-The Dragon King-

  -Shock and Awe: Ch 2-

  Hellena was going to strangle Mark one of these days.

  She was currently standing out in the center of the arena, on one of the trainer platforms, with hundreds if not thousands of eyes all focused on her from the stands. She could feel them burning into her skin, and solidify into a block of cold clammy ice that lodged in her throat.

  There was nowhere to hide, no dark corner to slide into, or convenient loud blond dumbass that was happy to soak up the attention for her. The room felt so vast, but so claustrophobic at the same time.

  It was nauseating, and this exact feeling was why she had gotten hard stuck during her attempt at the Gym Circuit so long ago. After all, the more gym badges the challenger had, the more people were willing to go watch the show. Under so much attention, where she could feel all the people judging her decisions, and laughing at her mistakes, her thoughts turned sticky and slow, as if trying to swim through molasses.

  It was the exact opposite mindset that a trainer needed to be in for a battle.

  Luckily her opponent wasn’t anywhere close to the level that Candice had been, and her Pokemon were able to pick up the slack.

  “PIKAA!” The female Pikachu (you could tell because of the tail shape) let loose a thunderbolt that completely missed Haunter as it sank into the floor, and was completely blindsided when Haunter reemerged right under her, and hit her with a Shadow Claw that lifted her into the air.

  “HAUHAUHAAHA!” Haunter laughed gleefully as it grabbed the stunned Pikachu by the neck with its claws and slammed her into the ground.

  Her trainer called for her to use thundershock, but the current couldn’t carry from Haunter’s hand to its disconnected head, and it was free to use its other clawed hand to form a Venoshock and administer it directly to Pikachu’s face.

  “Pikachu is OUT! Our winner is the Hex Maniac!”

  Without a word, Hellena returned Haunter and walked off the stage, eagerly retreating out of public view. The shadows of the darkened hallway, for the trainers to dramatically enter the field from, soothed her skin like a balm when she stepped into it. The ice in her throat melted, and the burning sensation of all those eyes slid off her back.

  When her eyes adjusted she saw a most unwelcome sight. Mark was leaning up against the wall further up head, grinning at her.

  “Nice fight, Purple! You absolutely wrecked that guy- he’s gonna think twice before bragging about the Pokemon his daddy leant him in the future.”

  Mark raised his hand up high for a high five..

  “C’mon, up top! Don’t leave me hanging.”

  Hellena just sighed and begrudgingly lifted her arm to give his palm a weak slap, while feeling her anger at him simmer down.

  Mark was a lot of not-great things, but he wasn’t malicious- at least not to her, anyway. He didn’t really seem to get how bad she was with crowds, or their effects on her, so it wasn’t like he put her in this because he wanted her to suffer, he just needed money- something she was partially responsible for draining him of.

  He was just a dumbass.

  “You’re thinking something bad about me again, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes.” Mark scratched his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hmm. I suppose I can let it slide this time. After that performance out there I will allow you one negative thought about me.” He said with a sarcastic tone while holding up a single finger.

  “One whole bad thought?” Hellena couldn’t help the tiny smile that slipped onto her face as she looked up at him with her tired purple eyes. “My, my, how generous.”

  “I know, I know. I am a benevolent party leader. In fact I was even going to give you two if you could believe it, but alas, that high five of yours was really weak, so I had to take my due elsewhere.”

  Hellena couldn’t help her smile getting just the tiniest bit larger at that, despite herself.

  “And now for our next match up, and with this guy you know it’s always going to be a show.”

  “Oh, that’s my cue.” Mark finger gunned at her and jogged in the direction she just came from. “See you on the winner’s podium!”

  “-one of our top front runners! THE BREAKER!”

  Mark ran out of the hallway in time with the announcer’s shouting of his bestowed nickname, and stepped onto the trainer platform to the cheers of the crowd.

  Oh yeah, he was gonna get fucking addicted to this.

  “And up against him is the fiery foreign woman from over the seas, who’s clawed her way through several down to the wire matches to be here!”

  To Mark’s surprise one of his own hunter-in-trainings stepped up across from him. He was mildly annoyed for a few seconds of having to knock one of his little space-fillers out of the running, but he pushed that aside and thought of the positives. This would be a good opportunity to gain respect and test what this one was capable of.

  “H-Hello Commander.” Terra waved at him nervously while sweating bullets. “Uhm. Go easy on me?”

  “Easy? Where’s the fun in that?” Mark grinned and tossed Shelgon out to meet her Poochyena.

  Besides, he needed to see if she had the potential to be more than an ex-magma grunt.

  -The Dragon King-

  “I hope everyone’s enjoying the show so far, but before we go on, we’re gonna take a bit of a break before the semifinals. So go grab yourself something to fill your belly, get a drink, go to the bathroom, maybe run by the betting booth if you think you know how this is gonna go, the whole shabang. If you’re one of the trainers still in the running, take the time to strategise and make sure that your team is up to the task.”

  “Mrow.”

  “Exactly Maxwell. But before I go off and grab myself a burger, I have a very special guest here with me. I have one of our frontrunners here, Marcus Cross, please take a seat.”

  “Thank you for having me, uh-”

  “The name’s Vin Scully, but you can just call me Vin.”

  “Vin Scully? Like as in S-C-U-L-L-Y?”

  “That is correct.”

  “This is an odd question, but have you ever been an announcer for baseball- sorry, ‘batball’ at any point?”

  “Can’t say I have, sonny.”

  “Huh.”

  “Now, I have a question for you, Mark, one that I’m sure everyone here today has as well. It seems like all your battles today can be summed up as- you’re either going to win, or crash your car trying to win. What’s going on in your head, what’s your thought process? Can you tell the crowd?”

  “Well Vin, here’s the deal, I’m the best there is, plain and simple. I wake up in the morning and I piss excellence. And nobody can hang with my stuff, uh, you know I’m just a big hairy American winning machine. If you ain’t first, you're last, you know what I’m talking about?”

  “Haha! I guess I do. Well, you heard it here folks. If you ain't first, you’re last.”

  -The Dragon King-

  “-but how will The Breaker fare against this tournament’s immovable object? It’s THE SMASHER!”

  Mark’s eyes ballooned as a man the size of a semi truck stepped onto the platform across from him. Fucking shit, he looked like he ate a bear, and his body mass had to be at least 80% muscle.

  “CROSS! WE MEET AT LAST!” The titan of a man shouted as he angrily flexed his arms.

  Mark blinked slowly.

  “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

  “I AM YOUR DOOM!” The man shouted as he threw out a Machamp covered in full body armor, who was equally as muscular as the man.

  That managed to jog Mark’s memory.

  “Oh, you’re that owner of the gym where the Pink Princess and I beat each other into bloody pulps.”

  “EVER SINCE I SAW YOU FIGHT UNTIL YOUR BODY GAVE OUT ON YOU, I KNEW! I KNEW I HAD TO FIGHT YOU FOR MYSELF! TO FEEL YOUR RESOLVE WITH MY OWN MUSCLES! TO TEST YOUR DETERMINATION WITH MY OWN FISTS!”

  “Sure, buddy.” Mark sweatdropped and, for the first time, he was glad that trainers weren’t allowed to interfere in the ring. Usually that would give him an advantage, but this guy was the size of six refrigerators and looked like he ate cinder blocks for breakfast.

  On another note, what the fuck was up with that Machamp? It was in fucking homemade plate armor. No one was calling it out, and it wasn’t like there was a ref anyway, so he guessed it was just legal? Well, this was an underground tournament, so that did make a degree of sense.

  Regardless, uh, this was not great.

  Machamp was a third stage evolution, Shelgon was not, and Noibat was even moreso very much not.

  Even assuming that he could take out the Machamp, there were still his other Pokemon.

  Mark’s mind spun through ideas, and cheap tactics that might be able to help him, but he didn’t even get to panic before-

  “YOUR CONVICTION! IT WAS SO PURE, AND MANLY THAT I KNEW I HAD TO FACE IT! THAT IS WHY I, AND MY ONE AND ONLY TEAMMATE, HAVE TRACKED YOU DOWN!”

  Marcus blinked.

  Wait.

  No.

  Surely not.

  This couldn’t possibly be one of those scenes in the anime where there's a gimmick fight, that just… throws the answer at you.

  “And, uhm, how are you planning to test my resolve, or whatever?”

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  “WITH OUR FISTS! THE ONLY WAY A REAL MAN FIGHTS!”

  “What about ranged attacks? Rock Throw? Stuff like that?”

  “MOVES FOR COWARDS! I WILL NOT DISGRACE BY BEST FRIEND BY TRYING TO TEACH HIM SUCH COWARDLY ATTACKS!”

  “Hmmm…”

  “FACE YOUR DOOM!” The man flexed. “OUR BATTLE SHALL BE LEGENDARY!”

  “Hmmmmmmmmm…”

  Mark pointedly put Shelgon’s Pokeball back on his belt, and took off another one.

  “Noibat, uh, just stay in the sky and keep out of reach. There’s really not anything else you have to do here. Go wild.”

  “WHAT! NO! FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN!”

  “I think winning is more manly, actually. Noibat, commence aerial bombardment.”

  “NO! STOP THAT! GET DOWN! FIGHT ME! NO! NOOOOOOOOO!!!”

  -The Dragon King-

  Mark lounged in the lounge, because what else where you supposed to do in a lounge other than lounge around, and celebrated his place in the final matchup with an ice cold can of Koff-a-Cola (horrible name 0/10 stars he hated it) that had a cartoony grinning Koffing on the side. The can was also purple (heresy) instead of red (correct) and had an ever so slight aftertaste of grape (just… why?).

  The finals were in 20 minutes, and he had managed to get to them without much sweat on his part.

  It wasn’t a ton of work, honestly he’d never felt in danger of losing, but it was fun, and good training for his boys. He imagined that practicing a move was kinda similar to learning how to aim a gun. Practicing on a rock was easy, but trying to remember all the tricks and keep your head cool while the rock was moving and shooting back at you, on top of all the other general chaos of battle, was a completely different story.

  All of his employees (he really needed a better name for them) had done what was basically the definition of mediocrity. C and B tier showings across the board. But they all got their licks in, and split some lips. That was good. They got to get their knuckles bloody, taste defeat, and get something to push them to become better. He didn’t need them to make an impression today, that’s what he was for.

  In the past… Back before everything went to shit, Mark had once shared a drink with a General while the man had been staying at the base Mark was assigned to.

  The man told him that a little blood was good for soldiers to taste every now and then, it kept the troops sharp and the army feared by whatever sandy hellhole they’d been dumped into.

  So Mark was gonna keep this up, and continue throwing his little wannabe soldiers at things, until they shaped up and started acting the part.

  The door to the breakroom slowly creaked open and a haggled Hellena stumbled through.

  “Eyo, champ!” Mark saluted her with a raised purple can. “How’d it go? You ready for me to kick your ass in the finals?”

  Hellenna looked up at him with a shred of irritation in her droopy tired eyes.

  “No, because I lost. Weren’t you watching?”

  “What? I was reviewing my team’s performance and writing up plans for training.” Mark sat up and leaned forward, suddenly interested. “You’ve been crushing everyone up ‘till now, I thought you had it in the bag. Who the Hell did you lose to?”

  “To the same person who’s been making my tournament boring for the past two years, and has won first place four times in a row, while being an annoying brat and not putting on a good show for the crowd.” A gravelly voice said from beyond the door, heavy cigarette usage audible in every word.

  A man walked in behind Hellena, dressed in an old tan suit with a leather trilby hat. He looked like he was in his 60s or 70s, with gray-turning-white hair, wrinkles on his face, and permanent scowl carved into the stone of his chin.

  “Out of my way, woman.” He prodded Hellena with his cane, and stomped towards Mark with a notable limp in his left leg. “You. Bonehead. We need to talk.”

  Mark put down his soda and raised an eyebrow at the man, because he’d just shoved Mark’s favorite number two out of the way, and because-

  “I recognize your cigar voice from that phone call.”

  “Well what do you know, it looks like there is a brain hidden in that thick skull of yours.” The very edge of the old man’s lip cracked up in the beginning of a smirk, and he extended his hand. “Norvin Croft, one of the founding partners of the Veilstone gambling district, and entrepreneurial brain behind this fine establishment. It’s nice to meet you in person, mister Cross. Mustermann is a newer friend of mine, but he’s been useful, and has said a lot about you.”

  “I do good business and hold my end of deals. If that is leaving such an impression on him, then I am terrified to know the IQ of people y’all usually work with.” Mark stood up to grab the man’s hand with a tight grip and gave it a firm shake. He noted the gold ring around the man’s third finger. Unsurprising, he supposed, given the man’s age.

  “You would be surprised how many people can survive life without ever using their brain.” Norvin scowled, but there was a twinkle of approval in his eyes as he shook Mark’s hand. “Don’t sell yourself short, you’ve got a rather memorable personality. A nice commanding presence that’s good at keeping attention. Add good service on top of that, and of course people are gonna talk about you.”

  The fraction of amusement on the old man’s face died as he let go of Mark’s hand, and his mouth returned to its natural scowl as he nodded his head backwards towards Hellena.

  “If only your plus one had half of the charm you did. I was expecting more from your company than a dead fish on stage.”

  Mark’s good mood died to match Norvin’s.

  “Care to explain in detail for the audience?”

  “Ghosts put on a good show, they’re always nice and bloody and mean. They’re naturals at making spectacle by just being themselves. She, on the other hand, has no stage personality at all, and just lets her team do all the work autonomously. The only thing she has going for her is her sex appeal, and that only gets you so far- especially if you don’t use it, which she doesn’t. I could hire one of those drugged up prostitutes that snuck in to sleaze around on my floors, stick their plastic artificial ass on the trainer box, and have a better show.”

  Mark’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t rebut what Norvin was saying, instead he just looked past the man, over his shoulder, at Hellena.

  “Wh-What?” She wilted.

  “Are you really just gonna take that? He didn’t even have the balls to look you in the eye when he said it. And is dumb enough to have his back to you while saying it.”

  “I mean… He’s not entirely wrong…”

  “Tch, whatever.” Mark scoffed and rolled his eyes in a mix of anger and disappointment. He’d make her come out of her damn shell and bare her teeth one day, and it would be so satisfying to watch her snap at someone other than himself.

  “See what I mean? No backbone. No venom. Whatever fire she had in her, that made her a trainer in the first place, got smothered out ages ago. It’s the same story with just about every damn Ghost specialist. They have a boo hoo, self pity, poor me moment, and then let themselves stagnate, wither, and rot away until they join their precious spooky spirits. People like Fantina are the exceptions, not the rule. Heeeeh, now there’s a woman. Your little eye candy here is too stuck in her eternal pity party to ever be someone like that.”

  Hellena gripped her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palm and drew blood. But still, she didn’t say anything.

  Mark watched her with an unblinking eye, impatiently waiting for her to just wallop the old fart in the back of the head already, but when it was obvious she wasn’t going to budge, he decided to cut her what little slack he could, and change the subject.

  “Enough about that, let’s talk business.” Mark said as he flopped back into his chair. “You have a problem, I’m your solution. Tell me what I’m up against here.”

  Norvin grunted in that way only grumpy old people could.

  “The kid’s name is Ve Keeli, and he’s from some rich foreign family that moved to Sinnoh a few years back because they wanted to act all smart and play with Sinnoh’s looser business laws, but they’re not even good at it. Stupid Alolan’s can’t even evade taxes right.” The old man grinned, with yellowed nicotine teeth, and it was a deeply disturbing sight on a face that had so many permanent scowl lines. “But then again, we can’t be too judgemental, right? They were only whipped into adopting the League structure recently, they’re new to civilization. They must be used to paying taxes in coconuts! Ha!”

  “I don’t even know where Alolan is, so I'm afraid I don't get the joke.” Mark sweatdropped.

  “It’s a shitty vacation spot where half the men aren’t even taught how to put on a shirt, and there are some backwards local ‘trials’ that are being bulldozed for proper Gyms. Hopefully the next generation to come out of there, growing up with the League structure and the Gyms, will have a proper head on their shoulders, but given Ve’s example, I don’t have much hope.”

  “What makes the kid such a problem for your tournament?”

  “Becuase he has mommy and daddy’s money!” Norvin was back to scowling. “If he cries, he gets what he wants. They have purchased him a full team of six Eevee from one of the most prestigious lines in Sinnoh, straight from Barbera’s Breeders. Perfect genes, inherited move pools, and natural born battlers, they’re the cream of the crop. And not only that, they’ve managed to evolve most of them.”

  Marcus cringed. He knew exactly what breeder shop Norvin was talking about. The eyes of that pink thing haunted his (already very full) nightmares.

  “He has a Sylveon?” Mark asked, breaking into a slight sweat.

  “Pff, no, of course not. The kid’s dumb as a rock, has the trainer talent of a doorknob, and is coasting off cash. The only Pokemon he will ever get to evolve are the ones he can use his mommy’s money to buy an evolution stone for.”

  “Okay so what, a Flareon Vaporeon Jolteon trio?” The Dragon trainer sighed a little in relief.

  “And a Glaceon. His parents paid a pretty penny to some chick with silver hair to break off a chunk of Forever Frost from a rock up near Snowpoint, and give it a VIP escort home. I don’t even want to know how they transported it, considering the shit stops working if it gets above a certain temperature that is far below freezing.”

  “A silver haired chick?” Mark scratched his chin in thought, as his mind turned back to his first official meeting with Rocket, and the Pokemon Hunter he had met in the lobby. “That was probably J.”

  “Ahh, I see you keep quality company. Saves me the trouble of having to pretend that I don’t know everyone who’s anyone in this Arceus forsaken region.” Norvin smiled again with his smarmy grin. “No wonder Max speaks so highly of you. Hunter J is well known for always getting the product, that’s why she’s worth the price. You put the money down, and she will get you what you want, no matter how exotic, and with no questions asked.”

  Norvin broke off into a wheezy cough.

  “But I’m getting off topic. He has an ice type. A strong one. I hope you have a Pokemon besides those two Dragons of yours, or a real good plan cooked up, because I need that kid flattened so good that he never comes back.”

  Norvin slammed the butt of his cane down on the floor with a harsh crack.

  “The kid’s been hard stuck at three badges for years now, and now he’s making it my problem. He swings by, beats up the rooky bracket to make himself feel better, is such an annoying little cunt about it that no one enjoys watching him, and then goes crying to mummy when whatever Gym he tries kicks his shit in later that week.” The old man spat. “Everyone hates him. He makes himself too unlikable, and then rolls the competition while showing zero skill at all. It’s pathetic. Even the Gymleaders use their high badge teams on him, when he only has three, because they can tell what kind of boy he is.”

  “If, uh, e-excuse me.” Hellena cut in. “If this kid is a problem because he’s so annoying, then how is having Mark win any better?”

  “It’s completely different. This man is exciting!” Norvin exclaimed as he swatted Mark’s knee with his cane. “He’s energetic, he’s loud, he’s angry- he makes people angry, makes people cheer, and scream, and argue with each other about him. And most importantly he’s in the ring with his Pokemon, he’s making strategies, and giving orders, and screaming his lungs out while looking like he’s two seconds from jumping in himself and starting to throw punches!”

  The old man shook a bony fist in the air.

  “Ahg! It makes me want to grab my Gardevoir and my Mightyena, and prove that these old bones can still put up a damn good fight!”

  “Hah, you’re damn right! Hear that, Purple?” Mark wagged his eyebrows at her. “I’m exciting!”

  “Trainers report to the arena entrance. The fight starts in five minutes.”

  “Welp, that’s my cue.” The veteran grunted as he rose from his chair and popped his back. “Time for me to go crack an ice cube.”

  Ice was different to Fairy. Ice had been around since the very beginning, all the way back in gen one.

  He wasn’t stupid, he knew it’d be tricky, but ice was ice, not some eldritch BS.

  He could handle Ice. And if he couldn’t, well, Shelgon was his partner, so he gonna have to use his brain and find a way to fucking deal with it. Trial by fire and all that shit.

  -The Dragon King-

  The Ice Beam sliced through Dragon Breath like a knife through butter, and carved a gash into Shelgon’s shell. He howled in pain, but shook off the frost.

  Shelgon was battered and weary, but made up for it by being royally pissed off to the point that the ice that clung to him was slowly melting away from how hot the Dragon’s inner fire was burning.

  “And another clean hit! Oooh! That’s gotta hurt! Shelgon may be a tanky beast, but I don’t know how many more of those he can just shrug off!”

  Down on the ground, Mark stared out at the half frozen battlefield in front of him with a surprised Pikachu face.

  “Cross down two Pokemon, and down to his final battler, meanwhile Ve’s team is still fully available and we haven’t even seen his third Pokemon! Can Cross pull this back, or is this the end of The Breaker!?”

  “Well… Shit.”

  -End Chapter-