Inamorata
1.

At the age of fifteen, you are given your first companion.

At the age of sixteen, a horrifying monster of a man named Cyrus accepts your first challenge.

At the age of seventeen, you face the Devil, Giratina, and capture it as your own.

At the age of eighteen, you approach a woman you have admired since you were only nine, and she accepts your challenge.

You lose. For two years, you redeem your mistakes.

At the age of twenty, you face her once more. And you become the youngest Pokemon Champion to date.

Yet, after all of your heroics, the strain and torture of your adventures, you decide to disappear. Kanto is your home for a little over a year, and then Johto, and then you meet Red, and then you annihilate his companions and are eventually not just considered the youngest Pokemon Champion, but also the best. The most powerful.

There is an art to training a pocket monster. It is not about keeping pets, or training soldiers. Many professional trainers say to you that Pokemon are your friends, your best friends, and so you must treat them as such. Raise them, love them, adore them.

What they don't mention is that Pokemon are very human, too.

And they look up to their trainers not just as a master, or friend, but as a model as well. They learn from you. Your behaviour, your nature, your impatience and passion to win. What professional trainers don't mention is that those who start off young either quit young, or are trainers for so many years, they eventually start to deteriorate in themselves.

You forget who you are.

Which is okay. Red, the infamous trainer from Pallet Town, was brilliant too. And he, also, lost his own mind and preferred the company of nobody except his so-called "companions". But then you meet him, and he sort of smiles, and immediately invites you to battle.

If you did not win, then perhaps you wouldn't have felt so concerned.

Red is neither shocked or angry when you defeat him. He just smiles again––almost sad––and walks away. You don't see him again.

Team Galactic have crumbled to dust.

You hear nothing from them for years, and, someday, you forget about them. You forget about Cyrus, how scary he seemed to you when you were only a teenager. You forget about his blind, ridiculously innocent grunts. You forget about his maddening lust for power, how desperate he was to have Giratina as his own.

Then you caught it instead. One Master Ball; and it was yours.

You held Satan in your palm, and you realised, then and there, why Cyrus was the way he was.

Pokemon, training them, capturing them––God, how addictive. How maddening, to possess that amount of control in your small, fragile hands. These Pokemon obey you. They love you, and you love them, and it is all perfect and so, so, so, fucked.

Your companions would die for you.

You remember her, though; an odd, faint light in all the rush and pain Galactic threw at you. She wasn't like the other trainers, who looked down at you with smug grins, seeing nothing but a mere little girl. They doubted your capabilities, and just patronised you.

But her? She saw you, at least. Gave you a chance.

You recall witnessing the great Sinnoh Champion on the television; stealing the headlines in the newspapers––how she was admired for her beauty, her strength, her intelligence. All girls wanted to be her, and all boys wanted her. That was how you understood it anyway. When you were young, and so excited to begin your training.

In reality, the Sinnoh Champion is terribly similar to you: starting off much too young, and racing all the way to the top, while everybody else dragged from behind. You defeated her at the age of twenty, and she accepted her defeat with joy. She was happy to lose to you.

She was beautiful, strong, intelligent; all things described. But she was patient too, almost taking you in as her own student. She taught you ways about Pokemon tournaments nobody had, or nobody knew about; taught you the most efficient ways to train your Pokemon. And she taught you what training is really all about. It's not how it's described in text books, in schools, by celebrities. Training Pokemon, it's all about knowing yourself; what you are.

With your Pokemon beside you, you age and evolve as well.

Sometimes for the worst.

That is what happened to Cyrus. He was brilliant, once. He was amazing, once.

But the addiction of Pokemon, all of that power, the glory of becoming mighty, eventually killed his soul.

When you were young and too naive, you asked her what that meant: were you to become like Cyrus as well? If you didn't slow down, would you, too, become monstrous?

At the age of twenty four, your Pokemon have reached an extraordinary level. You are virtually indestructible, and no trainer with sense wishes to challenge you.

Most of your days, you spend time training, or researching. The creation of Sinnoh, of the world even, has caught your interest. Was there a Pokemon who designed this land? Was there a Pokemon who birthed mankind and Pokemon alike? Is fate, morality, everything finite––does it all depend on a Pokemon nobody has ever been able to capture or even comprehend?

Is there a transcendent Pokemon? One not like Giratina, but one far more powerful.

'There is nothing more saddening than ignorance.'

Bags under his eyes. Tired face. He is only thirty-five, and yet he might as well have been alive for centuries. You no longer recognise him. This man is not the man you faced when you were only seventeen, young and sweet, and corruption's deadly prey.

Now you witness loss. This is what you have done to him.

He sits across from you, exhausted and ill, but he still holds himself with a sense of righteousness. You almost expect him to jump up and challenge you to a match, and this will surely be one to the death, but he is a lost man.

He has nothing left to lose.

'I hated you.'

Cyrus scrunches his eyes shut, and you don't say a word. Perhaps out of boredom, perhaps out of shock, perhaps out of pity. But you watch him, expression gentle, and, for the first time, you actually do feel sympathy for this beast.

Even after his crimes, you sympathise.

'I was a man who did not believe in emotions; they were the very obstacle which held me back. I was a man. A great man. Powerful. Uncontrollable. Nobody could defeat me. My Pokemon, me––we were to be Gods, and you––'

He stops.

'You.' He laughs. He laughs, and it is a pained laugh. 'You made me hate you. But you were young back then; too ignorant to comprehend what my mission was. But what about now? Now you know the glory of Pokemon, what they can do. You still believe that all Pokemon are friends? That they should be treated as anything less? Don't you see? Don't you see how I was right?'

It has been years.

You have learnt so much since.

But although you and he share similarities, you are not him.

'I see nothing in you.'

He looks up, shocked you answered. A scowl curls his lips. 'Nothing? You see nothing? Ha! Is that really a way to treat your once-enemy? Whatever happened to pity? I thought you weak people were familiar with that sensation.'

'We are, but we only share it with those deserve the emotion.'

'Hm.' Cyrus cocks back his chin. An ugly smile. 'You sound like her, you know? She's good at speaking confidently; good at fooling you. But, really, inside––she's fragile. Insecure and scared. Thank God she had you to save the day.' His smile broadens into something terrifying. 'It's a shame. You could have been brilliant if you weren't wound up in your admiration.'

You can't respond.

… because you think he isn't wrong.

'I admired her too. A long time ago.' Cyrus watches you closely now. 'And then I knew better. You can't admire another person. Too busy trying to be somebody, you never have time to be yourself. You're a sad picture.'

Suddenly he stands. Shoulders strong, back straight; ready.

'If you're wondering, I don't feel hate for you anymore.' He shoves the chair aside, and proceeds his way out. 'No, hate isn't the emotion now.'

There are three types of trainers: a) the researcher b) the player and c) the teacher.

Both a) and b) are considered neutral. The researcher is that of the professors, or your friend, Lucas. b) the player––they are those who fight for fun, they catch Pokemon for the joy of it. They are Pokemon trainers because it is their hobby. Your friend, Barry, fits the type. And then there are the teachers. Teachers are another category altogether.

Teachers are trainers for their Pokemon only. They don't do it for themselves necessarily. They capture an army of Pokemon, and teach them how to be great. It is not about entering contests, or achieving ribbons, or sticking your head in a book, or discovering what amazing pocket monsters lie out there. A teacher sticks with their own party, trains only them, and keeps on training them until they can be trained no more.

By that time, the teacher is old and grey, and lived their life.

It is a compulsion.

A habit.

You aren't really a trainer anymore, but a teacher. Potential trainers and even the most experienced turn to you in search of wisdom.

Thing is, teachers don't have that much advice, and, if they do, they're rarely willing to share it.

Sinnoh's Lost Champion Returns Home.

The headlines break through, and you are famous again. Your mother scolds you, then cuddles you, and cries, and you cry a little with her. You have missed her warmth, her kindness––so much. But it doesn't take long for the paparazzi to hit your doors.

Privacy is a privilege and you have no privilege.

Only a day later, there are rumours of a few fanatic Galactics on the loose.

Sinnoh turn to you for help.

You doubt Cyrus is behind this and, sure enough, he isn't. The fanatics once worked under him, but after his shamed resignation, they decided to continue his mission. To capture all Pokemon, even those who guard this planet, and create something ungodly.

They want to splice Pokemon, and create one of their own.

It is sick, and your party endure your anger and frustration, so they fight with you.

Barry wants to come with you, but you somehow convince him his companionship is very much ill advised. You're not certain what these fanatics are like; if they are another Cyrus, or just idiotic grunts up to no good.

They have travelled far up north, where the snow bites, and the chill murders.

Your Infernape keeps you warm at night. Its long, flaming arms your only source of heat, and it carefully huddles you up close.

By morning, you are already awake, and near where these fanatics have set up their lab.

It is cold; much too cold. You're shivering, and your toes sting, and your fingers are numb, and your body is aching. Your Pokeballs are safely stored away in the warmth of your jacket. Your Pokemon's safety is a bigger concern than your own.

Eventually, you come across the lab. Securely hidden beneath the snow. It will take a little bit of digging from your Pokemon to reach the door. Grabbing a Pokeball, you release your Garchomp, who immediately does what you require. Its claws are large and strong, and they lift away snow effortlessly. Within seconds, the door is seen and you return Garchomp to its Pokeball.

Inside, it is warmer. You lower your hood, and breathe out in relief.

The place is rundown, but the walls are thick enough to keep out the cold. Wisely, you release Infernape, and allow it to walk behind you, watching your back. If there is the slightest noise, it will alert you at once, and come to your defence.

Its feet pad softly against the hard floor, and its flames are vicious and gorgeous in the lack of light. It not only acts as a radiator and a weapon but also a torch.

The odd Pokemon scuttles by, but they are not a threat.

Anyway, it is too cold for many Pokemon to survive here.

For a while, you are convinced the lab has been deserted, and you're about to turn back, when you and Infernape hear something.

Tap.

A Pokeball hits the floor at your feet.

Then it bursts open.

Red light illuminates the room, and there is a shake when the Pokemon escapes its confinement.

What you see is not a Pokemon though.

Infernape growls and start to yap at the creature, but you raise your hand at it slightly. Infernape reluctantly stops making such a noise, and waits for your next order.

The creature is large, the size of a big dog, with a massive jaw, and sharp teeth. Like daggers. Its hair is long, and eyes are huge; it appears similar to that of a Houndoom, but it's hairier, far more muscly, and you have a hunch this thing has more than one Type.

You reach for your Pokedex.

Infernape yaps again, jumping over your shoulder and blocking this creature from attacking you. But, strangely, it has stayed in one place, glaring.

The Pokedex does not recognise this thing.

'Wonderful, is it not?'

You look up.

A woman leans over a rail a few floors up. You can barely figure out her features, but she seems young. Short, black hair and a thin frame. You identity a few Pokeballs strapped to her waist.

'The mother gave birth just this morning.'

The mother…?

You frown. And the woman grins. 'That's right. We have a family of these lovely gems. Want to know how? Well, there would be no greater honour than inviting the brilliant Sinnoh Champion to witness my gorgeous experiments.' She turns and walks down the steps. 'I was hoping it would be you who arrived, otherwise there would have been some unfortunate consequences for anybody else.'

She reaches you, and now you can see her properly. She is young, almost your age. Glasses perched on her nose, wearing faint, red lipstick. You don't recognise her, though.

'I'm Professor Grey. I used to work for Professor Oak, but due to a change in personal circumstances, I resigned and decided to conduct my own research.' She cocks a brow. 'Not done so bad, either.'

You glance at the creature, who has calmed down slightly.

Then to Infernape. It is still very agitated. You click your fingers, and it obediently rushes to your side. Yet continues to growl.

'You are a quiet one.' Grey smiles. 'So: how about it? Come see my lab.' She gestures up the staircase whence she came from, and waits expectantly.

It is a simple invitation, and after sharing one look with Infernape, you accept.

The experiments are quite like Cyrus's. The only difference is that these ones have been successful, and kept hidden.

Until now.

For the moment, each specimen safely floats in a jelly-like substance, surrounded by its glass tube. Although you feel disgusted and even disturbed by the situation, the professor is clearly excited and completely oblivious to the horrors she has birthed.

A colleague passes, and you recognise his face, as he does yours.

He was one of the grunts you battled on Mount Coronet. He scowls at you and hurries away. Professor Grey opens her arms out. 'Well? What do you think? Marvellous, yes?'

You hear Infernape growling and turn to see what the problem is. That hybrid has followed you, and is currently watching you closely. It's almost unnerving, but you're accustomed to Pokemon preying on you. Not that this is anything like a pocket monster.

Infernape is not happy and slams his fist impatiently.

'Your Pokemon has awful manners.' You flash a glare at the professor, who chortles. 'I'm joking! The last thing I want is for the famous prodigy to get mad at me. I heard about what you did to Cyrus and Team Galactic. Pulverised them all without a strain. Cyrus always seemed so calm and empty until you came along. It's unbelievable. I tried so hard to grab his attention, and there you are, with your pretty face and contradictory appearance, and he can't think of anything other than you.'

Many have commented on your "sweet" appearance, and how it doesn't fit your strength in battle. But with this woman, it's not admiration; it's envy.

'Never mind. Cyrus ended before he began. I have created something better. You have already observed the beauty of my first creation. Be prepared for more. These Pokemon will outwit any human being. Hell, one day I may even splice a little human DNA with a Pokemon's. Imagine.'

'You're playing God.'

'So? When I have the technology and all the research I need, I might as well try being Him.' She cocks a brow when you reach for a Pokeball. 'Oh. Does it really have to come to that? I would rather we discussed this over like adults.'

'The last time I tried that one of the most dangerous Pokemon was awoken from its slumber.' Infernape tenses when you retrieve your Pokeball. 'The world was nearly erased from his foolish actions, and I don't intend for that to happen again.'

'You think this is about destroying the world?'

'I think this is about control. Having everything in your hands. And I know this only ends badly.'

Professor Grey snatches a Pokeball. 'Your Pokemon are weak against mine. I hope you realise this before treading further.'

'That is just what he said, too. I don't believe in empty threats.'

She smiles crookedly. 'Fine.' The professor throws her Pokeball between you and she, and it explodes. Red light shines the room, and out from it appears––

'I thought we were fighting with Pokemon.'

'Oh, no. We never said that. Also, who's to say this isn't a Pokemon? Just a Pokemon with mixed genes, I guess.'

You frown at her for patronising you.

This creature is like the one behind: it is not a Pokemon. It shares some qualities as your Infernape, but also a Raichu and you even entertain the possibility there is some Zubat in all of that mess. It flaps its wings several metres above you, its electric tail and strong body dangerous and intimidating.

Infernape crawls over to your feet, watching the thing like a hawk.

'What moves does it know?'

'You'll find out.'

Holding your breath, you unleash your own Pokemon.

Luxray is released and it immediately knows your order. A bolt of electricity shoots from its body, and reaches towards the spliced Pokemon. It hits. The electricity causes the creature to jolt and nearly collapse entirely––needless to say, great damage has been done.

Professor Grey snaps her fingers.

The creature zooms down, grabs Luxray and throws it across the room.

You widen your eyes in terror and watch as your Pokemon slams into the wall and is knocked unconscious. Infernape yaps furiously, and you're close to losing your temper yourself. That was unfair. Concerned for your Luxray, you nearly run over to make sure its okay, but the spliced Pokemon blocks your path. Infernape jumps onto your shoulder and digs its teeth into the creature's body.

'Flame Wheel!'

Infernape bounces back, and produces a hot wheel of fire from its paws. It collides straight into the spliced creature, but it is seemingly unaffected.

'Rip it apart.'

You gasp, snatch your Pokeball and return Infernape before the creature can do anything.

'Ah-ha! You coward!'

'This is not a fair battle. I forfeit.'

Grey raises her brows. 'Oh? You think that's all it takes? I don't take "no" for an answer.' She looks at her "Pokemon". 'Rip the girl apart instead.'

At first, you don't believe her, but sure enough the spliced creature comes at you. You take a step back, ready to retrieve another Pokeball, when a blast of fire swallows the creature whole. Flames tinge your skin slightly and you fall back from the impact.

You hear a roar; frightening, shaking the entire lab.

'That is no way to treat a lady.'

Professor Grey yells out when her creature collapses, burnt and unconscious. She runs over, kneels down and pulls it close to her. 'You mad woman! Look what you've done!'

A Garchomp, large and almost the picture of a nightmare, proceeds over to where you lay. You scramble to your feet, and recognise its trainer. After all this time, Cynthia hasn't changed in appearance whatsoever, and, for a second, you wonder if she might not even recognise who you are.

However she's not the type. Ignoring the professor, she hurries over to you, 'Are you all right? It didn't hurt you, did it?'

'No,' you reply.

Cynthia turns back to the professor, and hardens her tone. 'Professor Oak stripped you from your title as professor a year ago. And you are currently handling property which does not belong to you. Might I also mention the illegal abuse of Pokemon here?'

'You brought her with you?' Professor Grey glares at you, and then lets out a cruel laugh. 'God, you are predictable!'

Before you open your mouth to speak, Cynthia cuts through: 'Actually, she did not. I heard about your shenanigans and decided to see things for myself. So far, I am unimpressed.'

You twitch a smile. You've always enjoyed Cynthia's dry sarcasm.

'When you've quite finished grieving over your animal, you are to come with me.'

'I'm not going anywhere with the likes of you. You call yourself a Pokemon Champion and yet you got pummelled by a little girl.'

'Little girl? Not exactly. Furthermore, I took that defeat quite happily.'

The professor sniggers. 'Yeah, right. Student becomes the Master, eh?'

'Tsk.' In response to her irritation, Cynthia's Garchomp makes an unsettling growl.

'You can try and scare me with your dragon, but I'm not following you anywhere.' The professor stands, and turns to the spliced creature from before. Retrieving her Pokeball, she returns it. 'You might have discovered my base, but this is only one. Perhaps you should allow the police to deal with me, rather than yourself. They might do a more decent job.'

'Why run? I have the doors barred.'

'Uh-Huh.' The professor releases another Pokemon. You raise your brows to find its just an Abra. It sits there, expressionless and apparently dozing. 'Why would I need doors when I have Pokemon?' You realise what she's about to do, but before you can stop her, the Abra opens its eyes, and suddenly both it and the professor are gone.

Teleport. How did you not see that coming?

'I'm very well aquatinted with this woman,' Cynthia says, 'She can get away, but only for now. At least we have physical evidence of her motives.' She gestures to the Pokemon stuck in their tubes. 'This place is wrong; I'm glad we sought it out when we did.'

Although you're annoyed the mad professor fled, you decide to adopt Cynthia's level-headedness. 'How did you know I was here?'

'I didn't necessarily. I heard about the professor, and had a pretty good hunch you had gone to search for her as well.' Cynthia smiles. 'It was lovely to hear about your return. I intended to visit, but…' She blinks, and shakes her head. 'Never mind about that. If you'll excuse me, Dawn, I need to contact a few officers waiting for my message. They will be able to investigate this place better than you or I.' She takes out her Poketch. 'A medical officer will be arriving shortly. Your Luxray shall be treated to full health very soon.'

The Pokemon Centre at Snowpoint City is warm, and cosy. It is late, and the nurse kindly asks if you might require a room, but you decline. Your Luxray has not yet returned, but you have been told it shall be healed no time. Fortunately its injuries are not too severe. Assured, you decide to wait in the cafe until you can go and see it.

You expected Cynthia to hurry off elsewhere, but you're mildly surprised when you see her enter the Pokemon Centre. It may have been over four years, yet there isn't a single line on her face to reveal her age. But, really, she's only thirty-two.

'I understand your Luxray is still being treated,' she says.

You nod. Talking about your Pokemon's health has never been an enjoyment. In fact, you find it all depressing. When you have to wait for your Pokemon to heal, it is that which crashes reality back into you. Because you remember that Pokemon are mortal creatures as well. They feel too, they love too; they endure pain and suffering.

'I overestimated.'

Cynthia frowns, and sits opposite. 'Overestimated?'

'How strong my Pokemon are. For years, I haven't lost and then suddenly––'

'That happens.' You blink, and raise a brow. 'I, too, overestimate. I did with you.'

You smile. 'That was different. You had every reason to doubt me.'

'Doubt you?' Her grey eyes brighten, and she actually finds your statement amusing. 'Never! Ever since I first met you when you were so young, I believed in you. I was very proud when you successfully achieved my rank as Champion. I may have overestimated my own Pokemon's abilities, but I certainly never doubted you or yours.'

It is like warmth, her kindness. Her enthusiasm for you.

It has been a while.

You find yourself having missed her. Severely.

'I have to go. I'm sure you can sort yourself out.'

It hurts––kind of. That she would leave so quickly, but you don't say anything, and pretend to act nonchalant. Cynthia smiles shortly, almost expecting a response, however she's not the type to linger and wait.

Back when you were a teenager, she would have probably stayed with you all night, just to make sure your Luxray was healthy; just to make sure you were healthy. But now? Now there's this independence which you have crafted for yourself. The type of independence many find intimidating.

She isn't intimidated by you; you know that much.

But you are older and, in a way, she is younger. You outmatch her skill, and perhaps Grey was correct: the student does become the master. You once learned off this woman, she once taught you everything you needed to know, and now it's as if all of her lessons, her techniques, everything she knows has run down to ash.

It's sad, that such a figure in your life could be so dismantled.

You nearly miss Cyrus. Because, at least when he was around, Cynthia stayed close.