Well, guys, we’re finally here.

It took fifty-eight chapters, several hundred (if not thousand!) pages, and hundreds of thousands of words – not to mention a total of about four years, but here we are.

For those of you that are new, or might have simply forgotten, I’m EonMaster One, veteran member and fanfic writer of SPPf. This is the Pokémon Revolution Trilogy, a trilogy of fan-fics based very loosely on the game and anime worlds. All three involve original main characters as well as occasional cameos by trainers and people (mainly gym leaders) from the anime and game world of Pokémon.

The first fan-fic I wrote, Pokémon Revolution: Johto, actually started as Pokémon: Johto Generations about five years ago. That fanfic died and was revived three years later in its present incarnation, which I saw all the way to its completion on March 22, 2007, with the posting of the 58th chapter. It would actually be a good idea for any new readers to read that fanfic first, as it is the beginning of the journey of Travis and Katrina (the main hero and heroine, respectively) and covers many questions that you would no doubt have about them if you were a new reader.

I predict that this second part of my planned trilogy might be a bit easier for a few new readers, as the Pokémon Journey remains an integral (and necessary – though I won’t spoil anything here) part of the heroes’ adventure.

DISCLAIMER: This fanfiction, like the entire trilogy is an AU (alternate universe) work. There are objects, characters (human and Pokémon), concepts, ideas, and events that might be based on, but do not appear in, the game, anime, or manga versions of the Pokémon World.

Pokémon, the license and products thereof, and the 493 confirmed canon species all belong to Satoshi Tajiri...I think I spelled his name right. With the exception of the obvious canon characters, all featured characters and fan-made Pokémon belong to either myself or fellow authors here on the Serebii.net forums and the rights to use them must be obtained with the creator's permission. I do not make it a practice to lend out my human characters to very many authors as it affects and might conflict with said character's intended storyline. If I've created a fan Pokémon, however, I usually lean toward answering a request like that positively. Of course, not all fan-made Pokémon in this fanfic were created by myself. Eventually, I will finish citation of all featured fan Pokémon at the chapter of their first use, but until then, anyone who wants a fan Pokémon from this fic is going to have to ask me which ones are mine and which one's aren't - and then obtain permission from the appropriate person if they want to use them.

Finally, this fic is rated T - intended for readers ages 13 or older. I tend to be very descriptive in Pokémon battles, but probably the bigger concern (as the worst you'll get from the former is slight descriptions of blood) is the human-on-human violence contained in the story. I try to avoid completely outlandish, horror-movie-style gore, but because of the content of this story, human beings are going to be injured, bleed, and die on many occasions. It contains some strong language (although most occurrences of strong swearwords are censored either by asterisks or by comic parenthetical comments). As for sexual content, while there are several romances within the story, each with varying degrees of physical contact, all but the most sheltered teenagers (who likely wouldn't be on a forum like this one anyway) should be able to handle it easily. There are no detailed sex scenes/lemons, but a few characters (all female, obviously) are or will be pregnant and produce offspring, at which point there's no getting around the fact that something must have happened. As for that, let me say that I wonder as to the real-world preparedness of anyone thirteen or older who has absolutely no knowledge at all on the subject.


So, with all that said, let us begin.

Welcome, new readers and old, to the second part of the Pokémon Revolution Trilogy:

Pokémon Revolution: Advent Phoenix



Chapter List:

Return of the Phoenix Arc (Chaps. 1-8)

Chapter 1: Landing of the Phoenix
Chapter 2: Adversary (Part 2)
Chapter 3: Blue Streak (Part 2) (Part 3)
Chapter 4: Breakdown and Takedown (Part 2) (Part 3)
Chapter 5: Pursuit of the Scarlet Shadow (Part 2)
Chapter 6: Start of A Rocky Road (Part 2)
Chapter 7: Return of the Phoenix (Part 2)
Chapter 8: Onslaught from the Wood! Kenjiro's Decision (Part 2)


Pirate Passage Arc (Chaps. 9-12)

Chapter 9: A New Adventure! The Natus Sets Sail! (Part 2)
Chapter 10: Backlash! The Selma's Vengeance (Part 2)
Chapter 11: One Journey Ends (Part 2)
Chapter 12: The Sapphire Stratagem (Part 2)


Dewford Arc (Chaps. 13-18)

Chapter 13: A Day On The Sands (Part 2)
Chapter 14: Dreadnaught's Order (Part 2)
Chapter 15: The Wise Man and the Wanderer (Part 2)
Chapter 16: A Collage of Confrontations (Part 2)
Chapter 17: The Art of Knuckling Down (Part 2)
Chapter 18: At Last, Restored (Part 2)

Mauville Arc (Chaps. 19-23)

Chapter 19: The Eye of the Voltyger (Part 2)
Chapter 20: Two Arrivals (Part 2)
Chapter 21: Spare Not the Rod (Part 2)
Chapter 22: Revolution In Flight (Part 2)
Chapter 23: A Destiny Accepted (Part 2)

Prelude to Battle Arc (Chaps. 24-31)

Chapter 24: Elrik, Lord of Verdanturf (Part 2)
Chapter 25: The Heart of Stone (Part 2)
Chapter 26: Act Two (Part 2)
Chapter 27: A Step Short of Oblivion (Part 2) (Part 3)
Chapter 28: Pyrokinetic* (Part 2)
Chapter 29: Finally, Clarity (Part 2)
Chapter 30: The Distant Storm (Part 2)
Chapter 31: Fire Starters (Part 2)

First Campaign Arc (Chaps. 32-??)

Chapter 32: The Gambit, Successful Part 2
Chapter 33: The Good, the Brad, and the Ugly
Chapter 34: An Angel With Broken Wings Part 2
Chapter 35: Revenge Served Flaming
Chapter 36: The Hatching Scheme++


NEXT CHAPTER!
+ Tentative Chapter Name +
++ Confirmed Chapter Name ++

First off, let’s set the table:

Chapter 1: Landing of the Phoenix



2012, Sootopolis City, Hoenn

In Hoenn, there is a large island. On this large island sits the capital and royal citadel of Hoenn, Sootopolis. In that citadel, there is a large room. This large room belongs to King Elvanan of Hoenn. Hoenn has been known for its slight technological advantage on the countries of the continent of Albara – Johto and Kanto. On the other side of that, however, compared to the governments of Johto and Kanto, which are essentially federated republics, Hoenn’s government – a monarchy – is rather archaic. As in the vast majority of monarchies, the oldest son is to be the crown prince – and therefore become king in the event of the king’s death or permanent incapacitation. What had happened in Hoenn, therefore, was a kingdom’s worst nightmare. For, in PA (Post-Adventus, the world calendar with 1 being the first globally recognized appearance of one of the three High Legendaries – that is, Lugia, Ho-oh, and Rayquaza – to a human being) 1990, the Queen of Hoenn had given birth to twin boys. King Elvanan loved both of his young sons equally and dearly, to the point where he simply could not choose between either of them for a successor. Both sons were good young men while their father was living, but their personalities were different. One son was extremely intelligent and masterful at diplomacy and internal affairs. The other grew up to be a military genius, as well as a master swordsman in his own right.

But one of them had to be chosen. Only one could rule, and the other would likely be shunted sideways into some sort of advisory role (though he would still be second in line to the crown in the event that the other brother died in short order, neither one having found for themselves a suitable wife, let alone borne any sons).

In this large room – with red carpet with golden designs, was an enormous four-poster bed worthy of a king. In this bed lay the current monarch, His Royal Majesty King Elvanan. Now sixty-two years old and with his health rapidly deteriorating, he had called in three men to his chamber, sensing that the end of his life was very near. He stared blearily toward the covering over his bed, reflecting on his life. He had been doing a lot of reflecting over the last several days. Did he indeed have any regrets? Anything that he wished he could have done differently? He wished he could have told his wife that he loved her one last time before she passed in on in childbirth to his two sons. He wished that he could have better fostered the relationship between his own country and the two nations of Albara. He wished, laughing inwardly, that he could have been confident enough in the ability of his country to run without him to vacation outside of it for at least a short while. He wished...

There was a knocking in on the door and it opened. A short, bald, and unscrupulous-looking man in his forties wearing a white collared shirt with fancy black and red trim as well as black slacks, walked into the room. His eyes, wreathed in apple-green irises, peered out from under his thick, black eyebrows, which had much more hair than his bald and rather shiny head. To complete this picture or shadiness, he bore a thin mustache and a jet-black goatee that jutted straight down from his strong chin like the edge of a sword.

“Malachi Gorba...” the aged king groaned. “You’ve arrived...”

“Your Majesty,” Gorba, the king’s chief advisor, replied with a respectful bow.

“Have you...” Elvanan asked, “...brought them?”

“Yes, sire,” Gorba said. Stepping away from the door, Gorba allowed in two young men, both wearing lordly garbs with capes, but looking altogether different. One young man watched his dying father through violet eyes behind a curtain of long, black hair. He wore two iron shoulder pads that were attached to his red cape, which trailed behind his black-and-red outfit. The other young man wore no shoulder pads. His hair was the same-length as his brother’s, but a chestnut brown. His eyes were also a significantly lighter shade of purple than the other young man’s eyes. They were rather almost lavender in their color. His outfit was a lot like his brothers with two major differences. First, not preferring the military appearance, he wore no shoulder pads with his green cape. Also, his outfit, whereas his brother’s was red and black, was green and silver. In reality, it was a bit hard to believe that these two young men were twin brothers, but there was no doubt that they were princes.

“Father? Are you alright?” The brown-haired young man spoke with an extremely worried look on his face, stepping forward.

“Yes, Elrik, I’m fine...” Elvanan said weakly.

“Prince Elrik, Your Majesty...” Gorba said with a strange look on his face that looked suspiciously like a grin. “Death...is only another part of life.”

“He’s not five years old, Malachi,” the black-haired young man said, looking askance at his father’s chief advisor. “He can handle it.”

“Gorba...” groaned King Elvanan. “I have a question.”

“Yes, my king?” Gorba said.

“Who would you have?” Elvanan asked weakly. “To rule over you...who would you have?”

“It depends...” Gorba sighed. “Your Majesty...Your Majesty!!”

For Elvanan had seemingly stopped speaking mid-sentence. Gorba ran over to the king’s bedside, as did the two princes. The king of Hoenn had ceased to speak...

Ceased to breathe...

Ceased to live.

Righting himself, Malachi Gorba turned around to the two princes, and said four words that would change the fate of a kingdom.

“The king...is dead.”


It had been a week since the king’s death. The castle had been locked down, and no one was allowed in or out. A necessary measure, according to Prince Edgar, until a successor was chosen. Strangely enough, it was Elrik that was quarantined in his own room by Silver Knight guardsmen. But he had figured something out – he desired no civil war, so he had made this decision.

Prince Elrik jumped as the door to his room, which looked a lot like the king’s bedchamber except for the fact that it was smaller and had considerably more books, was opened. In stepped his twin brother, Prince Edgar, along with Gorba. Why were two guardsmen with them, though? And where did they get the black armor? The king’s soldiers usually wore silver armor. On top of that, the armor that they wore while guarding the castle in peacetime was considerably lighter. Presently, however, these soldiers were wearing their full armor, almost as if they were preparing for battle.

“Brother, we have good news,” Edgar said loudly, walking toward Elrik, who backed off a step or two. Even as his twin brother, Elrik thought that Edgar’s very demeanor was very intimidating. “You may freely leave the castle now.”

“I’ve come to a decision,” Elrik sighed. “For the sake of the country – to keep us out of a conflict as brothers and to keep our country from civil war...you take the throne as King.”

“That’s where you’ve made a mistake,” Gorba muttered, appearing from behind Elrik. “You act like we are giving you a choice in the matter.”

Elrik looked at Gorba and his own brother, and his eyes widened.



The next several minutes had been a blur. Elrik, to this day, has no idea how he made it through the castle to the stables and then out of the castle without being at least touched by one of these new black guardsmen, who seemed to be positively popping up all over the place in the castle. Presently, he was riding his own Rapidash from the Royal Citadel with all haste. To his enormous surprise, he had been joined by two other riders. These men – both relatively important figures in Hoenn’s military – were seemingly anticipating an effective coup by Edgar. They had never truly supported Edgar, even though he was the more military-minded of the two brothers.

“You’ve become a good rider, Your Majesty, if it is alright for me to say,” Elrik looked to his left. On the Rapidash there was a middle-aged man of almost fifty years of age. He had milk-chocolate wore a blue outfit with a white scarf that made him look rather like a nomad. His dark gray hair fell to his neck and was the exact same length all the way around, and his beard – also a graying black – was trimmed to be roughly the same length all across his chin. He was carrying what appeared to be a scimitar at his waist.

“This isn’t the time, Sir Roald,” Elrik replied, looking dejectedly downward and seeing only the saddled neck of his Rapidash.

“Rashid, how long to the port?” Roald asked a young man that was riding astride him and looked a lot like him. This young man (who could have passed for a boy, honestly), looked simply like Sir Roald as he would have been about twenty years ago. His youthful face, brown skin, brown eyes, and perfectly-trimmed curtain of black hair sat atop a body clothed with nearly the same clothing ensemble that his elder counterpart was dressed. One difference, however, is that his weapons of choice seemed to be twin sabers.

“Not long now, Father,” Rashid responded.

“Good,” Roald growled. Elrik’s worried face as he looked ahead of him caught the aged, dark-skinned warrior’s attention. Out in front of them stepped three of the black guardsmen, each about six feet tall.

“Sir Roald...” Elrik groaned worriedly.

“Damn!” Roald swore, drawing his scimitar. “I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this...”

“Father...” Rashid sighed. He didn’t like the idea of being forced to fight fellow Hoennite soldiers. Reluctantly, he drew both of his sabers and assumed a battle position on his mount. Both of them had extremely long spears designed to forcefully dismount riders. Roald and his son had to be quick.

“NOW!” Roald shouted. Both of the men swung their weapons around their steeds without looking while the Prince trailed behind them so as to not get caught in the crossfire. Yelling was heard as the Prince got through barely, having to dodge a pair of wayward spears as he rode past the guardsmen.

“Did we hit anything?” Rashid asked his father.

“I’m not looking back to f–LEFT TURN!!” Roald yelled suddenly, as they were approaching a gate that held a sharp left turn that spiraled down around a rocky cliff into a slope that led to the lowest level of the city. Sootopolis was arranged in three rings that were all mainly made into that shape by the large lake in the center of the city. There was only one level to go. As the Prince and the others emerged on this level, they realized that several guardsmen had already beaten him there and had already had designs on killing the Prince. No doubt Edgar had offered a reward for bringing him Elrik’s head. As long as Roald and his son were present, however, that reward would never be claimed. The two warriors reared back and pounced on the guardsmen with their swords, tearing a hole right through the small line. The remaining guardsmen turned and began to chase the riders.

“They’re chasing us!” Elrik exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, Prince, they can’t catch up with us,” Roald replied.

“We’re going to be trapped,” Rashid groaned with a blank looked on his face. “The port. We’re going to be trapped.”

“You give up too easily!” Roald chided his son as they (in single-file) rode through the last tunnel to the harbor. The clip-clopping of the horse Pokemon’s hooves changed in tone as the surface on which they rode changed from stone to solid wood.

“Your Majesty!!” a shout sounded from the Prince’s far left. There were two people dressed in silver armor with red-and-white helmets. One of them was a tall, burly man carrying a great sword. He had silver-blond hair and a tough face. The other was a short, young woman who had her blonde hair arranged in two braids that hung under her red-and-white helmet. The prince, under different circumstances, would have smiled at seeing her. Behind them, the prince saw a small ship with mostly white sails and one green (that hadn’t been there before), upon which appeared to be several knights, who were dressed in their peacetime armor plating and seemed to be making preparations to cast off.

“Good girl,” Prince Elrik sighed, petting his Rapidash as he dismounted her. His two protectors followed suit, and all three steeds were led by three different knights across the plank of wood and onto the ship.

“We made it,” Roald groaned. “It was pretty close, though...”

“Sir Izaak,” Prince Elrik sighed, “What’s going on here?”

“It appears your brother has seen fit to banish you from the castle, Your Majesty,” the middle-aged knight replied.

“I had a strange feeling it would happen,” Elrik muttered.

“So did we. So, the day His Majesty died – rest his soul – we sent out a call to any soldiers that would be willing to support you as King,” Izaak replied.

“We didn’t anticipate the lockdown, though,” Roald said, walking up alongside the brown-haired prince. “We wanted to get you out peacefully, but then things got a little hairy.”

“ ‘A little hairy’? We had to fight our own soldiers!” Rashid groaned. “Who knows how many we killed on our way here...”

“I took care not to beat them too badly,” Roald replied. “How about you?”

“Of course I did!” Rashid exclaimed. “Several of those men were my classmates...”

“Rashid, calm down...” the prince said in a calm tone that wouldn’t have elicited any other response. “What’s the use of this??”

“You might have conceded the kingship to your brother,” Izaak replied, “but Gorba still sees you as a threat.”

“So...he wishes to remove me,” Elrik sighed. “Just because I’m the only left in the Thalrair family...the only other that has royal blood. What a mess...”

“That’s the truth,” Roald said firmly. “So, we’ve got to get you the hell off of this island and somewhere safe where Edgar can’t touch you.”

“Why?” Elrik asked.


“Because we want you alive!” the young woman to Izaak’s left side said rather firmly. The prince turned in her direction and caught her eye. Immediately, the woman bowed and said quickly, “Your Majesty, please forgive my disrespect...”

“Please excuse my daughter, Your Majesty,” Izaak piped in quickly. “That was just a slip of the tongue, it won’t happen again...”

“Ivanna,” Elrik replied, shaking his head. The young woman looked up, having registered the informal use of her name. Turning toward Izaak, he asked, “Are you asking me to stand against my own brother? Even if I was willing...”

“Edgar might be a military genius...” Izaak started to reply. “But there’s no denying his imperialism and even his cruelty. Surely, you have seen it as well.”

“Yes...but...” Elrik sighed.

“There’s no time for this conversation!” Roald yelled suddenly, drawing his scimitar. When Elrik turned around, he saw several soldiers in black armor advancing toward their position. They were hemmed in. With only way off of the harbor, they had nowhere to go. Roald and his son were in front of Elrik with their weapons drawn, but they would not last long against those numbers, especially since they lacked any defensive equipment whatsoever.

“Sire! Board the ship! Please!” Izaak pleaded, brandishing his great sword. Elrik backed onto the ship. He saw Ivanna drawing her longsword as well and shouted from the ship.

“Ivanna! Get back onto the ship!”

“I’ll be fine, Your Majesty!” Ivanna shouted. “Set sail!”

“All of you, back onto the ship!” Prince Elrik shouted. “Th-that’s an order!”

With those words, Rashid, Roald, and Ivanna pulled away from the line, leaving Izaak by himself. With a couple dozen soldiers in black armor coming toward him, Izaak did not look like he intended to budge.

“Sir Izaak!” Prince Elrik shouted. Suddenly, he felt a lurch under him. The ship was starting to set sail as the ramp that Elrik and the others had used to board it closed and melded into the ship’s wooden railing. “Sir Izaak!”

“I’ll hold them off here!” Izaak shouted. “Ivanna!”

“Father!” Ivanna shouted, leaning over the railing as she watched her father slowly shrink into the distance.

“We’ll see each other again!” Izaak shouted. “Until then, you command the Silver Knights and guard the Prince with your life!!”

“Father!” Ivanna repeated.

“Sir Izaak!” Elrik shouted as well.

In a matter of seconds, the ship was out of sight, gone around the huge rock and headed for open sea. Seeing that, Izaak turned around, brandished his large sword and said to the advancing mob, “Anyone who seeks an early death, come forth! Long live the king!”


The ship was quiet. While the rest of the people had backed away, Ivanna continued to blankly stare over the railing at absolutely nothing now but open water. After a few minutes of shocked silence, the prince approached her.

“Ivanna,” he called. Ivanna turned around and began to bow, but the prince waved her off. “Stop that. Why are you always so formal?”

“The proper respect must be shown to a prince,” Ivanna replied, “Your Majesty.”

“We’ve known each other since we were small children,” Elrik replied.

“That might be so,” Ivanna said, bowing again, “But you’re still the prince, and I am nothing but a guard.”

“Well, it looks like I’m not a prince anymore,” Elrik commented. “And even if I were, I’m not much more than just another man who happened to be born to the Thalrair royal family.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty...I wish you would not say that,” Ivanna replied, facing him. “Your Majesty is gentle and virtuous, just like we wish this nation to be.”

“Ivanna...” Elrik sighed.

“I shall keep the promise I made to my father, and continue to guard you with my life,” Ivanna replied formally with another bow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see about our destination.”

“Alright,” Elrik sighed as the blonde-haired lady knight walked off. Elrik sighed and looked over the railing at the rippling reflection of the full moon on the night-darkened waters of Hoenn. “Father...was leaving...the right thing to do?”


Using all of the skills and agility taught to her, she sprang from tree to tree in this dense forest. Her scarlet hair trailed out behind her, and her green outfit, torn in places, continued to lose more shreds as her forest-green-clad pursuers followed her exact path, sending darts and the occasional fireball after her one by one.

Her nearly sixteen years of memories had been a blur. Her muddled mind held very few singular and distinguishable memories, the first of which was a baptism – a sprinkling of water upon her forehead at the age of five – an age at which she could not understand the purpose. Then, immediately after that, she remembered hands...merciless and firm, hands that held down her small, completely bare body and put her head into a blanket as she felt a burning pain right under her left shoulder. She remembered flailing her legs and screaming into the blanket, wishing for either salvation or death right in that moment – but neither came...until finally, the brand was removed and her tiny, sobbing, choking, trembling frame wrapped in the blanket that had been the only containment as she had released audibly her agony.

She had never allowed those hands – or any others – to touch her, ever again. Yes, they had tried...they had said that it was one of the ‘requirements’, and part of the ‘training’...but she had never allowed it. She grew up watching and being forced to imitate the men and women around her, all bowing to a large golden dragon in a dimly-lit room that reeked always of incense. She had been forced to watch the ‘training’ of the other girls and young women around her. No one ever said a word. She knew the Seven Sacraments...”to the return of Arceus – Faram.” She knew the ritual prayers. She knew the techniques which she had been taught – techniques that were to hasten the Appearance...by punishing heretics. She knew not joy, happiness, peace, or love. But she had heard whispers about them...whispers that drifted in from the outside world – a world she was told that she could not enter.


Months ago, she had seen her opportunity. An orb held inside the dimly-lit room...she took it, took her weapons, and ran. She was pursued, of course...one who joins the Faith – willingly or not so – cannot simply leave, for there was always a risk that this person would ‘evangelize’ – or, perhaps the proper word was ‘expose’ – the Faith to outsiders. She had no idea how she had been so fortunate. She found a passing ship and stowed away without so much as being suspected, until she made it to the mainland. There, she drifted from place to place, hearing rumors about the deaths of kings, princes, and knights.

But she was pursued – and had been pursued for nearly a year now...and was being pursued. She groaned as a throwing knife slashed her left arm. She dropped down from the trees, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

Shadows passed over her head, rendered colorless and nearly invisible by the angle of sunrays filtering through the canopy of green above her. She sighed, held the grapefruit-sized, emerald-green sphere close to her, and stayed perfectly still. She looked left at her arm – trickles of blood began to drip from the wound, running down her arm, and heading for the forest ground.

Seeing nothing to use for a wipe – at least nothing that would not make her wound worse – she lowered her open mouth to her left arm. The metallic taste was horrible, but it was a small price to pay for not leaving a trail. Looking up with a bit of blood dripping from her lip that made it look like she had been hit in the mouth, she took a deep breath, righted herself, and ran, as quietly as possible with the skills that she had mastered, west...clutching the green orb in her hands.