Forgive me or hate me for this, but here, the whole world speaks English. Otherwise, the hybrid-AU-place-thingy would have gazillions of people speaking different languages. Sorry if you're offended in any way!

22/09/2015: First round of major updates. Changed the end a little bit due to too many complaints and craziness. Changed OC form. Combined Chapters 1 and 2, since both were way too short for my liking.

O.O.O.O

In one world, a man dies alone in a forest, stabbed to death after fighting for his country. In another world, the man wakes up in a new, exotic kingdom fallen to a tyrannical ruler. After discovering he had giant blades stuck to his hands, however, that man panicked. Hybrid AU, OC's needed.

O.O.O.O

At seventeen years old, Ivor Hershetrownsky (Known as Hershey to his friends) could be called many things.

On most days, those words would end up as Snarky, Mockingly Cheerful, and on occasion, Pervert.

Today, those words would be Insane, Suicidal and So, so dead.

That morning, he had ended up picking a fight with one of the hundreds of Russians that were currently moving into Ukraine, trying to take over the country.

Of course, the one time he yelled at somebody for destroying his apartment wall, the new neighbour ends up stuffing him into a duffel bag.

Hershey found the strength to scowl, despite the rapidly depleting source of oxygen and rhythmic bouncing against his captor's back.

If he managed to survive the next twenty minutes, he would have a helluva hard time finding his way back home.

And that was while hoping he didn'tend up failing his Biology class due to bad attendance.

"Here we are."

That was the first time Hershey had heard the man's voice, and his insides went cold. That accent was unmistakably Russian.

And with this day and age's political upheaval, whenever you heard that kind of voice, it was time for you to run like hell.

His confined world of brown and black shadows was tossed onto the ground, along with Hershey's breakfast. Before he could work out his surroundings, he was picked up by the scruff of the neck and shoved against something hard. Most likely a wall, or perhaps a large, cold tree. His back hurt.

He groaned weakly, and something sharp pierced his throat. Hershey's vision finally focused, and he found himself stuck between a rock and a sharp place. He swallowed.

His capturer was built like an inverted pyramid, full of biceps and triceps and what were probably a bunch of other 'ceps, but were just labelled as 'muscles.' His face was a mixture of hatred, annoyance and disgust, smushed into a head and given black hair to bottle it.

"I remember you." The Slightly-Shorter-Than-The-Real-Thing-But-No-Less-Intimidating Hulk growled.

Hershey smelt aftershave and blood.

"Lots of people remember me." Hershey found himself saying unconsciously. "They usually do after I finish breaking their jaw."

He promptly twisted, and lashed out with a kick. It landed solidly on the man's forearm, and suddenly the knife went into his neck a bit deeper. Hershey yelped, but stopped moving.

If possible, Mr. Grumpy's face got a lot grumpier. He leaned in. Hershey could see yellowing teeth as he hissed: "No. At the mortar. Last week."

Hershey went pale. Last week, fellow Ukranians had celebrated on the streets, rejoicing at the new Prime Minister's steps against Putin.

The streets had been bombed. A good three dozen teens had been killed in the blast, and over sixty injured.

This man had helped kill them.

"A lot of people were there. I think I saw you there too, at the sushi place down the road." Hershey smirked. "Course, even that doesn't smell as fishyas you. Ever heard of a toothbrush?"

The knife dug into his left arm, and Hershey stared numbly as the offending limb pulsed with pain before ebbing away to consistent dribbles of agony.

He decided that the best thing to do was continue.

"Maybe I went a bit too far with your teeth." He choked, trying to pry the tightened fingers on his windpipe with his other arm. "After all, anyone who can stand to seathose things dolphin-etly belong in an asylum."

A stabbing motion in his stomach. Hershey's throat was released, and he dropped to the ground, gasping for breath. He looked up in time for a kick to the face, and tears began to mix with the blood dripping from his nose.

He winced in between the gasps for air. Everything seemed a million miles away as he went on, twisting that metaphorical dagger deeper. Oh, God, I'm bleeding. Can you take over for me? Shoal-ly you can think of some more. Just let minnow."

Mister Mini-Hulk raised his knife, his face going red. And Hershey tackled his chest with the strength of a desperate person.

He didn't get away in time.

At seventeen years old, Ivor Hershetrownsky (Known as Hershey to his friends) was found hanging from a tree in Ukraine, suffering from over sixty stab wounds and five broken limbs.

At seventeen years old, Ivor Hershetrownsky (Known as Hershey to his friends) was found hanging from a tree in Ukraine, dead.

O.O.O.O

Hershey's eyesight slowly faded to nothing, and he began to internally panic.

A slight amendment has to be made here. Yes,dear Hershey's corpsewas dead.

His spirit however, was not.

Normally, when the typical member of the homo sapiens race passes away, the spirit moves to Heaven. Or Hell. Or Tartarus, but that doesn't happen very often.

However, due to a little bit of divine intervention, Hershey didn't go to any of those places.

His spirit was, essentially, kidnapped.

And unfortunately, there isn't a police force that is capable of arresting God, nor rich enough to afford good enough lawyers to get away with it.

Hershey's spirit was forcibly exorcized from his body, and sent halfway across the universe in an instant.

Hershey's ghost had been one of the three hundred thousand spirits to be taken away from Earth's life cycle. For exactly nine days, a third of those who had just died were ripped from Death's grasp, given a new body and placed into a new planet with the intent of populating a new world.

In the few fleeting instances of living without a body, Hershey heard a voice.

"GREETINGS, MORTAL. TODAY, YOU HAVE BEEN ONE OF THE MANY CHOSEN BY I, LORD ARCEUS, TO REPOPULATE THE FALLEN PLANET OF POKÉMON. YOU WILL BE GIVEN A NEW BODY TO LIVE IN DURING THE REMAINDER OF YOUR LIFE, A MIXTURE OF YOU'RE OLD FORM AND ONE OF THE CREATURES THAT ONCE ROAMED THIS PLANET. I WISH YOU LUCK."

The last thing Hershey knew was what appeared to be a room not unlike an airport, filled with people and a voice, blaring "DAY FIVE'S SECOND BATCH, SPAWNED. TRANSPORTING NOW." Before slumping into unconsciousness, clonking his head against marble.

O.O.O.O

The first thing Hershey heard after his extremely important, life-changing and quite possibly traumatic experience of being hurtled through space and time was the sentence:

"Psst. You awake? You!"

Hershey flopped onto his stomach. He was in a bed, his subconscious noticed. Fluffy…

Then he remembered that his stomach should currently be torn to shreds.

He flipped over, and shot upwards, gasping. Hershey's eyes darted around frantically, searching for any sign that he was still in the horrendous place…

But all that was there was a relatively dull… Hospital? Giant white room? Filled to the brim with snoring bodies.

Hershey relaxed, and grasped the sides of his bed.

Shink. Shink.

His heartbeat stopped for the second time in two minutes. Peering over to the left, it seemed like a massive blade had punctured the mattress. A few dozen goose feathers were peeking back out at him.

Heh.

Odd.

"You know, usually when one person whispers, the other person does, too."

Hershey looked up, and immediately wished he hadn't.

Less than two metres away, in an identical bed on his left, a larger-than-normal pair of azure eyes were staring back at his own. The masculine face was decorated with a matching blue… Mowhawk?

What really creeped him out were the two black cat-ears on each side of his head.

Hershey made a movement to rub his eyes, trying to blink out the image. He hadto be having some kind of weird, half-dead hallucination in the local hospital, there was no way-

Then he poked himself in the forehead what appeared to be a sceptre.

That was poking out of the back of his hand.

That was also razor-sharp.

And what in the name of sweet, sweet Jesus was attached to his arm!?

Hershey shrieked, and tried to use his other hand to pry the blade off his arm.

All he got was a bleeding hand and a sore forearm.

It felt like he attempting to tear off a toenail. He had to do that once, after a rather interesting incident with a wine-dispensing vending machine and a new pair of loafers…

He blocked that line of thought before it escalated, and instead goggled at his own body. Giant, mottled brown plates crawled up from his arms to his shoulders, like he was wearing some dragon's scales as pieces of armour. If he focused hard enough, he could feel a cold, shivering sensation crawl up his back, too.

Judging by the odd points coming out where his knees should be under the blanket, he guessed that his legs had gotten the same treatment.

What in the world…?

"Hey!"

It was creepy blue psycho again. He seemed annoyed. Hershey held up one of his hand-arm-claw-scythe thingies.

"Can you hold on for a second? I've seemed to have just had a growth spurt. It really doeschange how you look!"

Blue-dude paused for a second, and then started again, angrier this time. "Great." He hissed. "Finally moved to the afterlife, and all I get is an idiot with a plate stuck to his head."

Hershey shifted an arm, back, pretending to sleek back his hair. "Why, I rather thought I had a better resemblance to Severus Snape," He drawled. "After all-" He froze.

He head felt like it was made of stone.

For the first time in Hershey's life, he didn't know what to say.

Was he some sort of brown-rock thing from those Sci-Fi movies? Was he supposed to be an actor for some Percy Jacksonmovie, and got stage fright halfway through?

Bluey sagged. "Sorry about this. It's just… Well, I'm frustrated and scared and pretty sure I was dead twenty minutes ago, and my right arm's covered in armour even though I'm left-handed, and-"

He stilled. "Are you even listening?"

Hershey looked up. "Wait, what?"

Blue-dude growled. "Oh, you're asking for it now…" He stood up, and Hershey's eyes were immediately drawn to the short twin katanas strapped to Mr. Mohawk's sides. Very shiny, very sharp,and very very verylike that terrible knife that killed Hershey last time.

Hershey shuddered in fear, just as the man raised an armoured fist.

And like lightning, a short, pink-skinned nurseseemed to fly out of nowhere.

Pink.

Skin.

Hershey stared, half-thankful for the distraction from the giant knives.

Mowhawk-Man seemed to have a relatively pale complexion, and Hershey felt rather proud of the caramel-like colour of his own skin.

But this woman was pink.

"No fighting in the resting zone!" The little lady shrieked furiously, and grabbed the collar of cat-eared, giant-eyed humanoid. "Well!? Who do you think you are, attacking innocent-"

Then the squat nurse turned her gaze to Hershey. "Oh, not you too!" The lady tugged on Hershey's Plate-Head-Cap-Thing. It was like pulling on an ear, so Hershey did the obvious thing.

He shrieked and tried to dive for cover.

He failed miserably in his new body, and ended up being half-dragged along, half-stumbling blindly side-by-side next to a man who wanted to kill him.

Before long, the odd trio reached one of the three-dozen cubicles that dotted the walls. Miss. Nurse finally let go, and Hershey sighed in relief.

"Just put your hand on the screen, and the machinery will do the rest." Nurse-Lady said cheerfully.

And before either Cat-Man or Hershey could answer, she had slammed the door and waddled off, most likely to torment another person.

Cat-Ears spluttered as the pink freak of nature toddled away, and eventually met Hershey's eyes. "How- But- Why-" He put his face in his hands, and the navy armour along his arm clinked.

"I'm already dead in this freak show anyway." The man muttered. "Might as well play along."

He stuck out a hand. "I'm Lorenzo Coronel. Italian. Just call me Lorenz, for short."

Hershey grinned. "Lorry it is, then!" He accepted the offered limb a bit too eagerly. "Hershey!"

The newly-dubbed Lorry frowned, and retrieved his hand before he got stabbed by Hershey's Arm-Scythe.

"Isn't that a kind of chocolate?"

"Your point being?"

"What's your actual name?"

"Igor. But nobody calls me that anymore."

"How do you get Hershey out of Igor?"

Hershey did something similar to a shrug, and finally spotted the machine the nurse was talking about behind Lorry's shoulder, pushed up against a wall. It came up to about his waist, and was mostly dark blue. Attached to the wall was a computer screen that had probably seen better days, with an equally old keyboard attached to the counter. What Hershey guessed was a touchscreen was right next to the keyboard, looking as though it had been drilled in last week.

He walked past Lorry, who was still spluttering on about common sense, (Pssh, who would ever need that?) and slapped an open palm against the touchscreen. His claw accidentally stabbed a part of the wall, coming inches away from putting a hole in the computer screen.

Nothing happened, and Hershey realised that there was a power button.

Hoping that Lorry didn't notice, he jabbed it as quickly as possible with his free hand.

The screen began to boot up, and a horizontal green line appeared on the touchscreen, scanning his palm. After about a minute, something beeped, and the computer screen changed.

Analysation complete. This Pokémon is…

A little loading icon stayed for a second, before changing into a hideous brown and grey freak of nature, complete with its own creepy flat head, bony spines and claws, and mottled brown armour plates.

It was nightmarish.

It was an abomination.

It was his new body.

Kabutops.

Below the spinning icon was a bunch of words and numbers and statistics, but Hershey looked away. He felt sick.

It got worse when Lorry peered over his shoulder and nodded.

"Yeah, that looks a lot like you. Bit like a really realistic costume."

That… Monstrositywas now his flesh and blood.

Hershey wanted to vomit. Everything got a bit dizzy as Lorry copyed his actions with the machine.

"Oooh… Dewott. Seems pretty cool."

Lorry finally realised the state Hershey was in.

"Hey, um… Are you okay? Is there anything you need?"

Obviously, the other hybrid wasn't okay, but that was beside the point.

Hershey tried to sit down, and nearly impaled himself with a scythe.

"I'm… I'm a monster…" He murmured. The teen stared at his elongated blades attached to his arms.

He was wearing the kind of weapon that killed him.

The knife that had torn his body apart was haunting Hershey in more ways than one.

Had the half-Kabutops taken more notes in his old psychology class, he would have realized his rather brutal method of death had left him with aichmophobia, a specific phobia of knives.

Hershey knew enough about psychology to be pretty sure patients dealing with their fears usually shouldn'thave that fear attached to their body.

Unless there's a phobia of sexual reproduction, a voice in the back of his head muttered.

Something inside of Hershey's mind seemed to crack. This was all too much to deal with. Torture, death, magical transportation, booming voices…

Wait.

Wait.

That voice.

The voice that made him come here.

…TODAY, YOU HAVE BEEN ONE OF THE MANY CHOSEN BY I, LORD ARCEUS, TO REPOPULATE THE FALLEN PLANET OF POKÉMON…

Lord Arceus.

Hershey decided that he had a score to settle.

Of course, that one beautiful moment was completely wrecked the minute somebody knocked on the door, asking,

"Hey! You done in there? There's a line, you know!"

O.O.O.O

Abc- Main character

Abc- Minor character

O.O.O.O

Hershey (Igor)- Kabutops

Lorry (Lorenz/Lorenzo)- Dewott

O.O.O.O

UPDATED OC form:

UPDATED Rules: Starting now, OCs that are Dark, Ghost, Poison and Psychic type will be needed more than others. Other Pokémon types will also be needed, but the aforementioned kinds of Pokémon will have a larger chance of appearing.

No clichés are being accepted any longer, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO Legendaries, Pseudo-Legendries, Overly-Popular-Pokémon (Eg. Lucario, Zoroark,) and starter Pokémon. You have been warned.

Remember: Very,veryfew spots are remaining right now. You have been warned. Your OC might even just be one or two brief mentions.

Form below:

Hybrid's name:

Pokémon species:

Age:

Appearance: (No 'everyday' clothing is going to be accepted any more. Armour is needed. Anyone without armour will be ignored.)

Weapon(s): (No More than one or two)

Death:

Personality:

Any preferable goals:

Good luck!