Though he nodded in assent, Korun had no idea at what he hinted.
"You do not seem to understand my thoughts. I now see a clear way for I myself to defeat Three."
"And what would that be?" Korun was not sold.
"The eternal rival to the Umbreon are the Espeon, correct?"
Again a nod, this time more cognative than before. The elderly man then saw. "Boy, you are stark mad!" he upstarted. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?!"
Grinning in a delirium, the youth leapt to his feet, slapping his hands down upon the table with a loud thud as he glared insanely at Korun.
"But of course I do, old Korun! Only an Espeon can defeat an Umbreon!"
With this, Tarrœl threw a flurry of silver on the table for payment for his drink then ran out the door of the tavern in a flash.
"That boy is insane, he is," Korun mumbled aside, staring at the door as it closed shut.