The Makings of Legend

[Storyteller]

Chapter 7: Liberation

The hour of judgment was upon them: It was two minutes to midnight on the Doomsday Clock.

Wartortle stood upon a rusted dumpster, his eyes squinted so he could see through the buckets of rain pouring from the sky. From the way the weather was behaving, it was if the heavens themselves were being torn asunder by the chaos that had consumed Vermillion City in the wake of the bombing. In only a matter of two days, the pandemonium resulting from the destruction of the Capitol Building had reduced the once peaceful community to a spawning pool for panic, confusion, and anarchy.

“My brethren!” Wartortle screamed, with voice louder than any of the explosions of thunder echoing high above the heads of the collected crowd. “The hour of our destiny is upon us!” The Pokémon added, hoisting his dual weapons into the night sky. The powerful words and the display of fervor elicited a chorus of screams and roars of delight from the crowd of anxious soldiers.

“The Homo sapiens have kept us under their thumb for far too many generations, and with the destruction we shall wrought on this night, we will show them that their dominion over us has long since crumbled!” Wartortle bellowed—the fury emblazoned across his visage illuminated as a bolt of lightning tore across the heavens. “Tonight we will march across this forsaken city and slaughter its inhabitants.

“I don’t want any of you to stop until every last man, woman, and child has been bled to the last drop!” The turtle seethed, the veins in his neck bulged as adrenaline surged through every fiber of his existence. “When the sun rises in the morning, I want Pokémon to be the only ones in Vermillion who bear witness to its glory. We have come too far and sacrificed too much to allow ourselves anything less than complete and absolute victory!

“By the end of this night, my comrades, we will have forever become the stuff of legends! Those around the globe shall tremble when they hear our names and tell their children politically misconstrued ghost stories about our deeds. Tonight will echo throughout the annals of time as the beginning of humanity’s unraveling, but it shall also resound with one other event…the liberation of our race!” Wartortle paused as the applause and cheering overpowered his ability to project his voice. With a smirk upon his face, the reptilian insurrectionist wiped the rain from his brow and continued.

“For every human life you snuff out tonight, we are one step closer to true liberation. Tonight we will conquer, and through our actions tonight, we shall become immortalized! March into the night and kill, my fellow Pokémon! Though we may only be a hundred strong, our brethren are waiting out there to join our ranks. They need only the sign and for us to set them free. Now march into the night and sate your appetite with the flesh of the tyrants!” Wartortle cried—thrusting his hands forth as the crowd in front of him exploded into a frenzy.

Like a primitive fireworks display, a myriad of the elements was let loss into the night sky—punctuating the Turtle Pokémon’s impassioned dissertation. A moment transpired, and then the crowd exploded outward as the agents of the Pokémon Liberation Front dispersed to begin their purification of Vermillion City’s Homo sapiens infestation. From his position above the street, Wartortle began to cackle as his lanky form was illuminated by the lightning overhead.

Descending from his makeshift lectern, the Pokémon Chieftain checked the condition of his weapons one last time. When he deduced that there were no discernable flukes, the amphibious revolutionary slammed a new clip into each of his automatic rifles. With a bob of the head to no one in particular, Wartortle began down a nearby street. The reptile had only made it a handful of yards when he felt a powerful hand fall upon his armored shoulder.

A split-second after he felt the touch, the Pokémon pivoted and lined up the barrels of both his weapons with his visitor’s abdomen. Taking a few precautionary steps away from the goliath, Wartortle lifted his head up to see a very familiar visage—Machamp. The scarred, silent warrior drop to a knee in front of his indigo leader, and with an uncharacteristically stoic grunt, the Superpower Pokémon puffed out his chest.

Although there were no words exchanged, Wartortle understood everything that needed to be comprehended. With a smirk upon his face, the Chieftain extended his bony hand toward the knelling soldier and helped him off the saturated stone of the alleyway. Nodding their heads in unison, the two brothers-in-arms turned their attention to the scene unfolding a few yards down the passageway.

“I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit!” A human screamed, his tone of voice erratic as he tried to pry open the door of a vehicle parked near the terminus of the alley. “This entire place is going to hell, and I’m not going to be caught by those terrorists without any means of protecting myself,” the man added as he feverishly tried to break into the car.

Hugging the wall of the dark passage, Wartortle slowly advanced toward the two Homo sapiens. Once he got close enough, the Pokémon was able to deduce that one of the hominids was attempting to break into a police cruiser for the potential weaponry stashed within its locked doors. Unlike his vandal of a comrade, the other primate was nervously scanning the empty street for signs of life.

“I really don’t like this,” the frightened human whispered. Despite his best efforts to conceal his voice, Wartortle was close enough at this point to hear every angst-laden syllable. “What if we get arrested?”

“There is no such thing as ‘law’ in this city,” the first human uttered, trying to kick through the reinforced glass window with the sole of his boot. “When the Capitol Building fell, all semblances of order went up in flames along with that structure. Now it’s either kill or be killed, and I’d much rather choose—”

“Be killed!” Wartortle punctuated, stepping out from the shadows and proceeding to tear apart the man’s chest with a hail of machinegun bullets. With a scream, the remaining human watched as his dying friend collapsed onto the damp asphalt and was wrought by a progression of death spasms. Before he had a chance to fully react to the development, the second primate was torn in two by the overgrown Machamp.

Hoisting the two halves of the corpse into the raining night sky, the Superpower Pokémon proceeded to hurl them through the wall of a nearby convenience store. Without taking so much as a nanosecond to stop, Machamp went on to pluck the police cruiser off the road. After exerting a few seconds to crush the vehicle, the titan sent it rolling down the vacated street like a bowling ball of twisted steel.

Wartortle sneered as the smashed cruiser rolled into the night. Even though he was elated by the destruction, the Tiny Turtle knew that it was going to take a lot more to exterminate the pests that had infested Vermillion. With a smile upon his indigo visage, the Pokémon holstered his machineguns behind his shoulders and motioned for Machamp to draw closer to him.

“I want you to travel to the industrial district just south of here and slaughter the staff at the power plant. After we take down that plant, there won’t be any power for this entire city. Once you succeed with your goal, I want you to rendezvous with Gamma Squad on Main Street. Do you understand?” Wartortle inquired, glancing up at the emotionless countenance of the superpowered soldier. With a humble bob of his crested cranium, Machamp broke into a sprint down the street.

The Turtle Pokémon watched as the juggernaut vanished into the fog. After a few more beats, Wartortle turned around and started to his own objective: Lieutenant Surge. Out of the entire city, it was Surge who most symbolized everything that the Chieftain loathed. The lieutenant reigned over Vermillion as its “Gym Leader”—someone who kidnapped and subsequently brainwashed Pokémon into being their slaves for the sake of public posterity.

“I will end that idiot’s reign,” Wartortle rasped beneath his breath as he trudged through the puddles of rainwater that had accumulated on the road. “This city will be mine! The turtle screamed as a bolt of lightning illuminated the sky behind his manic visage. Once the flash of light faded, Wartortle drew his weapons once more and began his campaign once more. The Vermillion City Gym was only a block or so away, and the though of his encroaching destiny was making the Turtle Pokémon absolutely giddy.

***

Kadabra stood amid the chaos of what was once a productive city block. Since the beginning of the fighting, the majority of the nearby houses had been torn asunder amidst the crossfire of the local police forces and the Pokémon Liberation Front. Chunks of asphalt and pipelines had been unearthed in the struggle, and even after an hour or so of fighting, no clear winner had emerged.

“Kadabra!” A Pokémon nearby yelled, his erratic tone quickly catching the attention of Wartortle’s lieutenant. Standing still, Kadabra watched as a fatigued Scyther limped his way over to his location.

“What is it?” Kadabra inquired, his feet leaving the ground as he move forth to intercept his injured comrade. The bipedal insect let out a sigh as he tumbled forward into the outstretched arms of his commanding officer.

“Another wave of humans is arriving from the south. They are about forty strong and seem to all be civilian in nature. If we don’t do something to prevent them from hitting our backside, we’re going to get overwhelmed if the policemen and SWAT decide to try another charge on our location,” Scyther rasped, his voice labored as he fought to stand on his own. Kadabra nodded his head in acknowledgment of the Mantis Pokémon’s report.

Setting the injured soldier within the relative safety of a crudely established tent, the psychic levitated his way through the camp to the rear of the camp. Even though the area was shielded by a stack of demolished houses and cars, it would have been simple for a small pocket of enemy soldiers to sneak in relatively unseen. Closing his eyes, Kadabra projected his mind forth across the makeshift barrier.

On the other side of the mountain of steel and stone, a translucent Kadabra slowly phased into existence. Flexing the joints of his projected form, the Psi Pokémon narrowed his eyes—triggering the monsoon of rain before him to part. With his view unobstructed by the precipitation, the lieutenant was able to spot the encroaching hominids. Like a gadfly to a horse, the peasants were not going to capitulate until they were completely and utterly exterminated.

Gathering his bearings, the projection of Kadabra glided toward the lynch mob of primates. Even as the first bullets began to fly, the Psi Pokémon kept his unwavering stoicism. Stretching forth his ethereal appendages, the lieutenant closed his eyes and listened as the front walls of two nearby buildings were torn away by the psychic’s capabilities. Opening his eyes, Kadabra took a moment to stare in awe at the free-floating walls of brick and glass.

“Die!” The Psi Pokémon bellowed, slapping his hands together with the utmost avarice. The two sections of wall, guided by the motion of their puppeteer, slammed together—crushing the two columns of marching peasants.

Unfortunately for Kadabra, he had failed to exterminate all of their lives. With a labored cry, a lone man dashed forth from the layer of dust and debris. Before the man had a chance to strike down the ethereal psychic with his pitchfork, his skull was popped off by his intended target. As the peasant toppled over, the projection of the Psi Pokémon let out a fatigued sigh and phased out of existence.

Back behind the provisional blockade, a gasp escaped the throat of Kadabra as his mind returned to his physical form. Although he had been successful in terminating the immediate threat, the psychic understood that victory had not come at a price. With a quavering digit, the Psi Pokémon traced the handful of bullet wounds that adorned his chest. It was a flaw in his ability to project his existence…a flaw that was most aggravating for the lieutenant.

“We can’t keep this up,” Kadabra rasped, his voice labored as the wounds began to take their tool upon him.

***

With a sturdy kick, Wartortle obliterated the front door to the Vermillion City Gym and infiltrated the silent building. Once inside, the Turtle Pokémon scanned the nearby wall for a means of illuminating the amphitheatre-sized room. Letting out a soft laugh, the amphibious superstar flipped a switch mounted next to the door. A few stories above his head, a series of fluorescent lights hummed to life.

The introduction of light into the room revealed the presence of half a dozen armed trainers standing a few yards away from Wartortle’s position. From behind the line of humans, Lieutenant Surge stood with an arrogant grin look plastered upon his tanned countenance. Cracking his neck, the Gym Leader drew his own firearm and motioned for his subordinates to ready their weapons.

“Checkmate,” Surge cackled, and with a smile, he pulled the trigger.

Wartortle’s eyes widened in horror as the bullet exploded toward his bald cranium. With so little time to react, all the Turtle Pokémon managed to do was topple over like an awkward buffoon. Landing on his posterior, the reptilian rebel let out a sigh as the bullet whizzed overhead and slammed into the wall. Unfortunately for the momentarily beleaguered Wartortle, the lieutenant and his lackeys were unwilling to give him even a second’s reprieve.

“Kill him now!” Surge bellowed, throwing his free hand forward like a conductor leading a symphony. On the whim of their sensei, the trainers opened fire upon the archrival of humanity.

Swearing beneath his breath, Wartortle threw his weight to his one side—meriting him enough momentum to roll behind the relative safety of a wide, marble column. Once behind the cylindrical shaft, the leader of the Pokémon Liberation Front began to formulate some means of survival as he tried to quickly draw fresh air into his lungs. As Wartortle attempted to lay the groundwork for a suitable plan, his adversaries fell silent.

With a heavy sigh, the turtle braced himself as the next wave of gunfire began to gnaw away at his cover. Realizing that he had to act soon if he intended to survive, Wartortle reached behind his back and yanked his machineguns from their twin holsters. As he gripped onto the cold, heartless steel, the Pokémon felt his confidence return in waves. Holding the guns close to his chest, the amphibious insurrectionist closed his eyes and began to bide his time until his foes had to reload.

Once the ear-splitting echo of machinegun fire died down, Wartortle’s eyes shot open. Time drew to a crawl as the man-sized turtle took those first steps toward his destiny. Lowering the guns to his sides, the chieftain of Pokémon pulled the triggers and opened his mouth—a ghastly, murderous guffaw tearing into the atmosphere a heartbeat later. A scream broke out among the enemy ranks as the trainers dove to the wayside.

The lull in time slowly lost its grasp upon the scene, and as its dominion faded, the bullets came faster and louder until there was no semblance of the moment existing in the first place. With the dreamlike effect gone, things took a turn from the sluggish to the dynamic. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, Wartortle arched his stream of bullets and caught on the Vermillion trainers in the leg as he was trying to crawl behind an overturned portion of the gym’s synthetic environment.

With one of the hominids temporarily dispatched, Wartortle turned his attention to the next viable target, but instead of opportunity, he was greeted with a fresh volley of bullets. Lunging to the wayside, the amphibious revolutionary vanished behind an I-beam and crouched as the enemy’s gunfire tore apart the linoleum floor just a few inches from his previous location.

A heartbeat later, the rest of the trainers went on the offensive as well, and Wartortle found himself running out of available options: The only nearby obstacle was a couple of yards away. Leaning out from behind the beam, the Pokémon squinted through the ill-light chamber and tried to scope out the locations of his shooters. Fortunately for the soldiers of Surge, one of them happened to be close enough to spot the turtle’s exact location.

With his target in the center of his crosshairs, the fortunate trainer depressed the trigger of his gun. The sound of the bullet blasting forth from the barrel of the rifle was noted almost immediately by the fur-covered ears of the Turtle Pokémon, but the window of opportunity for evasion had already withered.

“Fuck!” Wartortle yelled as he shifted toward the direction of the bullet out of instinct. The wet sound of hot lead punching through skin and tissue echoed through the gym as the lanky body of the Pokémon Chieftain was thrown to the cold, tiled floor of the cavernous structure.

***

“Fallback you sons of bitches!” The foreman shrieked, desperately waving his hands toward the reinforced doors. From behind him, the unsettling resonance of steel being dented inward grew louder as the wall of the plant began to buckle beneath the force. As the foreman vanished behind a pair of steel doors, the stalwart military soldiers garrisoned in the power plant braced themselves for whatever was behind the dense wall.

“Tank?” One of the soldiers whispered to a comrade, his M16 shaking in his grasp as he tried to keep his eyes trained upon the compromised wall. After a moment of silence, the wall was shaken once more by the awesome might of whatever stood on the other side. The viciousness caused the mousy soldier to wince slightly—it was obvious by this point to the soldiers that fate had abandoned them long ago.

“We can hope it’s only that,” a soldier uttered beneath hoarse breath. The remark elicited a fabricated smirk from a few of the other militiamen, but before someone had a chance to comment, the wall was struck for the final time. With an unholy wailing, the steel was torn apart as a hulking, gray abomination pushed its way through the four foot wall.

***

“God damn it,” Wartortle choked, dragging the rest of his body behind a small, artificial hill near the bank of a stream running through the posterior section of the gym. Uttering an unending stream of ‘fuck’s beneath his breath, the turtle dropped one of his M16s and pressed down on his lovely little wound. Although the bullet had missed all the major targets, it had still managed to reduce the reptile to an agonized little bitch…a state that Wartortle abhorred.

“I tagged him!” The trainer scream—his voice about a ten feet away by now. The Pokémon Chieftain scoffed at the arrogance in the primate’s voice. In fact, it made Wartortle positively disgusted that he had inadvertently brought such happiness to the undeserving bastard.

“Go in for the kill!” Another of the trainers screamed in a voice gleeful enough to put a giddy schoolboy to shame. Eying the firearm still hatefully clenched within his indigo fingers, the turtle flashed it a smile that even Judas in hell could have been proud of. Removing his other hand from the scene of the wound, Wartortle flipped the seemingly miniscule switch on the side of his weapon and listened intently as the footsteps drew closer.

“He’s right behind that mound of stone,” a third trainer whispered. The announcement of the information was accompanied by the subsequent clicking of fresh clips into the ingrates’ rifles. Just as Wartortle could almost smell the foul stench of their fetid breath upon his back, he sprung forth from the ashes.

“Die!” The Turtle Pokémon boomed, depressing the trigger of his rifle with an ensanguined digit. The trainers returned the display, but none of them anticipated what had transpired. In a vibrant display of heat and light, the forty-millimeter grenade shell detonated—taking with it the lives of the three overly eager trainers.

Although they had been dispatched of effortlessly, a few bullets managed to strike Wartortle in the center of his dull yellow plastron. The impact knocked the wind from the revolutionary’s lungs, but any lasting damage was otherwise prevented by the turtle’s dense scutes. Slipping down onto his knees to avoid the fallout of the surprise attack, the Pokémon Chieftain collected his other rifle.

“Four down,” the reptile rasped, checking the condition of his weapons as he contemplated his next maneuver.

Without so much as a moment’s warning, the three surviving primates opened fire upon Wartortle. Grunting in frustration, the Turtle Pokémon cleared his thoughts and tried to pinpoint the source of the gunfire using his advanced hearing. After a moment or two, he was able to determine that he was being shot at from three completely different locations. The amphibious superstar let out a deep sigh as he attempted to calculate his odds of actually hitting someone.

“Fuck it,” the Turtle said after a second or so, and with a scowl upon his indigo countenance, Wartortle vaulted off the ground. Turning in the direction of the first shooter, the Pokémon fired off a series of bullets and quickly dropped to the ground before he was hit. A delightful scream rang through the chamber a moment later, and with a smile, the leader of the Pokémon Liberation Front leaped back to a standing position.

Narrowing his eyes in the direction of his second target, Wartortle fired off another rapid succession of machinegun bursts. From the far wall of the gym, there was a faint grunt as a sixth body collapsed to the linoleum floor.

***

“Take down that water tower!” Kadabra bellowed, thrusting one of his pointed digits toward the rickety, steel containment tower looming over the city block. The Psi Pokémon had been isolated from the main column of soldiers by a surprised attack from the human forces. With the bulk of his troops battling a few streets away, Kadabra was stranded with only a handful of warriors at his disposal. Even worse, a squad of policemen was advancing upon his location.

“I’ll take care of that one,” a Graveler boomed, flexing all four of his stony arms as he plucked a nearby motorcycle from the sidewalk. As Kadabra watched with anxiety, the Rock Pokémon twirled around and launched the vehicle up toward the aged tower. With a sickening crunch, the propelled motorcycle obliterated two of the four support beams that kept the utility standing tall.

With no structural integrity to speak of, the old water tower began to squeal as gravity took its toll upon the remaining support structure. Eying the encroaching mob of police officers, Kadabra motioned for the other members of his small detachment to huddle around him as the water tower broke away from the building above them. Gritting his teeth, the psychic threw his hands up and closed his eyes as a dome of white light hummed to life around the small group.

A chorus of screams filled the street as the deluge of water from the ruined tower flooded over the barrier and slammed into the mob of primates. Unable to stand firm against the tidal wave, the policemen were washed away into the waters of oblivion. Unfortunately for Kadabra, the destruction of the lynch mob meant nothing in the long run. A handful of meters away, the symphony of gunfire and explosions was deep in the midst of a crescendo.

“Make haste back to the battlefield, comrades!” Kadabra shouted as the barrier faded from existence. “We must not lose Wabash to the enemy!” The psychic added, gliding quickly across the dampened asphalt.

***

“It’s over, Wartortle,” Lieutenant Surge cackled, leaning out from behind a column to punctuate the insult with a few bullets. The magnum rounds careened to the wayside, but the shrapnel that resulted from their rendezvous with the stone wall managed to irritate the Pokémon’s flesh.

“Fuck you,” the chieftain retorted—firing a grenade from behind the safety of his own marble column. The high-powered shell slammed into a fabricated stone on the other side of the gym, but aside from a wicked explosion, there had been nothing accomplished. Laughing loudly, Surge opened his mouth to berate his opponent, but his attempt at banter was cut short when the muzzle of an M16 found its mark upon his chin.

Though initially taken aback by the surprise assault, the former army officer managed to regain his composure just as he was about to hit the ground. With a grunt, Surge rolled backwards and swung his firearm up toward his adversary. Wartortle, standing a few feet away with both of his weapons trained upon the brow of the lieutenant, smirked as he pulled the trigger.

Click…click. The sound in and of itself was enough to shatter the most adamant of egos. For Wartortle, it meant the one fatal mistake that he knew had been looming somewhere upon the horizon. The silence pervaded as both parties took a moment to dwell upon what had transpired, and then, with an almost gleeful laugh, Surge pulled the trigger of his handgun and sent a bullet rocketing into Wartortle’s chest.

***

“Hold the line!” Kadabra ordered, ducking a moment later to avoid a wayward shotgun blast. Lifting his head back up, the Psi Pokémon observed as the humans prepared for another charge. Most of the Homo sapiens were armed with mêlée weapons, but there was still the looming threat of those individuals armed with riot shields and shotguns. The bodies of the injured and dead that littered the ground around Kadabra were more than enough proof that the armored humans were a cardinal threat.

With a sigh, the psychic receded back behind the makeshift shields. If the battle was to be won, then it was imperative that the enemy’s be pushed back toward their point of origin. Although the battle raged elsewhere, it was Main Street that would be the definitive battleground. Unfortunately for Kadabra, the humans were also aware of the avenue’s importance.

“Hit the deck!” A sentry screamed, and not even a nanosecond later, a mortar shell struck the middle of the street and exploded.

***

Wartortle let out a vibrant scream as he collapsed against the cold wall of the Vermillion City Gym. A small pillar of smoke wafted up from the bullet wound on the right side of the turtle’s chest. Although nothing vital had been compromised, the reptilian rebel had taken a potent blow regardless. Heaving as he laboriously fought to stand, Wartortle lifted his eyes to meet Surges.

Despite the severity of the injury, there was still a crimson glow to the Pokémon’s glare. From the intensity, it was as if all the fires of Hell itself had blazed to life within the eyes of the leader of the Pokémon Liberation Front. Unfortunately for the cornered lion, Surge was the one with the loaded gun, and the smug smile upon his tanned visage displayed that point rather effortlessly.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Lieutenant Surge hissed, lifting the gun from his side as he made a blatant effort to savor the moment. “But I’m afraid this is the end of things,” the ex-militant added, but just as he was about to pull the trigger, the lights above the two rivals’ heads sputtered. The flickering continued for a few additional seconds, and then the room was cast into blackness.

With Surge momentarily preoccupied with the death of the city’s power, Wartortle vaulted off the cold wall and tackled the army brute. The lieutenant let out a pained grunt as his body struck the unforgiving marble floor, but even though he was caught off guard, Surge managed to shove the man-sized turtle off him. In the struggle, the hominid has lost his gun and as he hustled to locate it, he heard a snicker from a few feet away.

“Looking for this, jackass?” Wartortle guffawed as he unloaded the weapon upon the fallen former commando. Screaming in pain, Surge scrambled out of the way even as the first bullet tore through his side. The lieutenant continued to hug the ground as he crawled his way across the floor of his personal dominion.

Once the weapon ran out of ammunition, Wartortle heaved it across the chamber and turned his attention to locating his wounded adversary. Suddenly, a door opened on the far wall of the room, and with that as his only lead, the Pokémon hobbled toward his opponent. After wrenching the door open, the turtle squinted to see in the darkness, but once his vision adjusted enough to see the stairs, he began his ascent.

A few stories up, Lieutenant Surge tumbled through the emergency exit and let out a groan as the humid air hit his fatigued body. On the horizon, the first signs of daylight were becoming evident even as the war within the city limits showed no indication of stopping. From across town, a giant tower of black smog laced the skyline where the once grand power plant used to stand. Surge, who was now more than ten stories above the streets, let out a sigh as he made his way toward the fire escape on the other end of the building.

“Not so fast!” A haggard, hateful voice screamed. Turning around, Lieutenant Surge watched as a bloodied Wartortle limped from the black depths of the stairwell. The chieftain clenched his ensanguined fingers as he advanced toward the equally battered Gym Leader. “We’re not finished yet, you prick!”

“Think you can take me, Baby?” Surge scoffed, lifting his fists up to his face. “I didn’t risk my life on the frontlines for three years just so some mutant freak could take me,” the ex-militant continued, his eyes twitching as he spoke—an indication of the underlying weakness and fatigue that was haunting Surge’s body.

“Shut the fuck up and fight,” Wartortle rasped, sliding into a generic fighter’s stance.

There were no more guns. No more witty retorts and idle banter. Just two rivals with their lives and fate on the line. One of them was going to give, and with them, an entire species would be shaken to its core.

Although Vermillion had spent the greater part of the week subjugated to nature’s wrath, the presence of the sun breaking through the black clouds seemed to be a clear indication that the tropical storm was losing its strength. Despite the serenity, the city itself was far from tranquility, and even as dawn continued to unfold, the destruction remained relentless.

High above the heads of the troopers and citizens, the two superstars of the conflict exchanged blows as their personal confrontation began toward its zenith. Ducking beneath a punch aimed too far to the right, Wartortle kicked off the gravel roof and slammed his fist into Surge’s exposed neck. Flesh was carved away by the impact of the blow, but the adrenaline coursing through the lieutenant’s veins granted him the fortitude to return the favor in spades.

Coughing up saliva as he reeled away from the ex-militant, Wartortle took a moment to catch his breath before going back onto the offensive. Unfortunately for the turtle, the successful counterattack and subsequent reprieve had given his opponent just the window of time he needed to parry the Pokémon’s attacks. With an almost brutal elegance, Lieutenant Surge batted Wartortle’s clawed fists to the wayside and swung his left combat boot up into the reptile’s abdomen.

Gritting his teeth as a coping mechanism, the reptilian revolutionary threw his face forward and fired a stream of water into his aggressor’s countenance. The measure caught the lieutenant off guard—sending him stumbling backwards as his hands batted madly at the viscous fluid impeding his senses.

***

“He’s alive!” Pikachu screamed, flailing his limbs for attention as his eyes remained trained on the crumbled body lying beneath the twisted steel. In less then a few seconds, the rodent was joined by a group of his comrades. The Pokémon dropped to their knees and were quick to excavate the rubble that had collapsed upon the valiant warrior. Once a path had been forged through the debris, a Graveler moved forward and retrieved the bloodied figure.

“How goes the battle?” Kadabra wheezed, opening his eyes and turning his dirtied visage toward Pikachu.

“We’ve managed to press back the hominids and secure the street; however, they have returned with artillery. We are also but a dozen strong in this region against fifty humans due to the partitioning of our forces throughout the city limits. Unless we can break their fortifications, we will be withered away by the unrelenting attacks,” Pikachu replied, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the barricade.

“Gather the masses,” Kadabra coughed, levitating from the arms of the Graveler and glaring hatefully toward the human ranks. “It is time that we show them our tenacity and willpower. Even if we are predestined to falter, we must not allow ourselves do nothing but sit here and cower as they bombard us to death!” The inspiring words brought a cheer from the group of Pokémon, and a moment later, Kadabra led the charge across the ravaged stretch of asphalt.

***

Wartortle struck the gravel-covered roof of the gym with a resounding thud. A few feet away, Surge stood panting with his fist still hoisted into the air. With a labored sigh, the fallen Pokémon wiped the trail of blood away from his chin and pushed his body away from the unforgiving layer of tar and gravel.

“Time to say goodnight,” Surge snarled as he bent over and reached toward the back of one of his boots. A smile spread across the ex-militants bloodied countenance as his hand emerged from the back of his leg with a short knife in tow. With an almost giddy titter, the gym leader brought the knife up to his face and expended a moment just to stare at his reflection upon its glossy surface.

In an act fueled by instinct alone, Wartortle pushed himself onto his back and summoned up all the water he could muster. As Surge hobbled toward him, the reptilian insurrectionist opened his bruised maw and unleashed a jet of high-powered fluid toward the lieutenant’s hand. The impact served as a large enough shock to send the stout blade clean from the grimy grip of the former army officer. Kicking off the ground, Wartortle lurched toward the momentarily astonished ex-militant.

Wartortle let out a primal scream as he tackled Surge back down to the gravel-encrusted rooftop. The two rivals rolled across the surface of the roof as they traded blows and hateful glares. Rays of sunlight were creeping across the scene of the battle as the two drew closer to the edge of the structure. Despite the impending danger, neither party was willing to turn their attention for a split-second for fear of making that one final, fatal mistake.

Thrusting his legs up violently, Wartortle managed to knock the ex-militant off his chest. Using the window of opportunity to his advantage, the Water Pokémon scrambled across the rooftop and scooped up Surge’s boot knife. With the blade now in his possession, the leader of the Pokémon Liberation Front turned his bruised, indigo countenance back toward his opponent.

Flashing a bloody grin, Lieutenant Surge motioned for the man-sized reptile to continue with the offensive. Compelled with his desire to fulfill the hominid’s request, Wartortle clenched his teeth and charged toward the former military officer. Feigning to the left as he advanced upon the motionless ex-militant, the reptile let out an incoherent grunt and swung the blade toward his foe’s ribcage.

Unfortunately for Wartortle, Surge emerged as the more prepared combatant, and with swift motion, he once again managed to disarm the turtle. Instead of breaking off the attack, the leader of the Pokémon Liberation Front let out an almost serpentine hiss and swiped his clawed fingers across the already mangled visage of his adversary.

The rapid counterattack triggered the lieutenant to pull away from the confrontation, and with that show of weakness, Wartortle continued his assault. Despite his augmented intelligence, the Water Pokémon had failed to notice the arrogant smirk that Surge wore upon his countenance.

The knife, clenched between the ex-militants fingers, gleamed in the morning sun as it was swung up into Wartortle’s abdomen. Punching through an already splintered portion of the turtle’s plastron, the blade tore its way through layer after layer of tissue until the side of Surge’s hand hit the surface of his nemesis’ skin. The leader of the Pokémon Liberation Front let out a groan, and his head fell forward a moment later.

“Face it,” Lieutenant Surge coughed, leaning forward until his lips were almost touching the indigo flesh of the reptile’s downward facing cranium. “You’ve been bested, Baby,” the former military officer added, using his free hand to prop up Wartortle’s head by the chin. Instead of pain, agony, or suffering, Surge’s arrogance was met with the unquenchable fires of the Pokémon Chieftain’s hatred.

“Fuck you!” Wartortle rasped, and with a brutal fluidity, the reptilian insurrectionist buried his left hand, clawed phalanxes and all, into the side of his gloating rival. Surge clenched his teeth and twisted the knife—trying his hardest the entire time to swallow down the scream welling up within his trachea. Wartortle returned the favor by drilling his hand into the primate’s side.

***

“Remain stalwart!” Kadabra boomed above the roar of the enemy’s fire. The squad of Pokémon broke apart as the bombardments intensified. Moving forward, the psychic threw up a barrier as he glided toward the enemy entrenchments. To the left of the Psi Pokémon, an artillery shell struck the ground and sent one of his comrades hurling into oblivion.

Charging forward, the Graveler who had helped saved the life of his lieutenant a few minutes prior dove into the wall of a crude machinegun nest. As Kadabra watched in horror, the Rock Pokémon’s body erupted into a vibrant display of energy. The shockwave rippled outward—obliterating the mass of humans as they scattered to the winds.

The display of everlasting fortitude spurred the martyr’s comrades forth as they dove headfirst into the mass of primates. An explosion tore through the streets as the humans drew their barbaric weaponry and assaulted the freedom fighters. Leading the last-ditch offensive, Kadabra pushed through the enemy ranks with the utmost brutality. Limbs and flesh was torn asunder as the Psi Pokémon released the raw power bottled within his form.

From the opposite side of the human encampment, a mighty explosion tore apart the street and sent pillars of fire toward the perpetually brightening skyline. Although Kadabra and his troopers could not see the new arrivals, the psychic could sense the new arrivals mentally. With a deafening roar, Machamp hurled another military truck through the enemy’s camp. Behind the bloodied, beleaguered superpowered, a group of about a hundred Pokémon had amassed.

“Kill them all!” Kadabra screamed, thrusting his trademark spoon toward the panicking hominids. The Psi Pokémon went to move forward but was stalled when a bright light sprang to life around the spoon. Traveling rapidly down his arm, the light engulfed the psychic in a matter of seconds. There was moment of silence, and then the energy ballooned outward—capturing the attention of everyone on the field in the process.

When the vivid lights faded, Kadabra was no longer himself. Gone were the wide tail and the cryptic, psychic markings that had once adorned the Pokémon’s abdomen and forehead. The formerly crude, organic armor worn by Kadabra was now sleek, polished, and refined. Kneepads and bracers had been added to the Psi Pokémon’s golden figure, and in both of his hands, he clenched two bent spoons.

Tilting back his visage, the newly evolved psychic closed his eyes and smiled. The movement of his facial muscles caused his overextended mustache to waft slightly. Without so much as a moment’s warning, the ground around the evolved psychic was torn apart by unseen forces. Chunks of asphalt, concrete, and demolished houses levitated around the Psi Pokémon’s lanky form. The lull pervaded for a few more beats, and then the psychic’s eyes shot open.

“Alakazam!” The Pokémon shouted, and with that utterance of his name, the entire span of Main Street was engulfed in a vibrant, blinding explosion.

***

Even if neither of them could best the other in mêlée combat, it seemed as if both of them were prepared to die as long as it meant the other would be joining them in the fires of Hell. Despite their best intentions, the brutal contest of fortitude was ended the moment that Vermillion was shaken to its core by an explosion vastly superior to any manmade bomb.

Although the source of the blast was almost half a mile from the scene of the clash, the sonic boom that resulted contained enough power to pluck both Lieutenant Surge and Wartortle of the ground and hurl them across the graveled rooftop. With twin grunts, the two rivals crashed down onto the bed of stone—the expressions upon their visages a clear indication of the impeding conclusion to their bout. Despite the seemingly mortal injuries that both the stalwart warriors had obtained, adrenaline propelled them to their feet.

Glancing out at the epicenter of the blast, Wartortle watched on as the mushroom cloud billowed upward. The dense smog masked the rising sun and sent a veil of darkness over a greater portion of the metropolis. Buildings crumbled around the source of the explosion, and as Surge and Wartortle looked on in horror, the earth began to fissure out from the core of the destruction.

One of the fractures in particular snaked its way through streets and buildings before finally terminating right beneath the feet of the two combatants. Almost instantaneously, the Vermillion Gym began to shudder and wheeze as it struggled to stand against the incredulous odds. Up on the rooftop of the building, the eyes of the two rivals met from across the sea of gravel that had served as their battlefield.

The moment lingered as thoughts raced through the individuals brains, and then, without an utterance of single syllable, the two started limping toward the access to the stairwell. Wartortle gritted his teeth and used one of his hands to cover his stab wound as he lurched his way toward salvation. It may have only been a few yards from their positions, but to the beleaguered opponents, the door felt like it was an eternity off.

From beneath the rivals’ feet, the building let out a final, desperate sigh and began to buckle. The layers of steel, tar, and gravel that formed the rooftop crumbled into the abyss that had torn through the gym. Wartortle began to swear beneath his haggard breath as he stumbled toward his only escape. A few feet away, the ex-militant known as Lieutenant Surge hobbled along as well, but neither of them was able to escape the collapsing surface.

Yelling out, Wartortle closed his eyes as the roof fell out underneath him, but instead of a lethal freefall, the turtle was shocked to realize he had been standing upon a support beam that had at least temporally maintained its integrity. The Water Pokémon, still partially admonished by what had transpired, glanced over and realized that Surge had met the same miraculous circumstance.

For a moment, the lieutenant wore the same shocked look upon his face, but once he realized Wartortle was still alive, his momentary glee turned sour in a heartbeat. Still trying to balance upon beams which could collapse at a moment’s whim, the two adversaries searched for a means to get at the other. It took them only a few seconds to spot the beam connecting their locations, and with a speed ignorant of the dangers of their situation, they quickly met above the dark abyss.

Surge, with the boot knife clasped between his fingers, swung at the neck of the reptile. Wartortle teetered backwards but managed to recover his poise long enough to violently smack his right palm against the hand with which the lieutenant wielded his weapon. As the two watched in silence, the knife soared from the former army officer’s hand and plunged into the ill-light abyss that was once Vermillion Gym.

Turning their heads back to one another, the combatants laced their bloodied, busted fingers and threw all of their strength into a last-ditch effort to emerge victorious. Even from the onset of the final tie-up, it was Lieutenant Surge who appeared to have the upper hand. Despite the injuries that he had attained, the ex-militant’s harden physique still had the edge over Wartortle’s lean physical construction.

“It’s been great,” Surge grunted, pressing his arms forward and smirking as Wartortle was slowly forced to bend backwards at the most awkward of angles. The eyes of the Turtle Pokémon widened as his equilibrium slowly began to crumble.

“Fuck…” the Pokémon Chieftain began, gritting his teeth as he struggled against the ludicrous odds. Then, much to the dismay of the arrogant primate, the corners of the turtle’s lips curved up into a smirk. “You!” Wartortle spat, discharging a stream of water along with the hate-laced remark.

The jet of fluid hit home—striking the back of the lieutenant’s open maw. The hominid’s body convulsed as he began to choke on the viscous liquid. Unable to maintain his composure, Lieutenant Surge’s grip loosened to the extent where Wartortle was able to regain his balance.

With the advantage now is his field, the Water Pokémon let go of one of his nemesis’ hands. Pulling Surge toward him by the other hand, Wartortle buried his stubby claws into the lieutenant’s surprised, bewildered eyes. Almost immediately, the rest of the man’s already fleeting strength left him. After twisting the tips of his fingers deeper into his opponent’s eye sockets to ensure his success, the reptilian revolution tore his indigo digits from Surge’s skull.

His mouth still agape in horror, the corpse of Vermillion’s Gym Leader fell away from Wartortle. The turtle glared into the bloody sockets as they vanished into the fissure that had torn the earth asunder. As the Water Pokémon watched his vanquished foe plunge into his eternal grave, the support beams that had supported the former building squealed once and then collapsed inward.

Wartortle, grinning slightly at the irony of the situation, exhaled as his legs gave out underneath him. The side of the reptile’s face hit the beam he had been standing upon just as part of it broke away from the rest of the support structure. Like a wayward vine, the steel shaft managed to swing across the length of the chasm before its other end snapped as well.

The Turtle Pokémon—unable to exert the effort to act in the situation—was hurled like a rag doll into a pile of debris by the forces of momentum. Landing near the rim of the fissure, Wartortle let out another sigh. Although he could no longer muster the strength to stand, it didn’t matter…because Surge was dead.

With the destruction of him and his accursed gym, the Pokémon Liberation Front had achieved what many media outlets viewed as impossible—domination. Even without visual verification, Wartortle knew that his comrades had not failed in their goals. If they had been unable to purge the humans, than the turtle’s battle with Surge would not have been so uninterrupted.

“Soon,” Wartortle wheezed, clenching his bloodied, dirtied left hand into a fist as he addressed no one in particular. “All the civilizations of man will burn…” with that remark, the victorious insurrectionist lost consciousness.

***

Wartortle had no idea how long he remained unconscious, but when he finally awoke, he quickly realized that he had been moved from the remains of the gym. From the rows of lights passing over his head, the turtle was able to deduce that he was lying on some form of stretcher and being pushed down an illuminated hallway. To the Pokémon Chieftain, that meant one very important fact: Wartortle’s forces had been victorious.

“He’s regaining consciousness,” someone yelled as the reptile’s clarity returned to him. With a groan, the Water Pokémon planted his arms on the sides of the momentarily halted gurney and pushed his torso into an upright position. Wartortle let out a pained cough as he flexed his achy arms and attempted to shake off the antagonizing pain that was running rampant through his cranium.

“Where am I?” The reptile finally responded, glancing over his shoulder at the small group of Chansey who had flocked to his position. Although his mind was still reeling in agony, Wartortle could deduce from the red crosses that he was undoubtedly within some type of medical facility.

“You are in a hospital, Chieftain,” one of the medics debriefing, bobbing her head in a show of respect toward her injured leader. “A squadron found you lying in the ruins of this city’s Gym about twenty minutes ago in a state of unconsciousness. The field medics could only patch you up so much, so they transported you here for additional treatment.”

“I’m fine, comrade,” Wartortle decreed, gritting his teeth and sliding off the metallic gurney a breath later to prove his point. The Turtle Pokémon, standing triumphant despite the bandages and bruises that adorned his body, smirked faintly and quickly began to contemplate his next maneuver. “How goes the siege?” The leader of the Pokémon Liberation Front inquired, turning to face on of the ivory-skinned medics.

“For the most part, victory has been declared over the human scourge,” the Chansey answered. “Last we were informed; battalions were being dispatched to deal with the remaining pockets of resistance.”

“The majority of the army has amassed outside this structure waiting for some type of news about your health, Chieftain,” a second Chansey added, smiling warmly at the battle-scarred turtle.

“I shall address the masses,” Wartortle replied—a fire surging to life within his beleaguered form as he clenched his mangled fists and began to grin from ear-to-ear. “I trust that one of you shall be present in order to relay my dissertation to the wounded?” The Pokémon Chieftain inquired, his eyes more focused on the end of the hallway than the group of medical staff.

“Of course!” One of the Chansey resounded with a surplus of enthusiasm. With a nod, the medic’s beloved leader acknowledged her and motioned her in the direction of the exit.

“The rest of you are dismissed,” Wartortle uttered, extending one of his bruised hands and subsequently shaking the hands of the three other Egg Pokémon. Once the final pleasantries were over, the group dissolved—its membership fragmenting in order to complete their personal objectives.

“This way leads to the front exit,” the remaining Chansey uttered, motioning down the hallway to give her leader a clearer idea of their destination. With a nod, Wartortle began down the ivory hallway. The padded flesh of the turtle’s feet clicked softly upon the marble floor as the pair of Pokémon slowly made their way out of the hospital.

Much to the surprise of a very slow, fatigued Wartortle, the walk only took a little over a minute. As he crossed the expansive lobby, the turtle caught his first view of the massive quantity of Pokémon who had assembled in wait of his discharge from the medical facility. The silent roar of the casual conversation outside Vermillion City’s hospital fell dead nearly the same instant that the crowd heard the front doors of the massive structure open.

“Comrades,” Wartortle uttered—his voice hoarse as he projected it across the tidal wave of Pokémon crammed into the decorated square in front of the hospital. The Turtle Pokémon smiled widely as he tried to estimate the size of the population in front of him. What had once began as the pairing of Wartortle and Kadabra had swelled to numbers that easily topped the one thousand mark.

Despite the engorged numbers, the leader of the Pokémon Liberation Front knew that they did not come without a cost. Even though the sun hung high above the crowds’ heads, the skyline itself was choked with thick, black clouds. Fires that had been raging the night before were still burning strongly, and the majority of the streets had been either uprooted or completely torn apart by the earthquake half an hour earlier.

None of it mattered to Wartortle or his Pokémon followers—the infrastructure that the Homo sapiens had erected would be torn down regardless. With a smirk upon his face and a feeling of euphoria in his gut, the reptile raised his head as high as he could and stared out into the teeming crowd of his victorious legions.

“Today marks a monumental day in the history of our species,” Wartortle boomed. Despite the underlying notion of pain conveyed in his words, the turtle’s rhetoric was nonetheless stronger and more passionate than ever. If anything, his condition served as a living emblem of the struggles and hardships that the conglomerate before him had just experienced. “Our human oppressors lie dead at our feet!” The Turtle Pokémon howled, thrusting his bandaged hands toward the heavens.

A roar of applause and adoration cascaded across the assemblage as the victorious revolutionaries celebrated their victory; however, Wartortle, with a motion of his right hand, triggered the crowd to fall silent. With a hearty sigh, the reptile took a few steps toward the crowd before leaning upon an ornate column that supported the hospitals awning.

“Today we start a new chapter in the history of our species. From this day forth, this city—formerly infected with the evil of the Homo sapiens—shall serve as the hub of free Pokémon everywhere. The first day of May shall resonate forever through the annals of history as the day in which we shall celebrate the exodus of Pokémon everywhere from the curse of disunity and disintegration.

“United as one, we shall give birth to a nation autonomous of the human tyrants that rule the surrounding regions. Whether they like it or not, we shall claim this plot of earth as our own, and from it, a powerful nation of Pokémon will arise to purge the Earth of the plague of Homo sapiens. I christen this new entity ‘Kanto’, and the battered land upon which we stand will serve as its capitol—Antioch.

“In the coming days, the majority of these accursed giants of steel and glass must be torn down. They represent the evils of the enemy we seek to purge, and because of this, they must be sundered. The pavement and macadam that mankind has used to suffocate the ground must be uprooted in order to begin the healing process. The only structure that we shall keep will be those with true purpose: Schools, hospitals, and storage facilities.”

“What will we do with the rubble, Chieftain?” A Pokémon yelled from the middle of the crowd. Wartortle turned in the general direction of the voice and flashed a warm smile before answering the inquiry.

“The steel, stone, and other materials acquired from the deindustrializing of our fair city will be used to forge a mighty war machine. With such an expansive pool of materials useless to the construction of our society, we will be able to craft a titanic military capable of destroying any who may stand in our way!” The remark spurred another massive wave of applause to resound throughout the makeshift meeting area.

“Make no haste, comrades!” Wartortle resounded, shaking one of his hands toward the morning sky. “For we are the bane of humanity, and from henceforth, we shall never rest until they are eradicated! Once the last reports of the purging come in, I want everyone to begin with the repair and deconstruction of this city. After we have cleansed this city of humanity’s filth, we shall begin to plant new flora and construct our own simple abodes. I thank all of you for being part of our species’ independence day, but rest assure that the fighting is not over.

“What we have set in motion today will resonate onward countless generations, and it shall be alive long after we are nothing more than bones or ashes. With every breath you take, I want you to never forget what has happened today. Never forget your brethren that perished in this city fighting for the security of you and your progeny. While the odds are most certainly against us, we are not alone in our conflicts. Our fallen allies will be with us forever—in our hearts and in our spirits…

“You are all dismissed to begin the work that lies ahead of us. Feel free to celebrate and revel in our victory, but do not forget your workload,” with that, Wartortle bowed humbly and walked back into the hospital as the crowd applauded and roared their approval. Once inside the building, the Turtle Pokémon let out a heavy sigh, clenched his side, and sat down on a nearby bench. A few feet away, a battered Alakazam stood with a grin upon his visage.

“Victory,” the recently evolved Psi Pokémon smiled.

“We still have quite a road ahead of us, my ascended friend,” Wartortle replied, glancing over his shoulder at the crowd that was dispersing. “A long and hellish road awaits all of us…”