I was gonna work on my humour fic but decided to revamp another personal favourite insted. Logic? Tis indeedy.
I really hate these fluffy little worlds where everything is perfect. Sure Team Rocket blows the odd thing up but you can wander into people's houses and they'll greet you with a smile rather than calling the cops on your sorry ***. It isn't real, just a childish little fantasy to make all the bad things go away.
That line of thought brought this into existance a few years back now. A reality to the fantasy, an extreme one mind but for any sense of normal there would always be one who overstepped the mark and ran clear of it for their own reasons. More fun to write about those.
Only the prologue is from Diablo's point of view and I recall the Master's name came out pretty soon though right now his name and the addition that Diablo barely knows about are unmentioned. Ya know just to be irritating.
Anywho enjoy while I smash some plot into my humour fic.
The Reality Trainer
(Also known as a Prologue)
The word trainer...
If I may, what does it make you think of?
A shoe perhaps?
Maybe something to do with a great battle and in turn, victory?
How about someone who owns Pokemon?
For me, it means nothing of the sort; a trainer equals Master. There are no two ways about it.
The Master is not of the fluffy world full of fools. He is not created upon the prayers to the pink and cuddly divine saviours that keep all the bad things away with a flick of a wand, those protectors against the darkness from corrupting thy soul.
He is the other half of this disposable joy, the flip of a coin. The… yang, the dark, the evil or however you choose to sanction such a concept. Either way, there is no kids show surrounding my life in disguise, the thought is silly enough.
The Master even stretched as far as to name me a Diablo as though I was some demonic force. I had to take it without question of course, lest I wish for a fist to my ribs or a kick to my ailing skull if those narrowed eyes caught the even the very thought. This would be if he were in a good mood.
Believers of a world with no ills, the perfect life, the very façade of perfection, I implore you, turn your tails and back away and come no closer nor read further. You will find nothing of yours here, my life never contained it and nor shall it ever. Such a thing as safety or a land of promise is not for me or any other whom is under the Master’s enslavement. Freedom is dead. Leave, while you still have that option.
I lay here quietly, not daring to speak up lest he hears a sound but then, even he cannot stop my thoughts completely, which is why I am able to voice these words in another manner. Idly dreaming with my front paws stretched in front supporting my muzzle and my ears flattened so close they become one with my pelt. The silence in here is eerie just as much as the absence of light in here, the stone’s chill does help numb your senses a little but it cannot change how unnatural this all feels.
Still, I am Diablo. My birth name is nothing, something for only my heart to hear now. However, once I was once part of a great pack, the strongest of the Mightyena in the region and our pride shone in the howls we gave to mark our presence amongst the trees.
But now is very different. I lay here alone, broken, without unity or single mind to aid my plight. There is only the Master’s superiority and our deemed pathetic existence that we must beg to be kept at his command, grovel on paw or wing for scraps like dogs.
No pun or insult to my relatives intended.
My fellows in the constricting rooms around me would be Drakcree, Yami, Helle, Hades and the now recently deceased, Pluto.
You see we are all in isolated rooms side by side. Each one is so small we can barely move, without light and only substance when the Master decides we can have any. The stone feels like the harshest of winter but without the softness or the paw steps.
Drakcree is the youngest of us, a obsidian sky Dragon with a furious jasper tang to his tail flame. His hide is riddled with punishing scars more severe than the rest of us but his innocent, kinder nature never seems to disappear whenever I see him. Perhaps he’s optimistic that one day we may escape or the very dream keeps his head high.
I do pity the poor child.
Yami, well what is there to say aside from the fact she is the oldest and by far the most deranged? Umbreon have been known for strange rituals under the full moons; it is said that gives them powers they should not be able to access, particularly in the older ones.
She gives the impression that her twisted little mind loves this life the way she acts so strangely to the rest of us. She seems to know everything and yet nothing at all.
Helle, I do not know whatever possessed the Master to call her that but who are we to question? She is a cast off, a mix of Rapidash and a feral Houndoom meshed in black fur and cerulean flames showing the worst traits of both in her centaurian form.
She is generally the rattiest of us here and has a tendency to stamp and snap at any given opportunity abusing her ability of human speech. She is perfectly loyal to the Master so she of all of us gets more privileges than we dare fathom and loves driving that message home. Her privileges are numerous but even she must stay down here if unwanted.
Now Hades… dear Hades whom would just happen to be down right terrified of the twisted little female Yami and the way she advances on him on a complete spur of the moment. I doubt he would ever freely admit she does though as he is naturally very quiet and naturally avoids any contact. He is an Absol of light grey colouring presumably the appeal to the Master, a little bit different as well as a rarity.
I am aware of a rumour that he is used him as a con to rip people off for oncoming disasters but I have no proof of that. If it keeps meat in our bellies, whatever goes I guess.
Finally there is… or was Pluto. When alive, he was a Grumpig but now he is little more than devoured meat with a few mere pearls to the desperate, uncaring market traders on the outskirts of town. The Master had become increasingly angry at his weakness lately, how many times the wretched animal failed orders and stood as an embarrassment to the Master’s name.
He was slaughtered only hours ago; the psychic connection that told words to at least Hades, Drackree and myself suddenly becoming severed told us all. Chainsaw I believe.
Mostly used to scare, to help carve meat but now to shred a skull so the pearls could be harvested from the corpse and twirled in a bloodied hand with sickening beauty. Onyx and raw scarlet always did make such a fine luxury in combination.
I fear for whoever is next enslaved. How will they handle our existence? Beatings are common, so is starvation for long periods and battles where we win and live or lose to be put to death at our Master’s hand. The isolation is the worst if you are a pack animal such as I however, that severed connection to leave only one mind.
With nothing but darkness as your friend,
And silence to tend your wounds.
My ear suddenly flicks forward to a scuffle and the sound of keys entering the lock of my door. I lift my head and watch patiently as my gate is drawn open providing just a silhouette of my Master against the light outside.
‘Get up,’ he growls eyeing me with slight suspicion. I obey without pause and rise onto my stiffened legs, my gaze averted by a dipped head to show my submission to his whim.
‘Come, Diablo, you and your litter mates are going to help me find the meat’s replacement’ his voice commands with nary a flinch of tone. I nod in reply with my tail hung low as I trot quietly up to him looking only ever at his shoes.
In turn, I follow as he leaves my door but within a second’s breath I am ensnared by my other home, an Ultra ball. For a moment I see a red haze surrounding before nothing as vision fades. The technology forcing an allowed sleep until my master requires my services once more.