ACL: 23. Out of the Frying Pan(Pan) (Patreon)

Chapter 23: Out of the Frying Pan(Pan)

Brockton Bay, NH, USA
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Type: Fire

The start of a new month began with fire, literally in my case. There was a deep, satisfying warmth in my spirit, one that banished the brisk, morning chill. Because of the way I'd used arcanine to dismantle Hookwolf, fire was one of my most infamous types. I chose to take it as a sign that this month would be a good one.

School was… explosive. I hadn’t realized just how big a hit PMD: Legacy of Steel would be, but it was huge. Not only was it a completely free game, it was a game that featured local heroes and villains, or at least blatant parodies of them. And thanks to porygon-2 effectively allowing me to play with computer code like clay, it had none of the glitches commonly found among new game titles.

I walked to class, ears on a swivel as the school gossipped about the game.

“I’m at the Quail final fight. Why the fuck is Registeel so strong? 150 defenses across the board? What the hell?”

“Heh, that’s because you rushed the story, man. Watch, I’ll beat it fine.”

“Fuck off, you’re not even past the second arc yet.”

“Speaking of side quests, has anyone figured out what Uber and Leet are supposed to be?”

“They’re doduo. You can get their pokemon snapshot as a hidden reward if you clear their fight in under five minutes?”

“It’s Ulcer & Leek, guys, come on. Any commonality is just a coincidence.”

“God, I swear Menagerie is such a troll.”

“Hehehe, have you seen Amy? She looked super embarrassed.”

“Why? That was so sweet! Her superhero boyfriend made an entire video game just for her.”

I swelled with pride at the whispers flying around. It felt good knowing I made something most everyone enjoyed. That it also simultaneously tweaked the noses of the entire cape community was a bonus.

Then, as I got ready to go to lunch, I noticed that the whispers had died down.

An ominous chill ran down my back. It felt a lot like the time in Mt. Pyre when I had to deal with a horde of banette.

Slowly, I turned around to find Amy Dallon. She was smiling. The way her face pinched was indeed, technically, a smile. And yet, it was the face of a demon that greeted me. Not a hint of joy was to be found in that face. Her eyes promised a fate the likes of which would be whispered about for generations.

“Blake, buddy ol’ pal,” she said with a saccharine voice. She hooked an arm around me and dragged me away from the lunch cafeteria. “Let’s talk, shall we?”

She dragged me out of the school, probably starting a dozen new rumors about her “cheating” on Menagerie, and behind some dumpster.

I searched desperately for a way out. Then I got it. She opened her mouth to start on what would no doubt be a tirade for the ages, only for me to stick an eraser in her mouth.

“Wha-What the hell, Blake?” she sputtered. I had a few seconds to act so I talked fast.

“I want to take out Coil today.”

“What?”

“Shh! I think it’s time. I have fire today. Do you have any idea how much broken bullshit I can do as fire?”

“You think you ca-”

I placed a finger over her lips. “Nu-uh. Nope. You can lecture me about the game later. I’ve got a snake to catch, capiche?”

She looked murderous for a bit, but her temper cooled as I talked. It wasn’t like she was going to keep me from an operation just to yell at me. She wasn’t that petty.

Was I using Coil as an excuse to avoid Amy’s rant? Yes.

Was it petty as hell? Yes.

Did I regret it? Fuck no, I’d never been good with angry women.

X

As soon as I escaped (postponed) Amy’s wrath, I ducked into my base. Emily had left a note for me, telling me how she was off to the university to see their art club’s free exhibit on impressionism. I didn’t even know what impressionism was, but so long as she was happy, I was happy.

I held out a palm to the sky as I reached for the fire within. “Shift, kirlia!”

And suddenly I was the ruby-eyed psychic, one of the most sought after pokemon in the Hoenn region and the pre-evolution of my beloved Titania.

This form felt natural. I knew that, just as when I’d turned into riolu, lucario, tyrantrum, and gardevoir, I would be able to use its powers to the fullest. It felt as if I was home again, embraced once more by my team, my family.

Of all my teammates, Titania was the most strategic in her behavior. Where we all excelled at combat, she was proactive, often advising me to change course so that I might avoid combat altogether. She was a gentle soul who sought to protect as many people as possible. It only seemed right then that a kirlia would be the one to track down Coil.

I focused deeply. Unlike in my human form, meditation came naturally to a kirlia. As I was, I found it the simplest thing in the world to slip into a trance.

Aura, it was everywhere. It was everything. It spoke to the mind, body, and spirit. It shaped all creation through the Thousand Hands of Arceus.

It also influenced luck.

No one truly understood it, but it was a known phenomenon. Some pokemon were just luckier than others, inexplicably so. It was to the point that people shrugged, called it “Super Luck” and moved on.

But while some pokemon seemed to naturally have that quality, others could influence luck more subtly. Lucky Chant, a literal prayer for a miracle influenced by aura, to the Origin of All.

And kirlia could use it.

It began as a wordless, nameless flicker of power. Slowly, as aura gathered in my crests, I willed it into being, a voiceless prayer of goodwill. Unbidden, a quiet song flowed from my lips, almost but not quite a hymn to the god of all pokemon.

A curtain of power settled around me. It was an indescribable sensation, but one I knew would keep me and all my allies safe. I stretched out my senses across the city with a big smile, knowing that even here, in this world barren of aura, the Origin of All heard me.

X

I found Coil in his base beneath the Forsberg Gallery. His psychic signature wasn’t hard to track now that I’d gotten a feel for it in his home. I didn’t know what he was up to, but this was the first time in days that I’d seen him there. Usually, he arranged for matters away from his base, probably so he could have an alibi. Or maybe because he needed his power in his civilian guise.

I immediately called up Dragon and Lady Photon.

Menagerie: Coil is in his base. I’d like to grab him immediately.

Dragon: Menagerie? Are you sure? How can you know that?

Menagerie: Thinker powers. Dragon, do you have time to devote to this operation at the moment?

Dragon: I do. I advise against going in alone however.

Lady Photon: He won’t. I’ve agreed to help him. Brandish will put in notice and return early. Manpower and Flashbang will be ready as well. Laserdream has been called out of class so she can watch over Dinah one final time.

Dragon: You’re putting a lot of faith in him.

Lady Photon: I believe he can do what he’s promised.

Dragon: Very well. Will you not involve the Protectorate?

Menagerie: I have reason to believe Coil is deeply entrenched into the PRT. Anything they know, he’ll know. I would like to begin this as a stealth operation first.

Menagerie: Lady Photon, please have New Wave gather around the Forsberg Gallery without drawing attention. I will enter the base as a stranger and insert Dragon’s virus into their systems. Dragon, how much time do you need to compromise their systems?

Dragon: Six minutes at most. The virus opens a gate not unlike a VPN. Even if their network is completely offline, I will have access to their entire system in seconds. It shouldn’t take much longer than that to disarm any contingencies Coil might have.

Menagerie: That’s fine. After that, can you remain online to direct us? Without any bombs, I should be able to flush them out towards an exit of our choice. We’ll pincer them in.

Lady Photon: And what about his power? He can just split the timeline, right?

Dragon: Not necessarily. Menagerie seems to have caught him with his pants down. I’ve just found police reports saying the Undersiders have begun a jewelry store robbery near the business district. They are Coil’s puppets, correct?

Menagerie: Unknowingly, but yes. If he’s ensuring that the Undersiders’ robbery goes off without a hitch, he’s stuck in his base as overwatch.

Lady Photon: And if he tries to refocus on us, we’ve already made up our minds to attack and he’s already in one location.

Dragon: Precisely. Very well, Menagerie, I am confident in your plan.

Menagerie: Thank you, both of you. Please pass my regards to the rest of New Wave, Lady Photon.

X

The Forsberg Gallery was beautiful, a building of postmodern angles and pristine white. It was also the biggest entrance to Coil’s base, which was why I had no intention of going through that door. What kind of sneaky-sneak went through the front door anyway?

Not me. Not chandelure.

I was a sneaky-sneak, the friendly ghost who haunted mansions. And ate souls. And doomed people to wander the mortal plane for eternity by burning their spirits.

Okay, so perhaps chandelure wasn’t the friendliest of pokemon. It did look pretty damn cool though. And, with its atypical body profile, I probably wouldn’t even be recognizable as a cape in the first place if I just chose to remain still with my fires off.

Not that I planned to ever be visible in the first place. Ghosts were cool like that.

Which was why I wasn’t at the Forsberg Gallery. Instead, I was acting like a proper sneak. I’d been here before after all.

Coil’s base had four exits, one on each floor. The main one led out of the gallery parking lot. Another could be accessed through the basement of a luxury apartment called the Towers. A third was in an office building, one of those consulting companies that no one was sure the purpose of but everyone swore “added value.”

The last? The last was in an abandoned warehouse in ABB territory. It was well-positioned to shuffle goods in and out of the city without drawing attention.

It was also well-positioned to let in chandelure the fuck-you-and-your-entire-family ghost.

Coil’s base was shaped like a four-layer hexagon. The man didn’t have an office because, in reality, he had six. He was so goddamn paranoid that the majority of his own men had no idea which office he occupied at any given moment, if he occupied any at all. Only his most trusted lieutenants knew where he was, giving him a great deal of operational security.

Or something. That was probably his reasoning. What did I know? I wasn’t a criminal mastermind.

No, what I did know was that if I picked one of those offices at random, it was almost guaranteed to be empty. Further, since I knew Coil was in a different office, it was also guaranteed to not have any visitors in the near future.

Which meant that so long as I could get through the defenses, such as a shaped charge meant to blow if anyone tried to force open the door, I could have my own private sanctum inside Coil’s base.

So, being the devious, sneaky-sneak ghost I was, that was exactly what I did. I headed straight through the abandoned warehouse and beelined towards the nearest office. I poked my head in, confirmed that there was no one, and phased through the wall. Because no matter how thorough Coil’s internal security was, he just wasn’t prepared to deal with a fully evolved ghost type.

The office was remarkably bare-bones, as if Coil didn’t actually value the space at all. Which, in hindsight, was probably the case. There was a computer, six monitors, and not much else. Nothing indicated that a person worked here at all.

Switching back, I turned on the computer. It asked for a password I didn’t know. Thankfully, I had a tinker to deal with this mess. I plugged in the USB and watched as the screen was replaced with Dragon’s logo.

In seconds, whatever virus program had been on the USB had cracked the password, giving me access to Coil’s files. The screen went dark and white text began to fly by. As a not-porygon, it was all over my head, but I did know what [hijacking host network] and [transmitting access codes to external network] meant.

The computer crackled slightly as the mic went online.

“Hello? Dragon?” I called.

“Hello, Menagerie. It is a pleasure to speak with you again,” she said through the speaker. “I have unrestricted access to Coil’s systems and have begun downloading his files for evidence.”

“That’s great. How long will it take for you to disarm the bombs?”

“Just a few minutes, please. It looks like you were right. There are seven bombs, one built into each lode-bearing pillar with the largest at the center. Have you done investigative work before?”

I chuckled sheepishly. “Some, I wouldn’t say I’m an expert though.”

Technically, if you squinted, my campaign against Team Flare could be considered investigative. It probably included a lot more Hyper Beams and a lot less corporate espionage than Dragon was thinking though.

The two of us shot the breeze while her program did its thing.

“So, Menagerie, I’ve noticed you recently had a game made of your pokemon,” Dragon began. “Do you mind if I ask you who made it? The story is great, but it’s the code that’s truly interesting to me.”

“The code?”

“Yes, I couldn’t help taking a peak behind the program and I noticed that I’d never seen it before. It uses familiar programming languages most of the time, making it compatible with current systems, but at some points, such as the final boss, it deviates into a language I’m unfamiliar with.”

“I don’t follow, Dragon.”

“Hmm… How should I explain… If the game is a book, it’s as if the text is in English, only for some sections to be written in a foreign language. Except, rather than end up a chaotic mess, the two languages support each other seamlessly. It’s not just a good game, the programming is as close to art as computer science can get. I’d even go as far as to say that the tinker who made your game is like Van Gogh,” she gushed.

I… had a problem… I’d heard some people wonder online how I’d made a game so quickly, within a month of my debut. Many of them guessed that I had a tinker friend, but I hadn’t thought Dragon herself would show interest in the work of a porygon-2.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Hahaha, me? An artist? Van Gogh? Sorry to disappoint you, Dragon, but I’m actually terrible at art.”

“You made the game?”

“I did say so, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t realize your power had a tinker form.”

“I do. It’s called porygon and I can use it to manipulate code like clay. It’s a technopath and I was able to make the game in just six hours.”

“Truly?”

“Yeah, sorry to disappoint you. There isn’t a tinker friend I’m keeping in my back pocket.”

“Your powers are strange. I can see why the PRT so desperately wants you in for testing.”

“Yeah, that’s never going to happen.”

“I figured,” she said with a rueful chuckle. “Have you explored your tinker side at all?”

“Curious?”

“Very. You are the first changer with a tinker power, you know.”

“I could’ve guessed, yeah. Say, speaking of tinkertech, how would you like replicable teleport pads and hammerspace backpacks?”

That brought her up short. “Excuse me?”

“I have those. Or, I know how to build those. I’m actually dirt poor, only have $1,500 to my name, so I think you can do a lot more with these blueprints than I can.”

“Tinkertech  isn’t replicable, Menagerie.”

“Mine are. Pretty sure. So, want to give them a look?”

“I-Yes, yes I’d love to see more of your work. We can talk more about this in the future, but if your tech is as reliable as you think, I think we can do something about your financial situation as well.”

“Great, thank you. How far are you with Coil’s system?”

“Coil’s system?” Dragon laughed. It was a downright malicious sound from a woman I generally knew to be friendly. “You mean my system.”

“I take it Coil’s been a naughty boy then?”

“Oh, yes. I have a great deal of information. Not one member of his organization can be considered innocent. And you were right to exclude the PRT. Are you aware of his civilian identity?”

“I did track him,” I confirmed. “The unwritten rules are unwritten, but that just means I need a bit more evidence before acting on my own.”

“Evidence you now have, Menagerie. Don’t worry about the bombs or the exits. I’ve disarmed them all and  sealed all but the Forsberg entrance. I’ve also sent out a recall notice to all his men. They will think the orders came from Coil and will be back on-site in the next ten minutes. After that, as you Americans say: Give them hell.”

“Wow, shit must really be bad in those files, huh?”

“You have no idea. Be warned, you can expect forty-two mercenaries as well as one Mr. Pitter.”

“Who?”

“He is wanted for the murder of his wife. According to records, Coil killed his wife for him and cleaned up the evidence to recruit him.”

“Got it, even his support staff are scum.”

“It seems so.”

“So are they all back yet?”

“They are. What are you going to do?”

I looked at the camera with a sinister grin, only to remember she couldn’t see my face through the helmet. I coughed awkwardly. “Ah… What do you know about horror movies?”

“You’re terrible… I like it.”

I laughed cruelly and took stock of all the fire and ghost types. There was a surprising amount. “Ceruledge... Skeledirge… Chandelure... Alolan marowak… Hisuian typhlosion… Let’s just throw in ninetales too… Oh, and I should go for Coil first. Wouldn’t want him bolting somehow. Yup, this should be fun.”

X

Thomas Calvert

“Withdraw, the PRT have been notified. Velocity ETA three minutes,” I spoke into my phone. Before me sat four monitors. One showed key locations throughout the base. Two more were dedicated to different reports coming in from my various holdings. A fourth provided a direct link to PRT and Protectorate scuttlebutt.

“Guys, heroes are coming. Two minutes,” I heard Tattletale relay to her team.

I watched from a camera held by one of my men on a nearby rooftop across both timelines. In one timeline, I had Grue take his team southwest towards the business district. Police activity was higher there, but Grue’s smoke would make escape from unpowered law enforcement trivial.

In the other timeline, I had them go northwest, cutting through the college before turning back east towards the Boat Graveyard. Though the shorter path to their base, it was the expected path, and the one that was most likely to encounter parahuman resistance.

Sure enough, Velocity, who had been running along the outside of Grue’s darkness, tossed a confoam grenade at them, clipping one of Bitch’s dogs on a forelimb. It wasn’t enough, but the brief delay was enough for Laserdream to fly over from the university. A blast of crimson light struck Grue, knocking him clear of his mount.

I collapsed the second timeline and split the first.

“Head south to the business district,” I spoke. In one timeline, I had them head west. In the other, I had them curl eastward along the Boardwalk. Though cape response would be assured so close to the Rig, the heroes would be forced to restrain themselves, lest they endanger their precious tourists.

“On it, boss,” Tattletale replied. Her tone, even now filled with barely restrained hate, sent a thrill down my spine. She was my pawn, my toy, my pet. “Aegis and Gallant are doing a tour of the Boardwalk. Should we get closer?”

I considered it. The Undersiders were the “masters of escape.” Why not build them up a bit more? Fooling the Wards and giving those tourists something to talk about wasn’t a bad thing, especially as the real heroes wouldn’t see fit to escalate. I shut down the timeline heading southwest and split the one headed to the Boardwalk.

In both, I said, “Go. Follow my words closely.”

I smirked with satisfaction as I had the Undersiders lead the Wards in a merry chase. When Shadow Stalker suddenly appeared and took down Regent with a tranquilizer bolt, I smoothly collapsed that timeline and split the other, warning them to avoid the ambush.

I leaned back with a satisfied smirk. This was what made my power so perfect. I didn’t just finance the “masters of escape,” I built them. I quite literally owned them. It was an intoxicating feeling, knowing their reputation was what it was because I willed it. Their very lives, their desires and fears, their most cherished ambitions, they only had worth so long as I declared that they had worth.

The Undersiders put on quite the show, running circles around several Wards before vanishing in a cloud of smoke. They escaped, as I’d designed. I dismissed them and collapsed both timelines.

It would have been nice for them to encounter Menagerie again, but the Bay’s newest anomaly was as elusive as ever. That wasn’t anything new; my past efforts to draw him out bore no fruit either.

My usual method of starting gang conflicts via proxies failed because there were more heroes out and about thanks to the Boat Graveyard suddenly becoming relevant territory again. Statistically, I was simply far more likely to reel in another nearby hero. With Menagerie’s refusal to patrol and expansive stomping grounds that ranged from the Boat Graveyard to the hospital, university, and Boardwalk, I failed to find him even once.

When that proved unreliable, I had my men target Arcadia High School during school hours. They were presented with shortlists of boys who fit Menagerie’s physical profile as graciously donated by Sabah. Of particular interest were those who had backgrounds that made them more likely to trigger: divorced parents, accidental deaths in the family, lower class socioeconomic status, and a place of residence close to or within gang territory.

I did this several times. Each time, my men struck from different angles to ensure they’d hit Menagerie at least once. My men repeatedly gunned down Panacea, his supposed girlfriend, but not once did he respond. There was a wavy-haired brunette sitting next to Panacea at lunch, a boy by the name of Blake Isley I thought might be Menagerie. He was most likely to be the hero by proximity to Panacea and orphan background, but he failed to transform no matter how many times I killed him.

I cut off my power when the Undersiders reached their hideout. I’d just have to be satisfied with yet another no-show from the changer hero. He truly did seem random, an utterly whimsical existence that only seemed to act for his own amusement.

I toggled one of my monitor screens to reveal yet more proof of Menagerie’s unique brand of insanity: the game.

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Legacy of Steel came like a bolt from the blue. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear it was now the most popular game in the city. Everyone was playing it, from children with nothing better to do to gang members and law enforcement trying to figure out how the hell Menagerie worked. I was no different. I had half the men dedicated to clearing every single aspect of this game and stripping its code to the bedrock.

After a combined hundred twenty hours sunk into the game, my men concluded… that it was a good game…

I glowered at the screen, where Aimee the buneary thumped her foot impatiently for my input. Did his power work like the game mechanics or was he fucking with us all? If so, to what extent? How powerful was this “beautifly” shopkeeper in real life? How reliable were the in-game movesets? Just what were the “Six Saints?”

It wasn’t lost on anyone that “Martial Lord Luca” of the Six Saints, who bestowed mega evolution upon Aimee once she evolved into a lopunny, was a lucario, a creature he’d demonstrated before at the hospital. Had he been flaunting the power of mega evolution this entire time or was that just something made up for the final boss fight against Registeel?

What the hell was a Legendary?

Thinking about Menagerie gave me a migraine like none other. Was he a whimsical idiot who wouldn’t hesitate to tell everyone about his powers for a quick laugh? Or was he a peerless mastermind who had this game created for the sole purpose of surrounding himself with an aura of strategic ambiguity?

I didn’t know. I truly didn’t know at this point.

I leaned back in my chair and looked up at the ceiling. I stared up at the lights, trying to make sense of my new foe.

Then the lights went out.

I waited four seconds for the backup generator to kick in. Annoying, but fine. Accidents happened. Then thirty. Then a minute. This was an endbringer shelter. Critical life support systems had been connected to numerous contingencies to form a robust network, all of which I repurposed for my own purposes. No mere accident could cut the power for this long.

There was something wrong.

That got me bolting to my feet. I snatched my phone and dialed the maintenance crew, only to receive a whole lot of static. The computer was down. As was the intercom.

I forced myself to calm down. This was clearly a cyberattack of some stripe. Considering they managed to take out my phone as well as the base’s primary network, I had to assume this was Armsmaster’s doing. No one else was even remotely this competent in the Bay.

How? How had he hidden it from me? Everything Piggot knew, I knew, which meant she didn’t know. This was a clandestine operation on his part.

There was a secondary network of generators that could be activated from the generator room. It was completely separate from the primary network so should still be functional. Without input from the maintenance crew, I had no choice but to go myself.

The moment I turned to open the reinforced door, a sentient chandelier capped with five, azure flames phased through the wall. I split the timelines by instinct now.

In both timelines, I pulled out my gun and shot the projection, only for the living lamp to phase through the bullet.

It waved its torch-like arms around, casting eerie shadows around the room. The shadows themselves seemed to move of their own volition, too angular to be cast by my own frame yet wispy and ephemeral, as if they too were on fire. They were mesmerizing to behold, haunting and ominous.

That thing was a master, I realized. I shut my eyes and had one timeline move to the left while the other moved to the right. If I used my power right, I could move without sight by collapsing the timeline that got me hurt. I’d have to evade that creature in the dark and circle around to unlock the door.

Then the room heated up, going from air conditioned to temperatures that would make a furnace blush with shame. I didn’t even have time to scream as a bright, white light consumed my vision and one of my timelines collapsed.

I cursed and split the timeline again, only for the same to happen. Again and again, my alternate selves died, cremated into ashes. I continued inching towards the door this way until I began to develop a thinker headache.

Then, in that moment of hesitation, the creature struck before I could split the timeline.

A burning pain ran along my left hand. It was excruciating, unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Bullet wounds? Knife cuts? Absolutely nothing compared to the sheer, unadulterated agony that flowed from my hand.

“Aaaahhhh!” I screamed. My eyes flung open and all thoughts fled my mind.

I stared into the creature’s haunting, yellow eyes and saw intelligence. There was cunning there, a baleful, spiteful thing that pierced into my soul.

“W-What the hell are you?” I stammered.

It said not a word to me but I would swear on my life that it was smirking. With my eyes transfixed now, its arms began to wave back and forth. The blue flames captivated me, holding my attention despite my best efforts.

There were figures inside the flames. Men, every single one I’d abandoned. The flames seemed to reach out for me with grasping hands.

A pure, all-consuming terror filled me as I crawled away. Hands made of that cursed, blue fire rose out of the creature, reaching and clawing for me. The flames took on the shape of my men, the squad I’d abandoned in Elisburg.

Elisburg was hell. That was just about the only thing Piggot and I agreed on. The misshapen monstrosities that lobbed flesh-sacs of boiling acid, the ones who used their own bones as javelins, the scurrying, burrowing things that tore into us from below and dragged us off to be devoured alive…

I’d escaped that hellhole by shooting my own captain in the back. He grabbed the rope ladder first. He wasn’t fast enough so I removed him.

He stood there now, laughing in the blue flames, hand stretched out as if to help me onto the copter.

I’d never been a religious man; I believed worship was the opiate of the masses, a placebo to soothe society’s many anxieties. The concept of the soul was as laughable as the tooth fairy. We lived. We died. End of story.

And yet, here and now, as the figures of damned men beckoned me towards them, I found long-forgotten prayers forming on my lips.

“Come on, Tommy, it’s your time,” he urged with the desperate cackle of the damned. “Everyone pays his dues.”

“S-Shut up! It’s not my time. It’s not over!”

The men, my old squad, laughed and jeered. The shadows danced and morphed. They looked eerily like the goblin king’s thralls.

Then I knew no more.

X

Blake Isley

I canceled my moves and switched back. I drew out two vials, Sleep Powder and Stun Spore, and coated the panicking supervillain liberally in both.

He was… not in a good place. His eyes were bloodshot and dilated. His whole body shivered as though someone was tap dancing on his grave. He was so tense that without those shivers, one might have mistaken it for the stiffness of a corpse.

Chandelure, or really many fully evolved ghost types, tended to have that effect when they stopped pulling punches. The Unovan fire-ghost was notorious even among other phantasms for their mesmerizing fire, the kind that could lead men astray and burn their very spirits while leaving the body whole.

It was said that what one saw in the flames varied from person to person, that each man would see his dearest regret staring back at him.

That wasn’t me. I had no intention of luring him into peaceful rest or granting him a final sense of fulfillment as he entered the Distortion. I couldn’t kill him after all, so his punishment would have to be on earth.

So I chose to use Night Shade, an elevated variant of Confuse Ray that wasn’t too dissimilar to Nightmare, the main distinction being that the opponent didn’t need to be asleep. It was known to create horrifying mirages, using the victim’s own past to create a tailor-made hell.

The mileage varied based on the ghost and the personal resilience of the individual, but… I was a chandelure using the move on a human with zero aura or experience with ghosts, one who apparently had quite a bit to fear from those he’d wronged in the past.

Even without the powders, I doubted he’d be waking up anytime soon. When he did, there was no question in my mind he’d be a changed man.

“You’re an unexpectedly ruthless person, Menagerie,” came Dragon’s voice. I looked as the computer turned itself on, displaying her logo.

“He’s alive, isn’t he?” I asked dismissively. “And with not a scratch on him. It’s not my fault he’s such a drama queen about it. What is it with gang leaders and theatrics? Giovani had his persian, Archie did that pirate cosplay, Ghetsis had his ‘seven sages,’ and don’t you get me started on Lysandre and Flare. That hair… ugh…”

“I… I don’t follow…”

“Don’t you mind, Dragon. I’m just reminiscing. You know what? I think it takes a very special type of person to be a gang leader. You know, the kind of diva with a certain melodramatic bend.”

“Considering the sample size available to me, I am inclined to agree,” she replied dryly. “Will you require more assistance? I can have New Wave move in.”

“No, that’s fine. I’m sure a few will try to find their way out anyway so keep them stationed there. Thank you for killing the lights.”

“No problem. I’ll get back to looting their files.”

The screen went dark, leaving me to my own devices.

I allowed a wicked smirk to spread across my face. Coil was the beginning, the head of the snake I had to cut off before things got messy. Now? Now, it was time to let the ghosts out to play.

X

I hummed and hopped and skipped down the corridor. The lights weren’t on, but that never bothered an Alolan marowak. I was Alola’s very own shaman, the one who danced with spirits in an homage to life. I made my own light.

Every footstep echoed through the halls despite my diminutive size. A crackle of blue-green fire would ring out from my feet as my claws clacked against the metal floor. They weren’t normal sparks, my claws weren’t flints or anything, but I willed the embers to light my steps anyway. A whirl of Will-O-Wisps spiraled around me as my bone staff wove complex patterns in the air.

My dance was ancient, a millennia-old tribute to those who had passed on before us. It was the dance that soothed ancestors, the chanting rhythm that calmed restless souls. My bone staff alternatively wreathed itself in spiritual flames and shadows as they flickered and danced to honor a people that didn’t exist here.

This was no dainty thing, no ballet performance with hidden gestures and analogies meant for the elites of society to overanalyze in the name of refinement. This was the dance of life and death, joy and sorrow, peace and loss. There were no hidden meanings here, only the raw, brutal realities that all who walked this journey called life could appreciate.

“Stop,” I heard one of the men call from around the corner. “Did you hear that?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“No, I think he’s right. Humming? Contact imminent.”

“Shit. We can’t see shit here.”

“Identify yourself!” one, presumably their leader, barked.

I scoffed but did not cease my dance. There was no need to reply. To witness the traditional dance of Akala was more honor than they deserved.

I walked on, illuminating the darkness with my twirling bone staff. The wisps that followed me floated forward in complex spirals.

“Shit! Cape! Contact!”

“Fire!”

Gunfire struck the wall but I didn’t mind. Why would a ghost care for such a thing? I had a dance to dance, a song to sing, lives to honor.

I must have looked quite the sight. The wisps ceased their spiraling dance, instead alighting in perfectly segmented distances along the walls as if to act as torches that announced my arrival. I felt bullets rush through my form, leaving behind nothing more than a faint, ticklish sensation.

With the stomp of a foot that caused a column of fire to erupt around me, I turned and glowered.

Alolan marowak weren’t hostile, not without damn good reason, but they didn’t know that. They saw a skull-masked dinosaur with blazing eyes who wielded a staff made of bone and ghostly blue flames. They saw a monster that could not be slain who hummed a haunting chant in a language they couldn’t possibly know.

“What the fuck is that?” one man shrieked.

“Shoot! Shoot it!”

“It won’t die! Why won’t it die?”

Slowly, the staff that spun into a blur came to a stop. The stomping dance of Akala simmered down like embers as my song came to an end. I eyed them with the gaze of a shaman, one who treasured life, and found them wanting.

When they next raised their guns, I held out my staff and commanded the wisps to strike in my stead. The flames lashed out, singing their hands so they dropped their weapons.

I rushed forward as aura cloaked my staff. False Swipe was perfect, the ideal move to make them regret their life choices without running the risk of killing them outright.

Once they were knocked out, I disarmed them all and dragged them to Coil’s office before  dumping them inside with their boss. Just to be sure, I drugged them all to the gills with powders.

I switched back and giggled. That was mean, maybe even a tad cruel. And yet, I wasn’t terribly sorry. I trusted my friends, future selves or not, and that was downright mild compared to what truly vengeful ghosts could do.

Now that I had a moment to breathe, I considered my next move.

There were thirty-six more mercenaries around the building, probably a few non-combat personnel too. From their perspective, it should now be obvious that they were being attacked. My little number as Alolan marowak might have been heard as well. Would they run?

No, some might, but most probably wouldn’t. These men were supposed to be former military after all. With so little information, they’d probably try to confirm their situation, maybe even eliminate the threat if they could.

For that to happen, they had to be better armed. Or maybe there was a way to manually turn on the lights again? I didn’t know because I didn’t think to look for a generator room when I was scouting his base, but I did know where the armory was. Considering Coil was known for purchasing tinkertech firearms, he likely had night vision goggles or whatever too.

So it seemed likely to me that the mercenaries would now try to group up and secure their tinkertech weapons or turn on the lights.

I’d just have to hope at least one group went for the armory.

X

I was right, but I was too late anyway. Dragging the men to Coil’s office had taken a bit more time than expected. Even in the dark, these men knew their base well.

They must have heard me coming. My armor wasn’t exactly built for stealth and I had to be mindful of my timer. Shifted in my human form as I was, the darkness hindered me as well. Beneath the stairwell, I could hear the rustling of cloth as the men got ready.

I couldn’t have that. I took a step back and crouched, getting ready to jump. With a wicked grin, I kicked off and leapt down the stairwell.

At the apex of my jump, I shouted, “Shift, ceruledge!”

Unbidden, a malicious laugh welled up from within me. Ceruledge were said to evolve when a charcadet donned the armor that held the lasting will of a great warrior. Not just any warrior, but one filled with raw malice and regret.

I felt every bit of that hate now. It was both better and worse than when I’d tried to pose as a mimikyu. With a mimikyu, the resentment was directed at the self. The depression and self-loathing was all-consuming then and I couldn’t bear to wear that shape for more than a minute or two.

With ceruledge, that malice was directed outward. The hatred burned around me and formed a tangible corona, a physical manifestation of an inextinguishable resentment.

‘Kill them,’ the spirit of the armor whispered. ‘They deserve it. They’re trash. Even a renowned heroine like Dragon thinks they’re revolting.’

“Shit, above!” I heard.

“Fuck that’s bright!”

“Fire at will!”

I glanced down to see a glint of green reflecting the light of my flames. They had night vision of some kind then. By a rough estimate, I counted a dozen, maybe more.

The air was filled with the sharp, buzzing sound of lasers. Crimson light fired from their weapons, most missing but some finding their mark. Four struck center mass and I felt my hatred surge. The fire that had wreathed my body and arms now blasted forth in a brilliant, blue inferno that blinded them all.

They attacked me. They fought with the intent to kill. They had the gall to think their weapons would work on me.

‘Kill them. They deserve it. If you are willing to kill, you must first be willing to put your own life on the line!’ the voice roared. It was oppressive. It drowned out all noise until that call to violence was all I heard.

Beams of fire would only fuel my flames, but the result wasn’t important. Their intent, was. They’d struck to kill and so deserved a reciprocal response. This was right. This was just. This was the vaunted Golden Rule.

My sword-arm grew bigger as yet more lasers struck me. They had no idea what they were doing. The armor fed on malice and heat in equal measure. It egged me on, telling me that no one would miss them, that killing them was heroic. These were bad men. Getting rid of them, making sure they’d hurt no one else, it was a public service.

I snarled and slammed my arm-blades, now as long as a greatsword each, into the nearest wall, keeping me from dropping down on them. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t who I was. I’d killed before, but never like this, never out of unrestrained malice.

I stomped down on the hatred and enforced my will over the flames. The brutal, warlike perspective brought on by the shift was jarring; I shouldn’t have done it mid-jump like this.

Taking a second to myself, I calmed down and compartmentalized. I drew a line between the spirit of the ceruledge and the mind that was Blake Isley.

Back when I trained with Maylene and her father in Veilstone, they did something similar. They called it the “principle of emptiness,” the notion that no matter what sort of emotion rages in the heart, the will of the martial artist must be as a void, empty and true at all times.

No hate. No resentment. Simple intent and nothing else should govern our actions. They taught that only this clarity of purpose would lead to true mastery. It was a lesson Luca and I learned well.

My flames were still there, as was the malice, but where they once raged without control, they were now focused, so condensed that they seemed almost solid. This was something every ceruledge had to do in the end; to reach their full potential as knights, they had to harness and overcome the corruption of the armor they donned. By focusing their resentment towards a singular purpose, resentment became ambition and clarity. That clarity in turn condensed their flames, tempering their blades until few things could resist them.

I smiled as the grizzled face of my old mentor flashed through my mind. The days spent sparring with Luca, the nights Maylene and I stayed up chatting, they all gave me the strength to cast aside the armor’s influence.

I’d spent a lot of time wrestling with myself. Already, I could feel the strain of keeping this form.

That was fine. Speed wasn’t something I lacked.

“Shadow Sneak.”

I melded into the shadows before emerging from their center. My blades lashed out with supernatural precision, cutting apart their rifles. When they tried to retaliate, I merely phased through their attacks.

Really, taking them down was a lot less stressful than having a moral debate with myself. In the end, I spent a lot more time locking them in a random office and welding the door shut than actually fighting.

I did get to have some fun throwing around Bitter Blades and Lava Plumes in the armory. Sure, it was technically all evidence, but Dragon had everything she needed and more anyway. A bit of aggressive stress relief wasn’t uncalled for.

I only stopped when the room had been converted into a literal pool of lava a few minutes later. I stepped outside to find that the lights were on.

“Huh, guess someone found the backup generator then,” I mused. I took out six as Alolan marowak and fourteen as ceruledge, so that meant there were twenty-two mercenaries left, along with a handful of support staff.

Shifting back, I continued my hunt.

X

I made for the communications room, the only other location in the base I’d memorized. I thought it might be important to knock out their cameras or something, but it turned out to be largely redundant information since I had Dragon on my side.

Still, Coil’s men didn’t know that, which meant I could probably find a squad or two with some extra techies trying to get their cameras back online.

This time, I managed to hear the techies talking from beneath the stairs.

“-and I keep telling you, that’s not the right cable.”

“Yes, it is, Jim. Go back to school.”

“Fuck you, I worked for Apple, dumbass.”

“Yeah? No wonder they’re losing to Dragon then. They keep hiring fuckwits like you.”

“Oh yeah, genius? What the hell’s wrong with this then?”

“Nothing! That’s the whole fucking point I’m making! We’ve been hacked, you idiot. No one’s messing with the cables. Nothing’s online because someone else is messing with it from outside!”

I couldn’t help it, I laughed. The two bickered like Mark sometimes did over a video game he liked. From experience, I knew that they were likely dead to the world. If I went up the stairs, I’d probably have to go through a squad or two of armed mercs.

Not that I had a problem with that, but I was trying to let my ghostly side out today…

I decided to make a little detour and set the stage, sealing off an office meeting room directly below the communications room. I also unloaded my bag full of powders so they wouldn’t shift with me. A minute later, I was ready.

Giggling to myself, I whispered, “Shift, skeledirge.”

I became the least stealthy croc in the world. Ambush predator? Crocodiles? Not this one. Not only was I five feet tall at the crown, I was almost eighteen feet long from snout to tail. Worse, I was bright, fire engine red and had an ever-present bird made of fire sitting on my snout. I couldn’t scream “Notice me!” harder if I tried.

Most of all, I felt the need to sing. The little bird was egging me on, encouraging me to let my voice ring throughout the base. I could warm the very souls of all those around me, removing their will to fight.

But that would be no fun.

So instead, I embraced my ghostly side and suppressed my need to serenade the base for a bit. Cloaking myself in type energy, I sank into the shadows and began to phase through the wall. From there, I climbed into a cabinet full of supplies and listened to the two men bicker like children.

I laid there in wait with the majority of my hulking form phased behind the wall. Like Earth-Bet’s crocodiles submerged beneath a river, only my head was visible. The white patterns of a skeledirge’s snout had often been likened to a lute or a skull. I figured I’d see what random people on Earth-Bet thought of it.

Then, to my annoyance, the little bird began to tweet.

“Hey, quiet,” I whispered. Still it sang. “Wait, is that the Mission Impossible theme song?”

“Hey, did you hear something, Jim?”

“Oh, so now you want my opinion?”

“For fuck’s sake, man, check the cabinet below there. Yeah, that one.”

The cabinet door swung open, revealing who I assumed was Jim. He was a squat, chubby man with a literal neckbeard. He looked supremely annoyed with his partner. He wasn’t really looking as his meaty, sausage fingers dug around the cabinet. “There’s nothing here, just some extra surge prote-Holy shit it’s on fire!”

“What the fuck are you on abo-Fire!”

I heard the stomping of feet as someone arrived with a fire extinguisher. Soon, cool air blasted me, making me shiver in discomfort. The little bird looked ready to peck out their eyes for that but I repressed the urge.

When the white cloud subsided, I fed more aura to the little bird and watched it swell. It stood straight on my snout and did a merry little jiggle.

“What the fuck? It’s still there.”

“Jim, you fucking dumbass! That’s not a surge pro-”

I chose that moment to step into the room.

Fun fact: Despite appearances, neither the crocodiles of Earth-Bet nor the skeledirge of Paldea were slow. They looked clumsy and unwieldy, but looks were very much deceiving.

The men in the room probably didn’t find that funny though as a near 800 pound, blood-red crocodile came charging out of the cabinet.

“Feed me!” I roared, jaw wide open and flames licking at my fangs. It wasn’t exactly the most valiant battle cry ever, but it got the message across.

“Aahhh! What the fuck is that?” the guy named Jim shrieked as he backpedaled.

“Shoot it!”

The door to the communications room banged open as the men outside began to storm inside. “Get down!”

A hail of bullets filled the air but I laughed with a crocodile grin and presented my pearly whites. The bullets sailed past me harmlessly and I took the time to study them closely. Six inside, up to ten more outside maybe.

“Hello, lunch~” I then turned, made a show of sniffing the air, and recoiled mockingly from Jim. “Eugh, not you. You smell like piss.”

Then, before anyone could reply, I grabbed the other techie, the one he’d been bickering with, in my jaws. He shrieked in terror as his head and torso vanished into my gaping maw.

I had to briefly become tangible for this, but that was fine. I let loose a jet of flames from my nostrils, singing the man in my mouth and keeping the rest from aiming at me. Then, with a surge of ghostly aura, I dove gracefully into the floor, man and all.

In the floor beneath, I dropped the man and slapped him lightly with my tail, knocking him out cold. I drew out the bag of powders from my backpack and drugged him before going back for more.

Tweety turned out to have a great sense for dramatic suspense because the damn thing started to hum the Jaws theme song. Laughing, I obliged and poked my white, skull-patterned head above the floor.

There were twelve armed men, two squads, and Jim the techie. They fired into the ground but my body phased through the rounds harmlessly. I languidly circled them, both the ones in and out of the communications room, all the while humming the iconic tune. Sure enough, I didn’t have to wait long for someone to break.

“Fuck this!” a man outside cried, pulling his rifle off the strap and throwing it to the ground.

He ran down the hall in a desperate panic, only for me to surge up out of the floor like a breaching killer whale. I grabbed him by the torso in a mirror copy of a great white nabbing a seal I’d seen in a nature documentary and sank into the ground.

All the while, my little bird continued to sing.

When I next came up, I found the men arguing.

“Fuck! Who is that?”

“Menagerie, dumbass. Who the fuck else would it be?”

“Shit, we’re sitting ducks. Scatter!”

I let out a menacing laugh. It wasn’t a bad plan. It ensured at least some could escape. But that was assuming I was a wild animal that would seek a single prey at a time.

“We can’t have that, boys~” I sang out. Then, I invoked Fire Pledge, one of two moves common to the “regional starters.” Columns of fire erupted down either ends of the halls, trapping them inside my personal hunting ground. “Didn’t you hear? I invited you to lunch. It’s so very rude of you to leave~”

The birdsong was lower in pitch now. A little faster, a little more dramatic. The natural musical talent of a skeledirge was honestly impressive; tweety had even taken into account the crackling of the flames in the background, matching its pitch for maximum effect.

“Fuck!”

“On the desks!”

I laughed and enjoyed their panic. As friendly as skeledirge were known for being, they were predators nonetheless. That instinct had never truly gone away, merely been buried. I now brought it out as I slowly picked off my prey. One by one, I rose up from the ground and dragged them into the floor, kicking and screaming.

Until there was one.

Jim the techie had seen his coworkers vanish one by one. Armed mercenaries, hardened killers, had sunk into the floor like sailors dragged off by sharks. All the while, the persistent theme music rang out, now a full-blown orchestra.

I rose up to my full height and loomed over him. Leaning forward, I stepped towards him as he scrambled back. Then, when his back collided with the wall, I opened my jaws wide.

“Boo.”

He fainted. A bit anticlimactic, but expected.

I headed back to the sealed meeting room to make sure they were all out before disarming and destroying all their weapons. I just got around to melting the last of their knives when the phone at the center of the conference table came alive with Dragon’s voice.

“That was vicious, Menagerie. I take it you’re a fan of the classics?”

“Yup. So long as no one is hurt, it’s fine, right?”

“It’s a gray area. No one could say you’ve utilized excessive force, but what you are doing steps narrowly close to psychological torture.”

“So no more reenacting horror movies?”

“I would recommend otherwise,” she replied clinically.

I sighed but acquiesced. I supposed I did get a bit carried away. The influence of my type was real. Fire was often defined as passion and rage. Throw in the capriciousness of ghosts and cruel pranks were about the least of what I should’ve expected. “Very well, I understand. Say, Dragon?”

“Hmm?”

“How many men are left? I think I took out thirty-two mercs so far. There should be twenty more armed soldiers right? And the auxiliary staff?”

“There are only eight. Twelve of them left through the main entrance and were restrained by the oldest members of New Wave. There are also six non-combat members of the staff.”

“Oh, sweet.”

“Indeed. I’ve also made copies of their files wholesale and have transferred the relevant information to Armsmaster. I believe the involvement of the Protectorate is beneficial at this stage.”

“I see, that makes sense. Thanks a lot, Dragon. Do you know where the eight leftovers are?”

“I do. They have abandoned their positions and are trying to leave through the Towers entrance.”

“Got it, I’ll be right there.”

“Take your time. The entrance is reinforced steel. They’re not going anywhere.”

“And the support staff?”

“They are walking towards the Forsberg entrance to surrender.”

“I see, thanks.”

X

The whole thing wrapped up not with a bang, but with a wheeze reminiscent of a deflated balloon. Dragon’s reminder to watch my conduct did much to keep my more creative side in check, if only so the PRT wouldn’t give me shit for this later. Already, I could imagine Armsmaster’s lecture about the appropriate use of force or whatever.

The last eight were found where Dragon said they’d be. I took them out with no further tricks or pranks, just a head-on charge that took everything they had and more.

Coalossal weren’t quite as feared as tyranitar, but a ten feet tall rock monster made of burning coals wasn’t exactly easy pickings either. I just walked up and yanked their guns from their hands before calmly squishing them against the walls.

That done, I dragged the men to the hexagonal central area, where I met Armsmaster Miss Militia, a host of PRT troopers, and the oldest members of New Wave.

“Yo, Lady Photon, New Wave, how were things upstairs?” I greeted.

“Quiet. I hear you took care of the bulk of the mercenaries,” she said with a serious nod.

“Yup. That was fun. I haven’t cut loose like this in a while.”

“This was extremely reckless. You should have warned the PRT,” Armsmaster said. He looked displeased with the whole situation but that was expected considering he probably knew who Coil was now.

“Yeah? Why? You guys leak like a sieve.”

“You should have come to me. I could have secured the information and purged the PRT of spies.”

“Sure, and tip Coil off that he’s been made. Acting without you was the right call.”

“It wasn’t your call to make. A major operation against the gangs should be spearheaded by the Protectorate-”

“Of course it’s my call to make,” I said exasperatedly. “It’s my intel. Until I tell others and they decide otherwise, it’s my decision. And seeing how neither Lady Photon nor Dragon saw fit to contact you either, they clearly agreed. The PRT’s way too compromised to be reliable. If you want information from me, start with better op-sec.”

Armsmaster ground his teeth but couldn’t refute the point. Dragon did notify him without my approval, but only after she’d taken over Coil’s network and the operation was pretty much over.

Miss Militia, ever the diplomatic one, placed a hand on his arm. “No matter the details, you did a good thing here, Menagerie.”

I inclined my head in acknowledgement. “Thank you. I take it you’ll be taking the mercenaries?”

“We will.”

I nodded and stepped aside, allowing Dragon to guide the PRT troopers towards the locked up mercenaries. I then realized there was something of a problem: It took too long cutting the reinforced doors free. I’d welded those things shut after all.

I giggled a little as I watched the troopers try to crank one open with a crowbar. After a while, I jostled them aside and turned into charizard before melting the doors open again.

There wasn’t a whole lot to do while troopers dragged the mercs out of the base. It wasn’t like they were awake to fight back. Hell, I hadn’t even done any permanent damage so there wasn’t even anyone to heal.

Which was good, considering Armsmaster wasn’t my biggest fan at the moment. I didn’t think he’d use that as ammunition against me, but the less he had, the better.

I took a peek outside and found a host of police cars and news vans. They were taking footage of the mercs as they were loaded up in police cars.

Seeing how they were watching, I figured they may as well have a show. And who was more noticeable than the big red lizard himself?

Swapping back to Kanto’s most iconic starter, I let loose an earth-shaking roar and rushed out of the parking lot. At about twenty feet from nose to tail, charizard weren’t terribly large, but a dragon was a dragon. I was big enough to ride and that’s what mattered.

With a triumphant roar, I loosed a Flamethrower into the sky. Then I flapped my wings, creating a spiraling updraft that turned the Flamethrower into Fire Spin.

I climbed into the sky on a tornado of flame. The surrounding air heated rapidly, sending people stumbling back in fright. As far as shock and awe went, there weren’t many pokemon better than charizard.

Then, with a final Air Slash, I cleared the flaming spiral, banishing it to reveal a clear, cloudless sky.

I stared down the crowd, troopers, heroes, reporters, and bystanders alike. I took in a deep breath, and rumbled. “Hello, Brockton! I have just one thing to say to you all: Remember, always be yourself. Because you’re awesome. Unless you can be a dragon. In which case, be a dragon.”

I let my sage words of wisdom sink in. Things were quiet for one minute, then two, as they processed my life advice. Then, one man, from the Brockton Foghorn, asked, “But what about Lung?”

“Oh… Oh fuck. And we have Dragon too, huh? Well… Don’t be a dragon. Impersonating a law enforcement officer is bad, kids. Unless it’s funny…”

“Menagerie,” Lady Photon said as she flew next to me.

“What? I said it’s bad. Oh, and illegal. That too. Don’t be Lung either. Not because it’s bad, but because he’ll kill you. Unless you’re me. I guess being Lung would be really funny…”

“Menagerie.”

“Right, things I can’t say in public because Brandish will give me a lecture on parahuman law.”

Lady Photon grabbed me by the horn and tugged me down. “We really need to have a chat about what you should and shouldn’t say in interviews. Or when it’s appropriate to give one.”

“Oh, fine. Anyway, I’m off.”

“Wait, we have questions-”

“Ask Dragon! The real one! Because this isn’t a dragon, I promise!”

I laughed jubilantly as I soared into the sky, leaving even Lady Photon in my dust. There would no doubt be absolute bedlam when what happened today came out, but that wasn’t my business.

I climbed higher into the sky until the midday sun, only now starting to dip, greeted me. The view was spectacular. The warmth of its light settled on my scales and I felt as if I’d catch fire from that alone.

I did something good today. Few knew the breadth of Coil’s organization. Even fewer knew how far he’d be willing to go in the future. But that was fine. In the end, the city was better without Coil. Dinah could stop worrying, Crystal could get off Dinah-watch, and the Undersiders could… do whatever the hell they wanted so long as they weren’t an annoyance to me. Things were a bit more peaceful and that was all I really cared about.

I looked to the horizon and felt an upwelling of emotion. It was a burden off my back, one thing I could fully set down and mark off my list as done.

Then that emotion, that sense of victory and accomplishment, turned into a realization, an epiphany. I looked inward and found the clockwork gear that represented my soul. It was locked on fire, but there was something more that beckoned to me.

I reached out and grasped it. That was as much as I managed before I was overwhelmed by a white-hot heat that scorched my soul. Fire type aura, one aspect of the Infinity Energy that united all existence, flooded my soul and leaked out over my body. I could do nothing but gasp in awestruck wonder as I was fundamentally changed.

Then, amidst the firestorm, I felt a hand reach out, a tiny, mouse-like paw that could have been mistaken for a pikachu’s. Yet despite the diminutive size, it held vast potential, power like few could comprehend, power that entire civilizations had warred to control.

But rather than consume me in sacred flame, the creature reached out with its mind and soul, forming a connection between us that went beyond the aura roulette I’d had access to. It was akin to what I had with lampent and kirlia but deeper, for I knew that unlike the other forms, I was not looking at a species, but an individual.

“Victini,” I breathed. Its mind was… warm. Comforting. There was a hint of mischief there too, but it was mischief born out of a desire for excitement, curiosity, and the need to spread joy.

It was said that should Victini accept a human as her trainer, she would bring them limitless triumphs. It was said that she could never lose, for she embodied the very notion of victory.

That wasn’t true of course. She could fail. She could tire.

And yet, the reality was that this was a Legend. Hers was power that I’d never known, a vast reserve of aura that I couldn’t even guess at.

And it was mine, offered freely from the Hall of Origin.

“Why?” I asked. My voice came out in a reverent whisper. I’d had a tumultuous relationship with the Legends. Sometimes, it was all my team and I could do to face them to a standstill. At others, we were their shields and swords against humans with delusions of grandeur.

But I’d never once trained a Legend, never once dared to think I could command the loyalty of one.

In answer, her mind opened to my own, forming a bridge that spoke in more than mere words. Sensations, impressions, and memories flooded my mind. Not with malicious intent, but with the desire that I understand.

“You’re… like me…”

The Star of Victory nodded with a happy grin. She then settled into my soul, right next to lampent and kirlia, and I knew I could call on her should I ever have the need. It wouldn't be easy, just the thought of housing that kind of power sounded exhausting, but it was a hell of an ace up my sleeve.

“Thank you,” I whispered gratefully. “I won’t abuse this power. I swear.”

Author’s Note

To be clear, Blake isn’t immune to Shard analysis. If the Shard sees a charizard, it can likely make the extrapolation from the tail-flame that “this thing can breathe fire.” The Shard can even gauge its approximate weight, muscle mass, and other observable factors to assign it a tentative threat rating.

However, as per Wildbow’s WOG, Shards aren’t very good at interpreting metaphysical concepts and you can’t get more metaphysical than aura, a nebulous, poorly defined energy that conjoins physical and spiritual forms to allow a multiversal creator deity to manufacture a thousand realities.

Coil’s Shard can’t see Aura. It can observe the effects of aura on the physical world. So from the Shard’s perspective, the boy called Blake Isley is just that, a boy. And so, the Shard simulates a normal teenage boy’s reaction to armed gunmen storming his school at lunch, which is to get shot and die, not transform into a monster to fight back.

If you’ll remember, the “Six Saints” are Blake’s original six team members.

Coil’s playing chess. Blake is playing tic-tac-toe. Coil hits himself in confusion. Fuck you and your nat-20.

Yeah, that nat-20 for the Legend roll surprised the fuck out of me, but there it is. Chat voted for Victini (by one point). Ho-Oh was runner up and there was so much salt.