PatrikWriter
Master of the Forbidden Arts
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Reaching the Apex (Pokémon SI)
- Thread starter PatrikWriter
- Start date
9. A War of Wings and Blades
New
PatrikWriter
Master of the Forbidden Arts
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Note to readers: Please keep in mind that this story takes a realistic approach to the Pokémon world. I am writing this based on my personal preferences, so be prepared for certain twists or alterations that may differ from your expectations.
I woke up as usual at dawn. Today was misty and, by Kanto standards, significantly cold. However, the fire was still radiating warmth thanks to the tireless vigil of my partner. Honestly, I hadn't expected Gastly and its evolutions to be such excellent companions in the wild. Haunter guarded me non-stop; he didn't sleep at all during the night, so the camp was safe. Moreover, he was capable of carrying wood, and since he could hide in my shadow at any moment, he represented a perfect threat to any inattentive enemy.
I quickly scrambled out of my sleeping bag; I could hardly wait for the Viridian Forest. If I managed to catch an interesting or expensive Pokémon, I could make a decent profit. What if I ran into some Scyther? Though... perhaps better not. If there was a whole swarm, I'd have a serious problem.
"Good morning, Haunter. Was it quiet last night?" I asked, skillfully packing the tent and sleeping bag while my breakfast heated over the fire.
"Haunt, Haunter!" he nodded contentedly.
"And did you practice that Acid Spray during the night?" I teased him with a smile, remembering his disgusted expression from yesterday.
"Haunteeeeer!" he snorted and demonstratively turned his back on me.
I had to laugh. Judging by the black, decayed grass a short distance from us, however, it was clear that he had worked hard during the night. Apparently, things hadn't gone according to his expectations if he felt so ashamed.
Breakfast was soon ready. This time it was just an ordinary pre-packaged meal that I shoveled down in a hurry. By the time I finished and Haunter was bashfully looking everywhere but at me, the tripod had cooled down. I extinguished the fire, and nothing stood in our way anymore. I decided to run to the forest boundary; it was only ten minutes away. Once inside Viridian Forest, I certainly wouldn't allow myself to run.
Even if there wasn't a sign announcing the entrance, I would have noticed the change just by the surroundings. The path was substantially narrower and less trodden. The grass reached higher, looking wilder, and the tree canopies were so thick that only a minimum of sunlight penetrated through. Although the sounds of the wilderness echoed through the forest, the atmosphere was significantly more dangerous.
We had been walking carefully and cautiously for an hour. Haunter remained hidden in my shadow, yet he constantly monitored the surroundings in a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree range so that nothing would surprise us. In the distance, I noticed an unknown figure. I saw that he had registered us too—he stood leaning against a tree trunk, hands in his pockets, with a wide straw hat on his head.
Only when I stepped closer did I see his face covered in yellowish acne. The straw hat clearly marked him as a member of a Bug Catcher gang in this territory, but those festering sores? That immediately told me he was addicted to the special fumes of Poison-type Pokémon. While acne was common in my memory-world, here almost everyone had naturally clear skin. The exceptions were only the chronically ill or junkies addicted to cheap drugs. It couldn't be regulated; all it took was a trainer catching a Poison-type and cooking like Walter White in Breaking Bad.
From up close, I could see him absentmindedly and restlessly tossing a Pokéball in his hand. Eagerness was reflected in his eyes. I knew a battle was inevitable, and I certainly didn't intend to back down.
As soon as I was a few meters from him, he shouted: "I am Bug Catcher Gerald, and I challenge you to a one-on-one battle! The wager is a hundred dollars in cash." He paused for a moment and added: "I don't accept a refusal!" He immediately threw the Pokéball he had been nervously fumbling with in his palm.
A Beedrill materialized from the red light. I expected nothing else; it was commonly discussed on forums that these trainers had either Beedrills or Butterfrees. Most of them, however, didn't survive long in the wild—if they weren't careful, something simply ate them.
I refused to waste time talking to that wreck. "Haunter," I addressed my shadow quietly.
My partner immediately surfaced. Gerald was obviously an amateur, as he hadn't noticed the restless rippling of my shadows before. He turned a bit pale, but he still believed his bug had a chance. While his Beedrill barely measured a meter and looked malnourished, my Haunter was almost three times larger and radiated pure power.
"Attack it with Twineedle, Beedrill!" Gerald shouted eagerly. "Go into the ground, Haunter," I commanded so quietly that my opponent couldn't hear me.
I didn't understand why Gerald was screaming so loud. I also didn't understand why he was using a physical attack when he had no chance of getting to Haunter, but the drugs were likely to blame. Beedrill looked around confused, searching in vain for a target. I waited a moment to see if Gerald would issue a new command or at least order the Pokémon to be alert, but he couldn't manage anything.
"Shadow Ball at the wing, Haunter!" I commanded louder.
Haunter didn't wait. He rose from the ground directly in front of his opponent. Darkness immediately began to swirl in the air, rapidly forming into a dense sphere—it was no longer just the size of a tennis ball. Once it reached the right consistency, Haunter hurled it at the Beedrill. It tried to dodge instinctively, but unfortunately for it, unsuccessfully.
As soon as the Shadow Ball landed, it tore off three-quarters of Beedrill's wing and knocked it backward. Haunter didn't let up and was already preparing another attack. This time, he knew he had plenty of time. He formed a ball half as large as before and, with a malicious grin, hurled it at his opponent.
"Avoid it, Yanky!" Gerald screamed in terror.
It was too late, though. Beedrill's mobility was completely fucked; the rest of its wing wasn't enough for a proper maneuver. Gerald's slowed drug-reflexes lost this battle before it even properly began. Under normal circumstances, Beedrill should have been substantially faster, but this one was clearly weak and neglected. The Shadow Ball hit it directly in the head, slammed it violently to the ground, and it remained lying motionless. Green blood flowed from its mouth, and its insect face was slightly deformed. He lost.
"Haunter," I called him back. With a victorious smile, he immediately obeyed and submerged into my shadow.
The wing would grow back for that Beedrill over time... It was only stunned and looked like it could survive the night, but that junkie would have to get it to a center immediately. I found Gerald extremely unpleasant. His Pokémon suffered for him in battle while he stood there high and distracted. That poor Beedrill paid the price for having such a moron as a trainer.
Gerald could see on me that I would have loved to drive a knife into his leg. As soon as I approached, he tremblingly handed me the hundred. With a contemptuous look, I snatched the money from his hand and continued on my way without a word.
Before I gained those memories, I would have taken this as a completely normal thing. Now, however, it thoroughly disgusted my day. From the perspective of my other knowledge, it was pure animal abuse—in this case, Pokémon abuse. For a moment, I considered whether to return to him and stick that knife in his leg after all, but in the end, pragmatism won. I couldn't let myself be derailed by the fate of an insect Pokémon that would have died in a few years anyway and which this world considered insignificant.
Old memories, however, had made me a more sensitive person, at least in this regard. If someone had already subjugated a Pokémon that was loyal to them, they should, dammit, take the best care of it!
I walked further, annoyed by the whole situation. I completely stopped perceiving the Pokémon cries and the ominous atmosphere of the dark forest; in that anger, I almost forgot that I was in dangerous territory. Haunter, however, remained vigilant. After a few hours, he suddenly flew out of my shadow and stopped me. I looked at him uncomprehendingly.
"What's going on, Haunter?" I asked. "Haunt, Haunter!" he whispered and placed his claws to his ears, gesturing for me to be quiet.
I nodded and listened intently. I had to seriously concentrate for a few seconds; to be safe, I closed my eyes to better perceive what Haunter was alerting me to. I heard muffled cries of pain—sounds I couldn't immediately identify. It sounded as if two groups of Pokémon were fighting each other.
The question was: to go there, or not? It was a risk, of course, until an old familiar phrase appeared in my mind: "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." And so, with a focused Haunter at my heels, I set off toward the sounds of battle. It didn't take even ten minutes before the noise was distinct. Slowly, with maximum caution and focus on every step so as not to make a sound, I moved closer. Finally, from behind a tree, I saw a clearing where a battle between two groups raged. I must admit, they were going at it quite brutally.
Two swarms of Pokémon stood against each other—both of those the Ranger in Viridian had warned me about. They were clearly fighting over territory. I saw a huge number of Beedrills aggressively attacking extremely fast Scythers.
The Scythers were winning at first, even though there were substantially more Beedrills, perhaps even six times as many. The Scyther swarm was successfully slicing through their wings and killing fallen enemies with sharp blades. But even though the Beedrills were dying, they didn't retreat an inch. They constantly pushed forward aggressively, attacking physically while simultaneously firing volleys of poison stingers. The Scythers were still combat-ready—they were born predators: fast, powerful, and precise. But the first line of Beedrills that fell under their blades had obviously poisoned them.
I was watching an epic battle live. The Scythers were visibly slowing down, even though their wind techniques were still hacking apart the attackers who absolutely wouldn't give up. Their red eyes glowed aggressively as they resolutely flew at the enemy. After a while, the first Scyther fell. The others immediately moved over him to protect him, but gradually, under the influence of exhaustion and poisoning, they began to fall as well. Finally, only the last two standing Scythers remained against the remaining third of the swarm. Although the Scythers were extremely powerful, they didn't stand a chance against such a deluge. Even though the Beedrills had enormous losses and three-quarters of their swarm lay butchered on the ground, the remainder was winning. The result of the territorial battle was clear: most of the Scythers were dead, and the last two were standing with their last strength against overwhelming odds.
Perhaps it was reckless, but I decided to save the last Scyther, though perhaps even against his will. The plan was clear: the moment the second-to-last one fell, I would catch the last one.
"Haunter, as soon as the second-to-last Scyther falls, I'm catching the last one, understand?" I whispered. "Haunter!" he nodded immediately and loyally. "I need you to fly for that Pokéball and bring it back. Can you do it?" "Haunter!" he answered determinedly.
And so it happened. As soon as the second-to-last warrior plummeted to the ground, I hurled the Pokéball directly into the center of the battlefield. My fearless Haunter dashed out at the same moment. The Pokéball shook only once and immediately signaled a successful catch. Haunter quickly snatched it between his claws and disappeared with it underground.
The Beedrills circled confused for a while, searching for the prey that had vanished before their eyes, but after a moment, they gave up. They flew over the battlefield, cold-bloodedly ignoring their fallen comrades and mercilessly finishing off the dying Scythers. Haunter emerged from the ground directly in front of me with a victorious smirk and handed me the prize. I accepted it and slowly, trying not to attract the attention of the remaining swarm, I headed back to the main beaten path.
There was still enough light, so I didn't feel fear. As I walked, however, a fork in the road appeared before me—one path was wide and frequented, the other narrower, almost overgrown. Honestly? A foolish curiosity won out in me, so I turned onto the less-trodden one.
I walked along it for about thirty minutes until the first cobwebs began to appear on the trees. I was beginning to suspect where I had ended up, but I couldn't help myself and continued deeper. I walked directly into an ideal hunting ground for Spinaraks and Ariados. Sticky webs hung everywhere. At that very moment, I remembered the Ranger who had warned me about a missing group of trainers. It was clear to me—they were the ones who had trodden this path onto which I had so naively ventured. Fortunately, it was still light, and I saw well enough not to get tangled in any webs. A short distance from huge white cocoons, I noticed an abandoned backpack.
I knew what those cocoons hid, and I also knew it would be useless to cut them open. The person who set down their backpack here and tried to free those victims must have been completely stupid. Every training manual clearly described the Spinarak hunting procedure: they hunt at night, use webs, and when a victim is caught, they inject a dose of poison and immediately tie them up. Within five minutes, the prey in the cocoon is dead.
The person who went to their aid is likely already rotting in one of them. I didn't see any Spinarak in the vicinity, and certainly no Ariados, so I quickly grabbed the abandoned backpack and headed back to the main road. I didn't intend to play hero when it was clear to me that everyone in those cocoons was long dead.
Soon I was back on the safer route. The presence of spiders and the recent insect war had wound my vigilance tight enough. I certainly had no desire to set up camp anywhere near them. I walked for another two hours in constant tension. Even though I believed in Haunter's strength, I knew that just a moment of inattention and I could lose my life.
In the end, however, the journey proceeded without problems. When it began to get dark, I decided to set a small fire after all. I found a suitable spot between the trees a short distance from the path. I laboriously dug a pit with a trowel while Haunter gradually brought me pieces of wood. It was wise of him—he didn't bring large piles, but only smaller amounts so he could intervene immediately in case of danger.
When the flames were dancing in the pit, I quickly pitched the tent a few meters from the fire. I just barely fit within the recommended distance so that no spark would land on the canvas. Contentedly, I began to prepare dinner while Haunter held watch.
I had gained a Scyther—a strong Pokémon with the potential to evolve into Scizor. After a quick meal, I decided to summon him and treat him. I was curious how he would behave toward me. With a flick, I threw the Pokéball, and after a moment, a breathless, barely standing Scyther appeared, watching the surroundings warily until his gaze fell on me. His face twisted with hatred, but he couldn't manage an attack, only a quiet cry: "Scyther!"
I observed him in silence. Scythers were more intelligent than other bugs, which likely also related to their size. The question was whether he would be grateful for the rescue or hate me for not letting him fall in battle along with the others of his swarm. Haunter watched him warily; a Shadow Ball slowly swirled in his claws, ready for immediate use.
As I observed him, Scyther couldn't hold on anymore and collapsed with a quiet whimper. He lay helpless on the ground, and I decided to use the rest of the antidote. I approached him cautiously and treated his shoulder and chest with a gentle spray, where purple, poisoned wounds were glowing. It was exactly the remainder I had used on myself after the Ekans attack.
He just lay there for a while, but I saw that his breathing was improving. The antidote worked. I tried to place my hand on his head, but that was a mistake. He immediately tried to slice me with his blade, a look of hatred in his eyes. I dodged just in time. Fortunately, Haunter didn't throw the ball, so I let him rest further.
"Haunter, continue training Acid Spray, but be careful not to exhaust yourself," I commanded sternly. "Haunter!" he nodded immediately and began the drill.
I, meanwhile, with a wary eye on Scyther, pulled out my sword and began to train while he lay tiredly in the grass.
Author's note:
Poor Beedrill... honestly, it's a miracle Haunter isn't even more powerful; otherwise, that Shadow Ball would have taken its head clean off. Its wings, however, were far more fragile, making it a very short and brutal process. Drugs are a plague, and unfortunately, the Pokémon world isn't immune to them either!
What do you guys think? How will Scyther behave toward our MC? Will he eventually show gratitude for being saved, or will he try to slit the MC's throat at the very first opportunity?
Looking forward to your theories!
Step into the Restricted Section
The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.
Enter the Restricted Section here: you-know-what/PatrikWriter
Upcoming Chapters – Already Written:
10. Red "R" and Crimson Steel
11. Gastly: From the Void
12. The Weight of Necessity
13. Nature's Cruel Mercy
14. I'm Rich, Baby!
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PatrikWriter
Master of the Forbidden Arts
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Glad you liked it!
Uh, I don't want to disappoint you, but Scyther refused to cooperate... He was actually sold in Chapter 14. That chapter is titled 'I'm Rich, Baby!', so you can look forward to that!
I'll try to release new chapters faster!
10. Red "R" and Crimson Steel
New
PatrikWriter
Master of the Forbidden Arts
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- 862
I woke up unrested; memories of the previous day wouldn't let me sleep in peace. The war of the Beedrill against the Scythers and those massive white cocoons played on a loop in my dreams, but instead of a mere observer, I featured in them as a victim. Exhausted, I stumbled out of my tent to prepare breakfast.
"Haunter!" my partner greeted me the moment I stepped outside.
"Good morning, Haunter. How was the night?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
"Haunt, Haunt, Haunteeer!" he began to articulate and gesture wildly, eventually pointing a claw at half of a green body on the ground. It was the lower half of a Caterpie, and it looked like its upper torso had been literally torn apart by a Shadow Ball.
"Did it get too close during the night, or were you just hungry?"
"Haunt, Haunter!"
"So it approached, but since you were hungry, you made a feast out of it?"
Haunter nodded in agreement with a wide, chilling grin. He had probably drained it of its fear like juice first, then took its life energy as the main course, and finally finished the remains with a Shadow Ball. Maybe he was depressed about his failure with the Acid Spray. In truth, it didn't matter. Everything had been too easy for him until now; let him realize right at the start that he has to work for it—even a centimeter of progress is still progress.
While my food heated in the pan, I thought about the day ahead. I had to try and tame the Scyther—at least to the point where it wouldn't butcher me at the first opportunity. And I finally had to get out of Viridian Forest onto Route 2 toward Pewter City.
After breakfast, I began searching through the backpack I had found discarded in the Spinarak hunting grounds. I quickly sifted through its contents. According to the ID, it belonged to a boy originally from Saffron City. As was standard, he likely had himself teleported to Pallet Town to start his journey from the safest areas to the hardest. There was no money in the bag; he probably had that on him. However, I found several Pokéballs, which I didn't even dare touch. They were linked to the owner's ID, and I certainly didn't plan on drawing suspicion to myself. Someone might think I'd killed him.
In these woods, after all, anything could happen, and murders were nothing exceptional. Who would ever find out that someone deep in the wilderness had been taken out of this world? An attacker would rob the victim of everything, release their Pokémon, and then catch them again to cover their tracks. Such a crime was incredibly difficult to prove. However, if there was exceptionally serious suspicion, psychic-type Pokémon would be called in to scan the suspect's emotions and reactions to specific questions.
In the end, I only salvaged two Antidotes, an Elixir, and some cheap dried Magikarp meat from the bag. As soon as I set the backpack aside, I decided to summon the Scyther.
"Haunter, get ready," I commanded. "We're going to have a talk with our new guest."
"Haunter!"
I tossed the Pokéball a short distance in front of me. In a flash of red, the Scyther materialized. It stood proudly, blades ready for combat, with pure hatred etched across its face.
"Scyther," I addressed it calmly. "Aren't you hungry?"
It refused to answer. It kept glaring at me with malice, but I decided to approach. I walked slowly, a bowl of food in my hand. This moment, however, was interrupted by Haunter. Amused, he threw the remains of the Caterpie at it. He aimed right for its face, but the Scyther didn't even blink. Its gaze remained fixed directly on me. With a single lightning-fast movement, it sliced the flying Caterpie torso into two halves, which fell into the grass with a thud.
I stopped then. It was extremely dangerous toward me, and its fixed, hateful stare said everything. It didn't care at all that I had saved it from certain death. It acted like a defeated samurai who would rather perish proudly alongside his swarm than owe his life to a stranger.
"You'd rather have died with your swarm?"
"Scyther! Scyth! Scytheeeeeeer!" it began to scream venomously.
Its blade flashed white, and I knew I was in trouble. In a fraction of a second, it became a blur in front of me. I immediately drew my sword just to have some sort of chance. The green streak approached me with extreme speed. It was almost upon me when Haunter's Shadow Ball struck it. It was thrown back a few meters and hit the ground with a thud, but it was back on its feet instantly.
I ran toward the Pokéball lying nearby. I trusted Haunter to protect me, so I hurried. As soon as I reached it, I caught a glimpse of the green specter flying at me again in my peripheral vision. Haunter, however, had better eyes and reflexes—he blasted it away from me with another ball. In that split second of speed, I activated the recall beam and pulled Scyther back into the safety of the sphere.
I exhaled with relief.
"Thanks, Haunter, you saved me," I panted gratefully.
A moment later, however, I began cursing myself inwardly. I had made a schoolboy error. I was afraid to have it close, so I threw the Pokéball far away... but because of that, I couldn't immediately withdraw it in a crisis. I had risked death because I completely underestimated Scyther's speed and strength. Oh well, we survived. I'll be damn careful about that in the future.
"Haunter!" he agreed, gesturing a heart with his claws. My heart rate had slowed a bit and the fear of a heart attack had passed, so I returned the gesture.
"Scyther is going up for sale," I muttered under my breath. "It could bring in some decent money."
It was a bit of a shame, but in this world it was relatively common for a caught Pokémon to refuse to cooperate with its trainer. In such cases, it was customary to sell the Pokémon and buy the same species from another trainer, or simply trade it.
I quickly packed up camp, wiped my sweaty forehead after that close call, and set off. I wanted to be back on a safer path as soon as possible today.
As soon as we were back on the main beaten path in Viridian Forest, I leaned the Saffron boy's backpack against the nearest tree. Maybe some kind soul would grab it and inform the police or rangers in Pewter City of his passing. I, however, was more pragmatic and didn't want to waste time with bureaucracy; it wouldn't bring him back anyway.
I had been walking for a few hours, and around noon, I pulled out the Magikarp jerky. I munched on them contentedly as I walked. Although the sounds of Pokémon echoed from all sides, the path was relatively peaceful, even though I was quite tense at first. We didn't encounter any Beedrill swarms, no other people, and no junkies, so we pushed on. I strongly hoped to be out of the forest by evening.
Haunter took his job as my starter extremely seriously, which was for the best. I saw my shadows swirling every now and then; he was constantly checking the surroundings in a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree range and listening to sounds so he could alert me immediately if anything happened.
My peace, however, didn't last long. Haunter suddenly stepped out of the shadow and whispered hushedly: "Haunter, haunt, haunter, haaaunt haunter!"
I didn't understand a word, but from his expression, it was clear he was warning me of something worse than a bug war. What did he feel? What did he hear?
"What is it, Haunter? What do you sense?"
"Haunter, haunter, haaaaaunter!" he gestured wildly, drawing a claw tellingly across his throat.
"You smell death? A person? Up ahead?"
He nodded. Once, twice, three times.
It was right on the path to Pewter City. Either I'd have to leave the trail and push through dangerous thickets, or risk it. Maybe it wouldn't be so terrible after all. I decided we would proceed forward carefully and slowly, scouting from behind the trees to see what had spooked him so much.
"Lead me right there, Haunter. Let's check it out."
He frowned in disagreement for a moment, but eventually capitulated and nodded. We continued along the beaten path until he turned off into the trees. Tensely, he signaled with a claw for me to be quiet. Seeing his serious expression, I obeyed immediately and focused on not making a sound. We crept slowly between the thick trunks.
It wasn't long before I heard a stranger's voice accompanied by the crackling of a fire. The harsh, metallic scent of blood hit my nose. Inconspicuously, millimeter by millimeter, I poked my head from behind a trunk and stood there in shock. The scene looked like something out of a horror movie. Pieces of a Raticat were scattered across the ground, a headless and wingless Butterfree lay nearby, and a massive Mightyena was feeding on the remains of a Pidgeot.
I could hear it enjoying every bite—the crushing of delicate bird bones, the tearing of tendons and muscle. It feasted wildly on the Pokémon's remains. With his back to me, just behind the fire, sat a man in black clothing wearing a baseball cap. He was eating dinner calmly, as if he were used to this massacre. Not far from him lay the corpse of a nearly grown man. His throat had been ripped out.
I slowly began to back away so they wouldn't notice me. It was a fucking mistake coming here. Then I realized that if I ran, I'd probably die anyway. Haunter was at a massive disadvantage against a Mightyena, and his Acid Spray wasn't yet usable for an attack. As soon as that beast finished eating, it would catch our scent and inform its trainer. They would hunt us down in the end. There was only one option left: ambush him from behind and quickly return the Mightyena to its Pokéball. Otherwise, I'd end up with my throat ripped out too.
I backed away further, and when I was sure we were far enough not to be heard, I addressed Haunter.
"Haunter, we have no choice. We have to attack," I began, completely serious. "If they catch our scent first, we'll end up exactly like that trainer. We have to ambush them."
"Haunter!" he whispered with chilling understanding.
Slowly and in total silence, I drew my sword from its sheath. I then issued the final orders.
"I'll attack the trainer. I'll try to knock him out and immediately return that Pokémon to its ball. If I don't get it on the first try, your job is to keep that Mightyena as far away from us as possible, understand? You have to buy me time until I withdraw it."
"Haunter!" he nodded with determination.
"If I happen to fail... you were a great Pokémon. It was an honor having you as my starter."
I didn't wait for his answer. I turned and headed toward the danger.
I slowly made my way back to the tree. In the minute I'd been gone, the situation hadn't changed at all. The Mightyena continued to feed on the Pidgeot's remains. It looked like it was the guy's starter; I noticed his belt and firmly believed the first Pokéball on his side belonged to it. That's how it should be according to the rules. If I was wrong, I'd be facing even greater odds.
I stepped carefully from behind the trunk with my sword drawn, while Haunter swam unobserved through my shadows. I was right behind him now. I couldn't bring myself to stab him in the back, though. Instead, I quickly pulled out a dagger. He sensed movement and started to turn with a jerk, but it was too late—I struck him hard on the temple with the pommel of the dagger. He folded like a house of cards.
The Mightyena noticed immediately. It howled angrily and charged straight at us; even as it ran, dark energy for a Crunch attack began to gather on its fangs. Haunter immediately emerged from my shadow and threw a Shadow Ball at it, but to no avail—the attack didn't even move it. The beast kept rushing toward us. Haunter began to tense up for an Acid Spray shot, but I was already rapidly pressing the button on the Pokéball. Thank god, just two meters away from us, the Mightyena vanished in a flash of red light.
Uff. I slumped to the ground from the immense tension. After a moment, however, I forced myself to stand; I had to secure him in case he woke up. I took his belt with the other Pokéballs and tied him tightly with a rope. I stood there, in that bloody clearing, breathing hard to calm my racing heart.
I dragged him to a tree and leaned him up so I could see his face when he woke. Only then did I notice a distinct, blood-red "R" on his chest. He was a member of Team Rocket, the most dangerous gang in the entire Kanto region. They had their fingers in everything: murder, kidnapping, drugs, forced prostitution, illegal Pokémon trading, and store robberies. It would be easier to say what they didn't have their fingers in. Every trainer was warned about them, but the problem was how to recognize them. A simple cloak was enough to hide the letter on their chest, and they weren't stupid either—they didn't show up in cities wearing uniforms.
I knew that if he woke up and saw me, I would be in mortal danger... if he ever got out of this clearing alive, that is. While he was unconscious, I decided to search his things as well as the murdered trainer's bag.
There was nothing left in the victim's backpack; it had been completely looted, save for some cheap camping gear. The Rocket's bag, however, was a different haul. I found 3,493 dollars in it, three Elixirs, two Antidotes, a strange magnetic card, bandages, a folding net, and some pre-packaged steaks. I took absolutely everything except for the magnetic card. It was useless to me and I had no idea what it was for. In the worst-case scenario, I could draw attention to myself if someone saw it on me.
In total, I had 4,226 dollars now, which was a pretty decent sum. I was just tucking the loot into my bag when an angry voice came from the tree.
"You have no idea what a mistake you've just made," he began in a low, hateful tone. "When I get out of here, your own mother won't recognize you. I'll cut you into pieces and my Mightyena will eat you along with your Pokémon."
I looked at him for a second but didn't answer. I needed to think. His Mightyena was safely in its Pokéball along with the others. I knew his starter wouldn't work for my plan; Mightyena are notorious for their absolute loyalty to the pack leader. But what about the others? I ignored him completely and took a second Pokéball from the belt.
"Do you hear me, you little shit? I'll kill you!" the Rocket screamed.
A Golbat appeared from the ball. It looked around the clearing in confusion until its gaze fell on the tied-up trainer. He immediately began giving it orders to attack me, but the Golbat didn't even move.
"Just as I thought. His other Pokémon certainly aren't loyal to him," I muttered under my breath. "Would you like freedom, Golbat?" I asked it. Meanwhile, my Haunter faithfully watched its every move—one wrong maneuver and he would blast its wing off with a prepared Shadow Ball.
"Golbat!" it nodded in agreement, eager.
"Then wait a moment," I paused. "Are his other Pokémon the same way?" I asked warily.
"Golbat!" it immediately nodded and enthusiastically bared its sharp teeth.
I took another Pokéball, from which a Meowth emerged. Like the Golbat, it completely ignored its trainer. With a mocking look, it began licking its paw and meowed lazily: "Meeoow." It was clear it also desired freedom.
I pulled out the last Pokéball. A Houndour materialized from it. Instead of a healthy appearance, it looked beaten, dirty, tired, and malnourished. As soon as it appeared, its legs gave way with a groan and it fell into the grass. With eyes closed, it whined fearfully on the ground.
The Rocket constantly tried to give commands to his Pokémon from the tree, but they hated him. It looked like without the Mightyena, which likely forced their obedience, they had no reason to listen to him.
Even if I'd wanted to show mercy before—which I certainly didn't—after seeing Houndour's condition, I was sure this Rocket wasn't leaving this clearing alive. I immediately tossed the Houndour's Pokéball to Haunter.
"Destroy it, Haunter."
With a harsh crack, Haunter's Shadow Ball smashed it into pieces; only a pile of steel remained. The Houndour was free, so I wasted no time and threw my own Pokéball at it. I'd treat its wounds later, once we were away from this place.
"Just wait until I get out of here, you little prick! You'll regret ever being born," the asshole continued to threaten me. Hatred and a desire to hurt him grew inside me. I stepped toward him, followed by his Meowth, Golbat, and my Haunter.
"Who said you were getting out of here alive?" I asked in a chilling, quiet voice.
He turned pale instantly. It dawned on him that I was deadly serious.
"Y-you wouldn't d-do that," he stammered. "You're a g-good kid, r-right?"
I didn't answer.
Sshhkt. In a fraction of a second, I slit his throat. He immediately began to wheeze and choke on his own blood. I watched for a moment as he slowly expired, and once I was sure I was no longer in danger, I loosened the ropes and rolled them back up. I dragged his body a bit further; it was time to cover the tracks.
"Golbat, lunch," I ordered. "Meowth, claw his throat so that no trace of a blade remains."
Both felt the sweet scent of freedom, so they obeyed. Golbat bit into his neck first, and once it had its fill of blood, Meowth lunged with an enthusiastic smile, digging sharp claws into his throat. He slashed away until the head was completely severed from the body. When it was done, it was time to set them free.
I handed their Pokéballs to Haunter to destroy, and then I sent them away with a final word.
"You can go, you're free. Avoid humans so you don't end up in the hands of someone like him again."
They obeyed immediately, each heading in an opposite direction. With one last look at the bloody clearing and a soul slightly heavier after my first murder, I made my departure.
Author's note:
A real shame about that Scyther, isn't it? I mean, who wouldn't want one as their Pokémon? Unfortunately, he's just way too dangerous for our MC to handle right now... It makes you wonder, is Viridian Forest cursed? It seems like there's something extremely lethal lurking around every corner.
Also, it goes to show: if you force obedience through fear or pain, it can come back to haunt you in such a cruel, ugly way. On the bright side, at least we made a decent profit…
Step into the Restricted Section
The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.
Enter the Restricted Section here: you-know-what/PatrikWriter
Upcoming Chapters – Already Written:
11. Gastly: From the Void
12. The Weight of Necessity
13. Nature's Cruel Mercy
14. I'm Rich, Baby!
15. Shelled Defiance
Join the Inner Circle - tgdTNZYVKt (Discord)
(Vote on plot | Dark FF recs | Chat with the Author)
Support the craft and keep the darkness spreading. Your support directly allows for faster updates.
"Haunter!" my partner greeted me the moment I stepped outside.
"Good morning, Haunter. How was the night?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
"Haunt, Haunt, Haunteeer!" he began to articulate and gesture wildly, eventually pointing a claw at half of a green body on the ground. It was the lower half of a Caterpie, and it looked like its upper torso had been literally torn apart by a Shadow Ball.
"Did it get too close during the night, or were you just hungry?"
"Haunt, Haunter!"
"So it approached, but since you were hungry, you made a feast out of it?"
Haunter nodded in agreement with a wide, chilling grin. He had probably drained it of its fear like juice first, then took its life energy as the main course, and finally finished the remains with a Shadow Ball. Maybe he was depressed about his failure with the Acid Spray. In truth, it didn't matter. Everything had been too easy for him until now; let him realize right at the start that he has to work for it—even a centimeter of progress is still progress.
While my food heated in the pan, I thought about the day ahead. I had to try and tame the Scyther—at least to the point where it wouldn't butcher me at the first opportunity. And I finally had to get out of Viridian Forest onto Route 2 toward Pewter City.
After breakfast, I began searching through the backpack I had found discarded in the Spinarak hunting grounds. I quickly sifted through its contents. According to the ID, it belonged to a boy originally from Saffron City. As was standard, he likely had himself teleported to Pallet Town to start his journey from the safest areas to the hardest. There was no money in the bag; he probably had that on him. However, I found several Pokéballs, which I didn't even dare touch. They were linked to the owner's ID, and I certainly didn't plan on drawing suspicion to myself. Someone might think I'd killed him.
In these woods, after all, anything could happen, and murders were nothing exceptional. Who would ever find out that someone deep in the wilderness had been taken out of this world? An attacker would rob the victim of everything, release their Pokémon, and then catch them again to cover their tracks. Such a crime was incredibly difficult to prove. However, if there was exceptionally serious suspicion, psychic-type Pokémon would be called in to scan the suspect's emotions and reactions to specific questions.
In the end, I only salvaged two Antidotes, an Elixir, and some cheap dried Magikarp meat from the bag. As soon as I set the backpack aside, I decided to summon the Scyther.
"Haunter, get ready," I commanded. "We're going to have a talk with our new guest."
"Haunter!"
I tossed the Pokéball a short distance in front of me. In a flash of red, the Scyther materialized. It stood proudly, blades ready for combat, with pure hatred etched across its face.
"Scyther," I addressed it calmly. "Aren't you hungry?"
It refused to answer. It kept glaring at me with malice, but I decided to approach. I walked slowly, a bowl of food in my hand. This moment, however, was interrupted by Haunter. Amused, he threw the remains of the Caterpie at it. He aimed right for its face, but the Scyther didn't even blink. Its gaze remained fixed directly on me. With a single lightning-fast movement, it sliced the flying Caterpie torso into two halves, which fell into the grass with a thud.
I stopped then. It was extremely dangerous toward me, and its fixed, hateful stare said everything. It didn't care at all that I had saved it from certain death. It acted like a defeated samurai who would rather perish proudly alongside his swarm than owe his life to a stranger.
"You'd rather have died with your swarm?"
"Scyther! Scyth! Scytheeeeeeer!" it began to scream venomously.
Its blade flashed white, and I knew I was in trouble. In a fraction of a second, it became a blur in front of me. I immediately drew my sword just to have some sort of chance. The green streak approached me with extreme speed. It was almost upon me when Haunter's Shadow Ball struck it. It was thrown back a few meters and hit the ground with a thud, but it was back on its feet instantly.
I ran toward the Pokéball lying nearby. I trusted Haunter to protect me, so I hurried. As soon as I reached it, I caught a glimpse of the green specter flying at me again in my peripheral vision. Haunter, however, had better eyes and reflexes—he blasted it away from me with another ball. In that split second of speed, I activated the recall beam and pulled Scyther back into the safety of the sphere.
I exhaled with relief.
"Thanks, Haunter, you saved me," I panted gratefully.
A moment later, however, I began cursing myself inwardly. I had made a schoolboy error. I was afraid to have it close, so I threw the Pokéball far away... but because of that, I couldn't immediately withdraw it in a crisis. I had risked death because I completely underestimated Scyther's speed and strength. Oh well, we survived. I'll be damn careful about that in the future.
"Haunter!" he agreed, gesturing a heart with his claws. My heart rate had slowed a bit and the fear of a heart attack had passed, so I returned the gesture.
"Scyther is going up for sale," I muttered under my breath. "It could bring in some decent money."
It was a bit of a shame, but in this world it was relatively common for a caught Pokémon to refuse to cooperate with its trainer. In such cases, it was customary to sell the Pokémon and buy the same species from another trainer, or simply trade it.
I quickly packed up camp, wiped my sweaty forehead after that close call, and set off. I wanted to be back on a safer path as soon as possible today.
As soon as we were back on the main beaten path in Viridian Forest, I leaned the Saffron boy's backpack against the nearest tree. Maybe some kind soul would grab it and inform the police or rangers in Pewter City of his passing. I, however, was more pragmatic and didn't want to waste time with bureaucracy; it wouldn't bring him back anyway.
I had been walking for a few hours, and around noon, I pulled out the Magikarp jerky. I munched on them contentedly as I walked. Although the sounds of Pokémon echoed from all sides, the path was relatively peaceful, even though I was quite tense at first. We didn't encounter any Beedrill swarms, no other people, and no junkies, so we pushed on. I strongly hoped to be out of the forest by evening.
Haunter took his job as my starter extremely seriously, which was for the best. I saw my shadows swirling every now and then; he was constantly checking the surroundings in a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree range and listening to sounds so he could alert me immediately if anything happened.
My peace, however, didn't last long. Haunter suddenly stepped out of the shadow and whispered hushedly: "Haunter, haunt, haunter, haaaunt haunter!"
I didn't understand a word, but from his expression, it was clear he was warning me of something worse than a bug war. What did he feel? What did he hear?
"What is it, Haunter? What do you sense?"
"Haunter, haunter, haaaaaunter!" he gestured wildly, drawing a claw tellingly across his throat.
"You smell death? A person? Up ahead?"
He nodded. Once, twice, three times.
It was right on the path to Pewter City. Either I'd have to leave the trail and push through dangerous thickets, or risk it. Maybe it wouldn't be so terrible after all. I decided we would proceed forward carefully and slowly, scouting from behind the trees to see what had spooked him so much.
"Lead me right there, Haunter. Let's check it out."
He frowned in disagreement for a moment, but eventually capitulated and nodded. We continued along the beaten path until he turned off into the trees. Tensely, he signaled with a claw for me to be quiet. Seeing his serious expression, I obeyed immediately and focused on not making a sound. We crept slowly between the thick trunks.
It wasn't long before I heard a stranger's voice accompanied by the crackling of a fire. The harsh, metallic scent of blood hit my nose. Inconspicuously, millimeter by millimeter, I poked my head from behind a trunk and stood there in shock. The scene looked like something out of a horror movie. Pieces of a Raticat were scattered across the ground, a headless and wingless Butterfree lay nearby, and a massive Mightyena was feeding on the remains of a Pidgeot.
I could hear it enjoying every bite—the crushing of delicate bird bones, the tearing of tendons and muscle. It feasted wildly on the Pokémon's remains. With his back to me, just behind the fire, sat a man in black clothing wearing a baseball cap. He was eating dinner calmly, as if he were used to this massacre. Not far from him lay the corpse of a nearly grown man. His throat had been ripped out.
I slowly began to back away so they wouldn't notice me. It was a fucking mistake coming here. Then I realized that if I ran, I'd probably die anyway. Haunter was at a massive disadvantage against a Mightyena, and his Acid Spray wasn't yet usable for an attack. As soon as that beast finished eating, it would catch our scent and inform its trainer. They would hunt us down in the end. There was only one option left: ambush him from behind and quickly return the Mightyena to its Pokéball. Otherwise, I'd end up with my throat ripped out too.
I backed away further, and when I was sure we were far enough not to be heard, I addressed Haunter.
"Haunter, we have no choice. We have to attack," I began, completely serious. "If they catch our scent first, we'll end up exactly like that trainer. We have to ambush them."
"Haunter!" he whispered with chilling understanding.
Slowly and in total silence, I drew my sword from its sheath. I then issued the final orders.
"I'll attack the trainer. I'll try to knock him out and immediately return that Pokémon to its ball. If I don't get it on the first try, your job is to keep that Mightyena as far away from us as possible, understand? You have to buy me time until I withdraw it."
"Haunter!" he nodded with determination.
"If I happen to fail... you were a great Pokémon. It was an honor having you as my starter."
I didn't wait for his answer. I turned and headed toward the danger.
I slowly made my way back to the tree. In the minute I'd been gone, the situation hadn't changed at all. The Mightyena continued to feed on the Pidgeot's remains. It looked like it was the guy's starter; I noticed his belt and firmly believed the first Pokéball on his side belonged to it. That's how it should be according to the rules. If I was wrong, I'd be facing even greater odds.
I stepped carefully from behind the trunk with my sword drawn, while Haunter swam unobserved through my shadows. I was right behind him now. I couldn't bring myself to stab him in the back, though. Instead, I quickly pulled out a dagger. He sensed movement and started to turn with a jerk, but it was too late—I struck him hard on the temple with the pommel of the dagger. He folded like a house of cards.
The Mightyena noticed immediately. It howled angrily and charged straight at us; even as it ran, dark energy for a Crunch attack began to gather on its fangs. Haunter immediately emerged from my shadow and threw a Shadow Ball at it, but to no avail—the attack didn't even move it. The beast kept rushing toward us. Haunter began to tense up for an Acid Spray shot, but I was already rapidly pressing the button on the Pokéball. Thank god, just two meters away from us, the Mightyena vanished in a flash of red light.
Uff. I slumped to the ground from the immense tension. After a moment, however, I forced myself to stand; I had to secure him in case he woke up. I took his belt with the other Pokéballs and tied him tightly with a rope. I stood there, in that bloody clearing, breathing hard to calm my racing heart.
I dragged him to a tree and leaned him up so I could see his face when he woke. Only then did I notice a distinct, blood-red "R" on his chest. He was a member of Team Rocket, the most dangerous gang in the entire Kanto region. They had their fingers in everything: murder, kidnapping, drugs, forced prostitution, illegal Pokémon trading, and store robberies. It would be easier to say what they didn't have their fingers in. Every trainer was warned about them, but the problem was how to recognize them. A simple cloak was enough to hide the letter on their chest, and they weren't stupid either—they didn't show up in cities wearing uniforms.
I knew that if he woke up and saw me, I would be in mortal danger... if he ever got out of this clearing alive, that is. While he was unconscious, I decided to search his things as well as the murdered trainer's bag.
There was nothing left in the victim's backpack; it had been completely looted, save for some cheap camping gear. The Rocket's bag, however, was a different haul. I found 3,493 dollars in it, three Elixirs, two Antidotes, a strange magnetic card, bandages, a folding net, and some pre-packaged steaks. I took absolutely everything except for the magnetic card. It was useless to me and I had no idea what it was for. In the worst-case scenario, I could draw attention to myself if someone saw it on me.
In total, I had 4,226 dollars now, which was a pretty decent sum. I was just tucking the loot into my bag when an angry voice came from the tree.
"You have no idea what a mistake you've just made," he began in a low, hateful tone. "When I get out of here, your own mother won't recognize you. I'll cut you into pieces and my Mightyena will eat you along with your Pokémon."
I looked at him for a second but didn't answer. I needed to think. His Mightyena was safely in its Pokéball along with the others. I knew his starter wouldn't work for my plan; Mightyena are notorious for their absolute loyalty to the pack leader. But what about the others? I ignored him completely and took a second Pokéball from the belt.
"Do you hear me, you little shit? I'll kill you!" the Rocket screamed.
A Golbat appeared from the ball. It looked around the clearing in confusion until its gaze fell on the tied-up trainer. He immediately began giving it orders to attack me, but the Golbat didn't even move.
"Just as I thought. His other Pokémon certainly aren't loyal to him," I muttered under my breath. "Would you like freedom, Golbat?" I asked it. Meanwhile, my Haunter faithfully watched its every move—one wrong maneuver and he would blast its wing off with a prepared Shadow Ball.
"Golbat!" it nodded in agreement, eager.
"Then wait a moment," I paused. "Are his other Pokémon the same way?" I asked warily.
"Golbat!" it immediately nodded and enthusiastically bared its sharp teeth.
I took another Pokéball, from which a Meowth emerged. Like the Golbat, it completely ignored its trainer. With a mocking look, it began licking its paw and meowed lazily: "Meeoow." It was clear it also desired freedom.
I pulled out the last Pokéball. A Houndour materialized from it. Instead of a healthy appearance, it looked beaten, dirty, tired, and malnourished. As soon as it appeared, its legs gave way with a groan and it fell into the grass. With eyes closed, it whined fearfully on the ground.
The Rocket constantly tried to give commands to his Pokémon from the tree, but they hated him. It looked like without the Mightyena, which likely forced their obedience, they had no reason to listen to him.
Even if I'd wanted to show mercy before—which I certainly didn't—after seeing Houndour's condition, I was sure this Rocket wasn't leaving this clearing alive. I immediately tossed the Houndour's Pokéball to Haunter.
"Destroy it, Haunter."
With a harsh crack, Haunter's Shadow Ball smashed it into pieces; only a pile of steel remained. The Houndour was free, so I wasted no time and threw my own Pokéball at it. I'd treat its wounds later, once we were away from this place.
"Just wait until I get out of here, you little prick! You'll regret ever being born," the asshole continued to threaten me. Hatred and a desire to hurt him grew inside me. I stepped toward him, followed by his Meowth, Golbat, and my Haunter.
"Who said you were getting out of here alive?" I asked in a chilling, quiet voice.
He turned pale instantly. It dawned on him that I was deadly serious.
"Y-you wouldn't d-do that," he stammered. "You're a g-good kid, r-right?"
I didn't answer.
Sshhkt. In a fraction of a second, I slit his throat. He immediately began to wheeze and choke on his own blood. I watched for a moment as he slowly expired, and once I was sure I was no longer in danger, I loosened the ropes and rolled them back up. I dragged his body a bit further; it was time to cover the tracks.
"Golbat, lunch," I ordered. "Meowth, claw his throat so that no trace of a blade remains."
Both felt the sweet scent of freedom, so they obeyed. Golbat bit into his neck first, and once it had its fill of blood, Meowth lunged with an enthusiastic smile, digging sharp claws into his throat. He slashed away until the head was completely severed from the body. When it was done, it was time to set them free.
I handed their Pokéballs to Haunter to destroy, and then I sent them away with a final word.
"You can go, you're free. Avoid humans so you don't end up in the hands of someone like him again."
They obeyed immediately, each heading in an opposite direction. With one last look at the bloody clearing and a soul slightly heavier after my first murder, I made my departure.
Author's note:
A real shame about that Scyther, isn't it? I mean, who wouldn't want one as their Pokémon? Unfortunately, he's just way too dangerous for our MC to handle right now... It makes you wonder, is Viridian Forest cursed? It seems like there's something extremely lethal lurking around every corner.
Also, it goes to show: if you force obedience through fear or pain, it can come back to haunt you in such a cruel, ugly way. On the bright side, at least we made a decent profit…
Step into the Restricted Section
The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.
Enter the Restricted Section here: you-know-what/PatrikWriter
Upcoming Chapters – Already Written:
11. Gastly: From the Void
12. The Weight of Necessity
13. Nature's Cruel Mercy
14. I'm Rich, Baby!
15. Shelled Defiance
Join the Inner Circle - tgdTNZYVKt (Discord)
(Vote on plot | Dark FF recs | Chat with the Author)
Support the craft and keep the darkness spreading. Your support directly allows for faster updates.
dman1345
Your first time is always over so quickly, isn't it?
- Joined
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I always enjoy a darker world of Pokémon, and you have made an excellent story with it. I would like to see more world building but that's just because I like lore. Great story keep it up
ThunderBasilisk
Well Worn Bastion
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Obedience through pain only works so long until the victim realized you don't have any actual power over them.
PatrikWriter
Master of the Forbidden Arts
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- 862
You're very welcome! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and his encounter with that Rocket grunt.
I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and I'll do my best to keep it just as good in the future! We're still only at the beginning, so there's definitely plenty of room to expand the lore and world-building. Stay tuned!
Exactly. We see it in real life all the time, which is why I thought that kind of ending for the Grunt was perfect.
11. Gastly: From the Void
New
PatrikWriter
Master of the Forbidden Arts
- Joined
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- Messages
- 88
- Likes received
- 862
Distortion World
In the beginning, there was only consciousness. Pure, unanchored, stripped of any perception of self or the place where it resided. It felt only strange, indistinct tastes. It was part of the surrounding world, and the world tossed it about according to its whim. This primal consciousness simply drifted through the void until, over time, true senses and awareness began to stir within it.
It didn't take long for the consciousness to notice something irresistible—glowing spheres of energy that beckoned with a near-magnetic force. Initially, it was helpless, unable to control its movement, and so, a desire was born. This longing grew and intensified, ignoring the flow of time, which meant nothing in this realm. Then, one day, the current of events swept it directly toward one of them.
The consciousness immediately plunged into the sphere's core and began to feed with a primal, existential hunger. This single sphere changed everything. Through it, the consciousness understood its own existence. It absorbed feelings, thoughts, and foreign memories. It became aware of space and time and began to learn how to control its new essence. It no longer merely drifted; a single thought was enough to move in the desired direction. It began to take on traits it had never imagined before, and it continued to feed greedily.
With every additional sphere devoured, it learned more. The information it absorbed began to make sense. It understood that what it was consuming were pieces of beings—their emotions and experiences. A single word echoed repeatedly in its mind: "Soul."
It didn't know exactly what it meant, but the more it fed, the more it longed to possess one. From this unquenchable hunger in the heart of the World of Destruction, Gastly was finally formed.
"Gastly..." it uttered its name for the first time, its voice rasping in the void.
As soon as it realized the nature of its being, it felt a strange, crushing pressure. The world was trying to push it elsewhere, somewhere away. But Gastly was overcome by fear and resisted. With its entire dark essence, it refused to leave. It remained in the Distortion World and continued to grow.
It grew more intelligent; its gaseous body expanded. Its entire universe narrowed down to the absorption of souls. Occasionally, in the distance, it glimpsed shadows similar to what it once was. It watched another deep darkness feeding on one of the spheres. Suddenly, the sphere vanished, and in its place appeared a "puppet"—at least, that is what it would call it based on stolen memories. The puppet, with its tongue lolling out, scanned the surroundings and spoke for the first time:
"Shuppet!"
"Gastly!" it greeted the creature loudly.
But before Shuppet could even look around properly, it dissolved into the darkness. Was this the displacement Gastly had so desperately resisted? Fear drove it forward. It believed that if it fed enough, it would be powerful enough to remain the master of its own fate. It felt energy pulsing within, and when it stuck out its long, spectral tongue, it saw its own strength reflected there.
Time passed in endless cycles of feeding and resistance until the pressure became almost unbearable. Yet Gastly fought with the ferocity of a creature that knew nothing but the darkness of its home. It struggled desperately, determined not to be torn from the world that had created it.
Finally, a moment came when its will collided with something infinitely more powerful. The space around it froze. The last thing Gastly saw in the thickening gloom were two massive, blood-red eyes staring at it with ancient authority.
Then, a voice spoke. It wasn't a sound that passed through ears, but a chilling vibration penetrating to the very core of its being: "You have resisted for a long time, young ghost. But the time has come for you to know the world out there."
A paralyzing fear consumed Gastly. It squeezed its eyes shut and let itself be carried away, expecting pain. When, after a moment, nothing came to harm it, it cautiously peeked. It stopped mid-motion in pure surprise.
"Cemetery." The word echoed in its mind like the ghost of an old memory.
Thanks to the absorbed souls, it knew what this place meant. It knew who humans were, though it did not count itself among them. From flashes of foreign lives, it understood that humans were not purple, translucent, and certainly couldn't fly. It also knew that, unlike them, it didn't have to spend its whole life chasing those strange green pieces of paper.
Driven by curiosity, it drifted between the tombstones. It looked at the faded photographs on the monuments, which meant nothing to it, until a familiar, intoxicating scent hit its nose. Food. A soul was nearby.
It beckoned, calling to it like a beacon in the dark. Gastly floated noiselessly toward the call until it saw a figure with long hair, kneeling before a marble grave. It felt something new, heavy and bitter. It identified it immediately—it was sorrow. That emotion nourished it in a strange, quiet way. Gastly, driven by curiosity, floated even closer to inspect the person.
In that instant, the figure spotted it. A piercing scream rang out through the cemetery. The person recoiled in horror, and a wave of pure, sharp fear hit Gastly. It was a near-euphoric taste. The terrified human immediately took flight. Gastly fed enthusiastically on the remnants of energy the figure left behind, but it was too slow, and after a while, the target vanished into the darkness between the trees. Gastly didn't mind, though. It felt pleasantly satiated and content. It decided to explore this new place a bit more thoroughly.
It wasn't long before word of an unusually large Gastly spread through the area. It wasn't common for wraiths to reach such dimensions, so the townspeople began to avoid the place. However, stories of the creature reached a woman in whose heart hope burned and in whose eyes the experience of a powerful trainer could be seen. She decided she would claim this extraordinary spirit.
***
Gastly was starving. No fresh emotions had appeared in the cemetery for several days, and the fear of the unknown prevented it from leaving the familiar gravestones. But when it suddenly caught the scent of a massive, almost royal "meal," it eagerly set out to meet it. It prepared its widest, most chilling grin and floated toward the approaching figure.
"Pregnant woman." A foreign memory of a hospital and a tiny person in arms flashed through its mind for a second, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Gastly focused on the prey.
While everyone else had run from it screaming, this woman looked at it with a calm smile. He felt no fear from her, no negative energy to feed on, though he sensed a faint hint of power similar to his own. He tried to frighten her anyway—snapping his long tongue forward. But before he could get within a meter, the shadows around the woman came to life.
Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced him. Gastly shrieked in agony and tried to flee, but in vain. He was held by purple claws infused with crushing energy that seared his gaseous body. He couldn't even move.
"Give up, little one, or I'll hurt you," a chilling, wide-grinning voice spoke. A Gengar stepped out of the shadow. "Actually... I wouldn't mind if you didn't give up. It would be fun," he added with a dark chuckle.
Gastly went limp immediately. He felt the same helplessness as when he had stared into the massive red eyes in the darkness of the World of Destruction. Against this monster, he had no chance.
"I give up," he admitted defeat in a quiet voice. "What will happen to me?"
"You will watch over and protect my trainer's child."
"What is a child? And why should I do that?" Gastly asked curiously, though his core still pulsed with pain.
"You'll find out in time," Gengar grinned, his eyes flashing ominously. "And why? So that one day you'll be as powerful as I am. So that you'll never have to fear anyone again."
A spark of hope woke within Gastly. He didn't want to be prey anymore. He didn't want to be helpless before entities that surpassed him. Gengar sensed his desire for strength and nodded with chilling understanding.
The last thing Gastly caught was a muffled human voice: "You will be perfect... for my... child..."
Then he saw a flying ball, a flash of a red beam, and the world around him vanished. He found himself in the quiet, deep, and surprisingly pleasant darkness of a Poké Ball.
After the child was born, Gastly guarded him faithfully. He wasn't alone; Gengar watched over everything from the shadows, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of danger. The more time Gastly spent near the little creature, the deeper the bond he felt. But the idyll didn't last forever.
The world suddenly collapsed in flames. The woman who had given him a home died. Gengar, his mentor, vanished into the darkness of death along with the trainer's husband. The manor and the entire family history turned to ash. Only two survived the tragedy: an old one and Gastly's young master. But the boy was too small then to even understand how much he had lost.
Gastly received clear instructions. The young master would be hidden in a small town under the supervision of a powerful man, and Gastly would become his first Pokémon when the right time came.
The years passed slowly. Gastly spent most of his time in the Poké Ball, but occasionally the Professor allowed him out to observe the boy. It was a painful spectacle. To see the heir of a powerful lineage scrubbing floors with a mop in hand was incomprehensible to Gastly. His mother would never have allowed it, and Gengar would have sneered in his face! Gastly felt bitterness.
Why did he have to lose his family? This boy acted like a servant and lacked that noble "flavor" of energy he had felt from his mother. But Gastly didn't lose hope. He knew that humans age and change. He believed that one day the young master would stand tall, and together they would achieve the power Gengar had spoken of.
The turning point came the day the young master suddenly collapsed while working. Gastly, paralyzed with concern, immediately summoned the Professor. But the man reassured him—saying it was common in his lineage. Gastly didn't believe him. He had never seen anyone just fall to the ground like that. He feared that if he lost his master, he would never become the powerful Gengar he desired to be.
That made his surprise all the greater when, after waking up, the young master summoned him from his Poké Ball for the first time. His gaze was different—piercing, sharp, and confident. Suddenly, he radiated an energy that reminded Gastly so much of his mother and the old Gengar.
Everything changed. The boy was no longer afraid of his own shadow and left the mop to gather dust. Gastly overflowed with pride. As soon as possible, they began training. Gastly felt a massive potential within himself, the kind Gengar had once mentioned. Back then, the old spirit had always cooled him down, saying that mastering this power would be "the young master's department."
And now it was here. Gastly put his entire being into every attack, every movement. He wanted his master to see his gratitude and loyalty. He trained at the edge of his limits, ready to become the darkest weapon in his owner's hands.
When Gastly saw the young master training side-by-side with him, his determination knew no bounds. Together, they would be the most powerful! Though he had to admit he sometimes didn't understand his master—for example, what was this "grapefruit juice"? Gastly even felt a bit offended when the young master was faster in movement than he was. He, a wraith who defies gravity, could not lag behind!
This jealousy and desire for perfection pushed him to evolve. His misty body thickened, elongated, and finally, claws appeared—those menacing, levitating hands that even the old Gengar had, though they were part of his body. He became a Haunter. When he saw the proud glint in his master's eyes, he knew he would lay down his life for him.
Looking at the pathetic, malnourished Beedrill they met on the way, Haunter felt a wave of gratitude. He was lucky to have a trainer who cared about the power and growth of his companions. Later, when the sounds of a massive battle echoed from a distance, Haunter's insides trembled. He felt those delicious negative emotions and longed to feed on them, but instinct told him to stay by his master. His master would be in danger there, so he warned him. But the young master knew exactly what he was doing, and so Haunter followed him faithfully. The result was a new team member—someone who had tried to kill the young master! Haunter couldn't understand it. How could anyone want to hurt the most perfect trainer in the world? Instead of attacking, Scyther should have been grateful.
Their adventure continued until Haunter again caught the scent of blood and darkness. He didn't want to go there, but his master was adamant. Haunter watched with awe his power, determination, and the almost cold vindictiveness with which he convinced foreign Pokémon to cover up the murder of their own trainer. For Haunter, it was a fascinating spectacle—that night, he watched over the camp even more vigilantly. He watched every shadow, every rustle, ready to destroy anyone who dared approach.
In the middle of the night, however, he heard restless mumbling. The young master was tossing and turning, sweat beading on his forehead, his breath shallow and sharp. Haunter watched him with concern. It was strange—until now, the master had slept peacefully.
Was he perhaps troubled by taking another person's life? Haunter doubted it. After all, it was natural to feed on the weaker, especially if the other was a killer himself. He believed in his master's strength; he was sure he would overcome this weakness.
With that thought, Haunter returned to his watch. In the darkness of the night, he quietly billowed, while inside him pulsed a sour, poisonous energy ready for the next spit.
Author's note:
This is the first POV chapter for this story! I've experimented with different perspectives in my other works, but after being inspired by a book I read recently, I wanted to try it here and really nail the execution.
We get to see the origin of Gastly and why he's so much larger than others of his kind. While most spirits are displaced by Giratina immediately after "birth," our Gastly resisted, stayed behind to feed, and grew more powerful before entering the real world.
Also, we find out the MC's mother had a Gengar... and seriously, what the hell is up with that grapefruit juice?
Step into the Restricted Section
The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.
Enter the Restricted Section here: you-know-what/PatrikWriter
Upcoming Chapters – Already Written:
12. The Weight of Necessity
13. Nature's Cruel Mercy
14. I'm Rich, Baby!
15. Shelled Defiance
16. The Boulder Badge
Join the Inner Circle - tgdTNZYVKt (Discord)
(Vote on plot | Dark FF recs | Chat with the Author)
Support the craft and keep the darkness spreading. Your support directly allows for faster updates.
In the beginning, there was only consciousness. Pure, unanchored, stripped of any perception of self or the place where it resided. It felt only strange, indistinct tastes. It was part of the surrounding world, and the world tossed it about according to its whim. This primal consciousness simply drifted through the void until, over time, true senses and awareness began to stir within it.
It didn't take long for the consciousness to notice something irresistible—glowing spheres of energy that beckoned with a near-magnetic force. Initially, it was helpless, unable to control its movement, and so, a desire was born. This longing grew and intensified, ignoring the flow of time, which meant nothing in this realm. Then, one day, the current of events swept it directly toward one of them.
The consciousness immediately plunged into the sphere's core and began to feed with a primal, existential hunger. This single sphere changed everything. Through it, the consciousness understood its own existence. It absorbed feelings, thoughts, and foreign memories. It became aware of space and time and began to learn how to control its new essence. It no longer merely drifted; a single thought was enough to move in the desired direction. It began to take on traits it had never imagined before, and it continued to feed greedily.
With every additional sphere devoured, it learned more. The information it absorbed began to make sense. It understood that what it was consuming were pieces of beings—their emotions and experiences. A single word echoed repeatedly in its mind: "Soul."
It didn't know exactly what it meant, but the more it fed, the more it longed to possess one. From this unquenchable hunger in the heart of the World of Destruction, Gastly was finally formed.
"Gastly..." it uttered its name for the first time, its voice rasping in the void.
As soon as it realized the nature of its being, it felt a strange, crushing pressure. The world was trying to push it elsewhere, somewhere away. But Gastly was overcome by fear and resisted. With its entire dark essence, it refused to leave. It remained in the Distortion World and continued to grow.
It grew more intelligent; its gaseous body expanded. Its entire universe narrowed down to the absorption of souls. Occasionally, in the distance, it glimpsed shadows similar to what it once was. It watched another deep darkness feeding on one of the spheres. Suddenly, the sphere vanished, and in its place appeared a "puppet"—at least, that is what it would call it based on stolen memories. The puppet, with its tongue lolling out, scanned the surroundings and spoke for the first time:
"Shuppet!"
"Gastly!" it greeted the creature loudly.
But before Shuppet could even look around properly, it dissolved into the darkness. Was this the displacement Gastly had so desperately resisted? Fear drove it forward. It believed that if it fed enough, it would be powerful enough to remain the master of its own fate. It felt energy pulsing within, and when it stuck out its long, spectral tongue, it saw its own strength reflected there.
Time passed in endless cycles of feeding and resistance until the pressure became almost unbearable. Yet Gastly fought with the ferocity of a creature that knew nothing but the darkness of its home. It struggled desperately, determined not to be torn from the world that had created it.
Finally, a moment came when its will collided with something infinitely more powerful. The space around it froze. The last thing Gastly saw in the thickening gloom were two massive, blood-red eyes staring at it with ancient authority.
Then, a voice spoke. It wasn't a sound that passed through ears, but a chilling vibration penetrating to the very core of its being: "You have resisted for a long time, young ghost. But the time has come for you to know the world out there."
A paralyzing fear consumed Gastly. It squeezed its eyes shut and let itself be carried away, expecting pain. When, after a moment, nothing came to harm it, it cautiously peeked. It stopped mid-motion in pure surprise.
"Cemetery." The word echoed in its mind like the ghost of an old memory.
Thanks to the absorbed souls, it knew what this place meant. It knew who humans were, though it did not count itself among them. From flashes of foreign lives, it understood that humans were not purple, translucent, and certainly couldn't fly. It also knew that, unlike them, it didn't have to spend its whole life chasing those strange green pieces of paper.
Driven by curiosity, it drifted between the tombstones. It looked at the faded photographs on the monuments, which meant nothing to it, until a familiar, intoxicating scent hit its nose. Food. A soul was nearby.
It beckoned, calling to it like a beacon in the dark. Gastly floated noiselessly toward the call until it saw a figure with long hair, kneeling before a marble grave. It felt something new, heavy and bitter. It identified it immediately—it was sorrow. That emotion nourished it in a strange, quiet way. Gastly, driven by curiosity, floated even closer to inspect the person.
In that instant, the figure spotted it. A piercing scream rang out through the cemetery. The person recoiled in horror, and a wave of pure, sharp fear hit Gastly. It was a near-euphoric taste. The terrified human immediately took flight. Gastly fed enthusiastically on the remnants of energy the figure left behind, but it was too slow, and after a while, the target vanished into the darkness between the trees. Gastly didn't mind, though. It felt pleasantly satiated and content. It decided to explore this new place a bit more thoroughly.
It wasn't long before word of an unusually large Gastly spread through the area. It wasn't common for wraiths to reach such dimensions, so the townspeople began to avoid the place. However, stories of the creature reached a woman in whose heart hope burned and in whose eyes the experience of a powerful trainer could be seen. She decided she would claim this extraordinary spirit.
***
Gastly was starving. No fresh emotions had appeared in the cemetery for several days, and the fear of the unknown prevented it from leaving the familiar gravestones. But when it suddenly caught the scent of a massive, almost royal "meal," it eagerly set out to meet it. It prepared its widest, most chilling grin and floated toward the approaching figure.
"Pregnant woman." A foreign memory of a hospital and a tiny person in arms flashed through its mind for a second, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Gastly focused on the prey.
While everyone else had run from it screaming, this woman looked at it with a calm smile. He felt no fear from her, no negative energy to feed on, though he sensed a faint hint of power similar to his own. He tried to frighten her anyway—snapping his long tongue forward. But before he could get within a meter, the shadows around the woman came to life.
Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced him. Gastly shrieked in agony and tried to flee, but in vain. He was held by purple claws infused with crushing energy that seared his gaseous body. He couldn't even move.
"Give up, little one, or I'll hurt you," a chilling, wide-grinning voice spoke. A Gengar stepped out of the shadow. "Actually... I wouldn't mind if you didn't give up. It would be fun," he added with a dark chuckle.
Gastly went limp immediately. He felt the same helplessness as when he had stared into the massive red eyes in the darkness of the World of Destruction. Against this monster, he had no chance.
"I give up," he admitted defeat in a quiet voice. "What will happen to me?"
"You will watch over and protect my trainer's child."
"What is a child? And why should I do that?" Gastly asked curiously, though his core still pulsed with pain.
"You'll find out in time," Gengar grinned, his eyes flashing ominously. "And why? So that one day you'll be as powerful as I am. So that you'll never have to fear anyone again."
A spark of hope woke within Gastly. He didn't want to be prey anymore. He didn't want to be helpless before entities that surpassed him. Gengar sensed his desire for strength and nodded with chilling understanding.
The last thing Gastly caught was a muffled human voice: "You will be perfect... for my... child..."
Then he saw a flying ball, a flash of a red beam, and the world around him vanished. He found himself in the quiet, deep, and surprisingly pleasant darkness of a Poké Ball.
After the child was born, Gastly guarded him faithfully. He wasn't alone; Gengar watched over everything from the shadows, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of danger. The more time Gastly spent near the little creature, the deeper the bond he felt. But the idyll didn't last forever.
The world suddenly collapsed in flames. The woman who had given him a home died. Gengar, his mentor, vanished into the darkness of death along with the trainer's husband. The manor and the entire family history turned to ash. Only two survived the tragedy: an old one and Gastly's young master. But the boy was too small then to even understand how much he had lost.
Gastly received clear instructions. The young master would be hidden in a small town under the supervision of a powerful man, and Gastly would become his first Pokémon when the right time came.
The years passed slowly. Gastly spent most of his time in the Poké Ball, but occasionally the Professor allowed him out to observe the boy. It was a painful spectacle. To see the heir of a powerful lineage scrubbing floors with a mop in hand was incomprehensible to Gastly. His mother would never have allowed it, and Gengar would have sneered in his face! Gastly felt bitterness.
Why did he have to lose his family? This boy acted like a servant and lacked that noble "flavor" of energy he had felt from his mother. But Gastly didn't lose hope. He knew that humans age and change. He believed that one day the young master would stand tall, and together they would achieve the power Gengar had spoken of.
The turning point came the day the young master suddenly collapsed while working. Gastly, paralyzed with concern, immediately summoned the Professor. But the man reassured him—saying it was common in his lineage. Gastly didn't believe him. He had never seen anyone just fall to the ground like that. He feared that if he lost his master, he would never become the powerful Gengar he desired to be.
That made his surprise all the greater when, after waking up, the young master summoned him from his Poké Ball for the first time. His gaze was different—piercing, sharp, and confident. Suddenly, he radiated an energy that reminded Gastly so much of his mother and the old Gengar.
Everything changed. The boy was no longer afraid of his own shadow and left the mop to gather dust. Gastly overflowed with pride. As soon as possible, they began training. Gastly felt a massive potential within himself, the kind Gengar had once mentioned. Back then, the old spirit had always cooled him down, saying that mastering this power would be "the young master's department."
And now it was here. Gastly put his entire being into every attack, every movement. He wanted his master to see his gratitude and loyalty. He trained at the edge of his limits, ready to become the darkest weapon in his owner's hands.
When Gastly saw the young master training side-by-side with him, his determination knew no bounds. Together, they would be the most powerful! Though he had to admit he sometimes didn't understand his master—for example, what was this "grapefruit juice"? Gastly even felt a bit offended when the young master was faster in movement than he was. He, a wraith who defies gravity, could not lag behind!
This jealousy and desire for perfection pushed him to evolve. His misty body thickened, elongated, and finally, claws appeared—those menacing, levitating hands that even the old Gengar had, though they were part of his body. He became a Haunter. When he saw the proud glint in his master's eyes, he knew he would lay down his life for him.
Looking at the pathetic, malnourished Beedrill they met on the way, Haunter felt a wave of gratitude. He was lucky to have a trainer who cared about the power and growth of his companions. Later, when the sounds of a massive battle echoed from a distance, Haunter's insides trembled. He felt those delicious negative emotions and longed to feed on them, but instinct told him to stay by his master. His master would be in danger there, so he warned him. But the young master knew exactly what he was doing, and so Haunter followed him faithfully. The result was a new team member—someone who had tried to kill the young master! Haunter couldn't understand it. How could anyone want to hurt the most perfect trainer in the world? Instead of attacking, Scyther should have been grateful.
Their adventure continued until Haunter again caught the scent of blood and darkness. He didn't want to go there, but his master was adamant. Haunter watched with awe his power, determination, and the almost cold vindictiveness with which he convinced foreign Pokémon to cover up the murder of their own trainer. For Haunter, it was a fascinating spectacle—that night, he watched over the camp even more vigilantly. He watched every shadow, every rustle, ready to destroy anyone who dared approach.
In the middle of the night, however, he heard restless mumbling. The young master was tossing and turning, sweat beading on his forehead, his breath shallow and sharp. Haunter watched him with concern. It was strange—until now, the master had slept peacefully.
Was he perhaps troubled by taking another person's life? Haunter doubted it. After all, it was natural to feed on the weaker, especially if the other was a killer himself. He believed in his master's strength; he was sure he would overcome this weakness.
With that thought, Haunter returned to his watch. In the darkness of the night, he quietly billowed, while inside him pulsed a sour, poisonous energy ready for the next spit.
Author's note:
This is the first POV chapter for this story! I've experimented with different perspectives in my other works, but after being inspired by a book I read recently, I wanted to try it here and really nail the execution.
We get to see the origin of Gastly and why he's so much larger than others of his kind. While most spirits are displaced by Giratina immediately after "birth," our Gastly resisted, stayed behind to feed, and grew more powerful before entering the real world.
Also, we find out the MC's mother had a Gengar... and seriously, what the hell is up with that grapefruit juice?
Step into the Restricted Section
The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.
Enter the Restricted Section here: you-know-what/PatrikWriter
Upcoming Chapters – Already Written:
12. The Weight of Necessity
13. Nature's Cruel Mercy
14. I'm Rich, Baby!
15. Shelled Defiance
16. The Boulder Badge
Join the Inner Circle - tgdTNZYVKt (Discord)
(Vote on plot | Dark FF recs | Chat with the Author)
Support the craft and keep the darkness spreading. Your support directly allows for faster updates.