View Full Version : Pokémon: The spiral of war

25th February 2012, 7:17 AM
Title: "The spiral of war"
Rating: PG
Genre: Bélica

This is my new FanFic. I hope you enjoy it.
Spanish is my natural language, so feel free to let me know any spelling mistake or misused expression.

I didn't plan to write a prologue, but, simply put, the main context is a war between regions of the Pokémon world.

This is the "Pilot".

Chapter 00: Agitated arrival

The ambush was just perfect… no contingency could crush that conviction.

The squad was the fastest one you could form in Hoenn. The Carvanha recruited for the mission belonged to professional swimmers. The Pelipper were caught at Evergrande City’s cliffs. As for he and his men, being chosen for the operation was enough to prove their skill. It was impossible they could be late. In fact, they weren’t.

They also owned the element of surprise. A Castform would summon a heavy rain which could conceal them from enemy’s eyes.

They even had precious information about the rival captain: one out of the three Gyarados escorting his fleet, was able to perform electric attacks. That advantage alone was enough for the continental fleet to decimate the ambush squad. However, even that tricky factor was under control.
Each Pelipper brought a Voltorb inside of its pouch. When dropped, these would unleash their electric charges before touching water. Next, at the contact with any surface, they would explode. This way, not only damage would be done to ships and escorts, but also a mess would be created allowing him, riding his Sharpedo, to attack the main Gyarados. He would use an ice fang. Once that threat was out of combat, the Carvanha shoal would tear apart the remaining units…

They sighted the fleet at short distance. The angle to intercept it wasn’t the best one, but they could relay on the high speed of the assault. He ordered the Castform to stay far away from the action without stopping the rain. Next, he gave the main attack order.
One hundred Carvanha, twenty Pelipper and five Sharpedo, mounted by the commander and his four best men, rushed forward onto the fleet’s right flank.

Seconds before the clash, a pale flash of light, followed by a deafening thunder, made them to bend down their heads. Among agonizing cries, the Pelipper formation was torn in two. Although he was just about to hit one of the boats, the commander instinctively turned his head and managed to see the smoking fall of, at least, half of the birds. He thought about what a disaster would be for the Carvanha shoal if so many Voltorb landed over them, but the sudden immersion of the Sharpedo took him out of his calculations. Underwater, he heard a boat’s hull being smashed by the hit of the other Sharpedo. The repeated flashes coming from the surface remind him the priority: to eliminate the main Gyarados.

He distinguished the submerged tails beyond the next ship. Maneuvering with his mount’s dorsal fin, he headed towards them. When he was ready to give the Sharpedo the attack order, he saw something that almost stopped his blood from flowing: there were four tails. The spies had talked about three Gyarados, but it turned out to be an extra one. There was no time to lose. When he saw two of them fully submerged and diving in his direction, he discarded them. The one performing the electric attack wouldn’t leave his spot at the surface so early. Whit the Sharpedo’s aquajet they dodged the first one and knocked down the rider of the next one, in the same quick movement. In five seconds, he was already living the order to use ice fang on the third one.
The attack hit so heavily, they even hovered over the water for an instant, with the Gyarados’ body between the Sharpedo’s freezing teeth.

No sooner were they submerged again, a weird light surrounded the fainted pokémon and was followed by its transformation into a pink little mass, with no defined form. The commander, astonished, could only look at it, while he slowly slipped from the Sharpedo’s back. He, like someone who faints in slow motion, with languid arms and eyes fixed on the formless figure that was ascending to the surface, while he slowly descended. He saw a raging burst of light reaching the Sharpedo when it was turning back to pick him up. Then, the surface being filled with lifeless shapes. He barely listened to the fading sound of explosions. Or to the flashes, turning weaker and weaker. The last thought filling his consciousness, was an echo saying the ambush was perfect.

* * *

I want to relieve my mind for some time. So, I’ll travel to my warmest memories: the travels my father made every year to Kanto.

From all the goods he brought from his trips to the continent, the one we, the village’s young folk, waited for the most, were his tales.

He told us about huge towns, where crowds of people lived inside towers and walked next to gray paths, made from a liquid stone which, once dry, could stand the daily run of rows and rows of metal wagons.

After describing the “modernship”, as he called it, came the talk about this really weird sport, practiced at a national scale, in which people trained animals to engage them in real fights. The only thing like that we knew were the Poochyena fights, which were banned from the village, because of the betting system.

Everything he talked about felt like from another world to us, and yet, the essence of his stories weren’t the wonders he described, but the way he told them. I realized it after many tries to tell his stories with my own style. I felt emptiness, like the story only came out of my mouth and went straight forward to their ears. When he told a story, it was like feeling with every sense something his whole being was saying.

When I told him he surely got some special talent for it, he replied: “No. I just have seen those places with my own eyes, and walked them with my own feet. That’s my only advantage”.

Among all the words I heard from him, these, the most casual and free from wonder, would be the ones I would curse and bless so many times; the ones able to survive my consciousness’ indifference and, even after that, would keep echoing from my depths until being part of every action, latent, hidden like a Carvanha shoal beneath a dark wave… I’m sorry, future reader. I didn’t want to mix thing up. I could easily rip this page off, but I made a promise to myself: to write in the most sincere way I could. Let this diary be my frankness corner, the pure air breath my head needs to be cleansed from the nastiness of this unhinged war…

Yesterday, we were attacked by a professional assault group, probably elite; surely from the Hoenn Navy. They ambushed us a few hours before getting here. Judging by its composition, they had a very specific objective: to clear the way for a soon occupation of the islands.

If I didn’t know the weather of this shores, I wouldn’t noted the rain was false. Luckily, that alerted us about the ambush. However, we had a fair amount of casualties. There are around twenty wounded pokémon, among them a Ditto I stole from a lab before setting off from Kanto. As for the bunch of hoennian Voltorb, we locked them inside a cavern. If we can get the cook’s Abra to evolve, we could induce them to be on our side. They would come handy if the island must be defended. Everything will come handy if Hoenn wants to take this place so badly.

The rest of the Continental Navy is still securing the northern islands positions. I don’t know how much time will the reinforcements take. From all the Sevii Islands involved in the operation, this is the last one in the list to be secured. I hope our enemies have similar plans.