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It’s funny, in a disconcertingly cruel way, just how quickly one’s night can be turned upside-down in the face of one simple loss.
Zach almost laughs in the face of it, actually, as the chill night air nips at him tauntingly. A miraculous win streak cut short. He watches the man—his opponent for all of thirty seconds, having mopped the floor with Zach in that time—call his Houndoom back to his side. It pads back to him obediently, the remnants of smoldering flames trailing from its mouth. Zach runs a hand through his hair; he’d never seen a Flamethrower that intense. He’ll have to tell his beloved partner Pokemon their pre-planned trip to the mall tomorrow won’t come to fruition, seeing as he has to give away all the medals he worked so hard all night to-
“I’m not interested in your medals.”
That gives him pause, hand halfway in his medal pouch to reluctantly shell them out. Some relief, then; his disappointment ebbing away. The trip to the mall tomorrow is back on, then, after he remembers to skedaddle on out of here and be done with the Z-A Royale for the night.
“Oh, good. Uh, what do you want, then?” There’s always a catch to these kinds of things. He swallows in anticipation, suddenly on alert again.
”I’m looking for information.” The strange man tips his chin up and steps forward, coming into the light of the street lamp for the first time. Red eyes, burning like embers in the darkness. Ebony hair (or is that a deep blue? The darkness makes it blend in with the shadows flickering about) that tapers into a faded crimson hue. Hands stuffed firmly in the pockets of his black trench coat. His mouth curled in what might be a twinge of frustration.
“I’m looking for someone important to me,” he continues. “I have reason to believe she may have come here at some point.” Taking out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and unfurling it, he holds it out for Zach to see.
The first thing Zach notices is that his hand is quite heavily bandaged. Is he a fighter, too? He thinks of the Fist of Justice, but then decides this man cannot possibly be a part of their group. He just doesn't have that air about him.
The second thing he notices is just how striking the woman in the poster is. Despite all the crease lines marring it (how old is this poster?), she has crinkled eyes that complement the wine color of her hair, and a smile that exudes intrigue. Mystery. A thousand words upon those lips, loud and silent all at once.
Who is she?
“I…can’t say I’ve ever seen her, sorry.” Zach shakes his head apologetically, suddenly anxious he might have to give away his medals after all. Perhaps he should have just made up a lie to make his ‘information’ worth anything in the first place-
But the man is already walking away, the poster folded and tucked safely back in his pocket, his Houndoom padding by his side, pointed tail flicking in the air like a metronome.
Lumiose City, when limited to a certain zone for the night, feels like a maze whose every twist and turn should, ideally, yield at least one piece to the jigsaw Blade is so desperately trying to puzzle out. But it feels like no matter what he does, whom he asks, not a trace of Kafka smudges their words.
What is it all for, then?
He sits on a bench, feeling the night finally begin to wear him down, settling heavily on his shoulders like a blanket that’s all too hot, all too stifling. But he can’t suffocate now. Not when he’s here. Not when Kafka might be here.
All around him, the buildings tower over the zone, jutting out into the infinite heavens.
All he needs to do is reach Rank A. Ask the leader for any resources that might help him on his search. Follow every damned lead, no matter how frayed or flimsy the thread might seem. Just something, anything to aid this centuries-long quest.
He fidgets with the Luxury Ball in his hand. Houndoom’s ball. It glints under the light of the streetlamp shining directly onto him.
In the distance, Prism Tower stands tall and true. A shining beacon of the future of Lumiose, and of Kalos at large. It’s lofty and innocuous, yet it silently thrums with the promise of upheaval, of chaos waiting to be mastered.
Houndoom rumbles by his side, nosing at Blade’s palm. It huffs softly, warm breath hitting his skin.
Blade blinks. “You want another Lumiose Galette?”
An enthusiastic flick of its tail tells him everything he needs to know. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I’ve been spoiling you too much. How many Galettes have I already given you tonight?”
Houndoom whines, nudging at his palm with a bit more hunger this time. It’s a wonder how it can express its neediness without somehow impaling Blade with its sharp silvery horns. Or even burning him with the hot flames that leave its mouth whenever it huffs particularly heavily, tiny puffs of fiery inferno among sharp fangs.
Perhaps Blade’s gotten used to handling it with care. Perhaps Houndoom cares enough not to hurt the trainer it’s so fiercely loyal to.
As a token of appreciation for this notion, Blade finally relents and tosses another one of his precious galettes into the waiting jaws of his Pokemon. It snaps it up happily, panting. After devouring the treat, the excited pitter-patter of its paws against the concrete pavement decorates the silence.
There’s a strong contender for this season’s Canari Quiz Whiz Contest, and it irritates Mani to the core.
For one, the man blazing through each trial like it’s second nature to him has never been seen around here before. He’s not a part of Canari’s fan club, not a whisper of his presence in DYN4MO, and yet…and yet…
“Woooowie! Right again, mysterious stranger!” Canari’s hologram flounces on stage, all high-voltage energy and verve, a strong juxtaposition against the man staring up at her, calm and still. Canari winks, striking her infamous DYN4MO pose. “You’re three for three on my rapid-fire questions! You’ve really done your research!” (Somewhere in the crowd, Gwynn sighs with love, even though she’s lost in an earlier round on purpose.)
For two, this man is very, very good at battling. Very little bark and all bite, this one. So when Mani finds himself facing off against the man who’s introduced himself as nothing but Blade…
…and loses to him, that Houndoom of his finishing off his entire team like they were breakfast scraps, Mani is forced to concede with slumped shoulders and a crushed spirit. Next time—next time he’ll revive his streak of being Canari’s number one—
“I just want to know if you have seen her.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd as they watch him produce a poster with a woman’s face on it. Mani frowns. Yep, Blade is an odd fellow. He’s never seen the woman in question around, but regardless, who in their right mind would use their status as winner of the contest to ask such a basic question?
Canari herself is nonplussed by it, her hologram crackling and flickering as she stares at him with wide eyes and a look that drips incredulity. “That’s what you want as your prize? Not meetin’ me, or gettin’ one of your Canari plushies signed?” She shrugs, throwing her arms up dramatically. “I even bought some cool new glitter markers for it too!”
Imperceptibly, Blade’s grip on the poster tightens as he looks down. “I want to know if she could be here. If you’ve seen any trace of her. Or if anyone else here has.” He turns to the rest of the audience, turning the paper in his hand so all can see.
He gains some looks of sympathy, but beyond that, nothing. Nobody knows who he could be talking about. Nobody’s seen her.
Strange. Mani notices now that Blade has been holding a white umbrella in his other hand this entire time, but it’s remained unopened for the entirety of this debacle. One would assume he’d have brought it along to protect himself from the bright white sunlight beating down on Lumiose today.
The problem with the higher ranks, Blade thinks, is the fact that almost everyone he battles goes all-in. That includes Mega Evolution when backed into a corner—something Blade is very good at backing them into, it seems.
He now stares down the woman he’s currently locked in combat with, her Mega Ampharos’s fluffy tresses billowing majestically in the wind. Stylish, just like the rest of the SBC she comes from. She’s watching him expectantly. Not making a single move on purpose. She’s waiting for him to do the same, to Mega Evolve his Houndoom so they can have an evenly matched fight packed with all the heat one match between strangers can muster.
Blade grunts and flexes his aching fingers. This is what he gets for climbing up the ranks faster than a Klawf shimmies up the face of a cliff. He should never have promoted himself to Rank B (and racked up quite the reputation, even if he’s concealed his identity as best as possible. Word travels fast, especially when the rumor involves a mysterious man who keeps largely to himself and spares little attention to anything that does not concern him).
He reaches for the Mega Stone nestled in the dual horn-shaped brooch over his heart, in the lapel of his coat. Tapping it with his index finger and little fanfare, a bright light engulfs him and Houndoom, streaking through the darkness in brilliant florets of pink and white.
When the brightness clears, the iridescent power of Mega Evolution clings to Houndoom in flecks of pure light, claws flexing with more malice than normal—the silver ridges on its back thickened to a plate of armor, its curved horns now jagging upwards like bolts of lightning, its tail split like the prongs of a devil.
It gives a mighty roar, prowling forward like the predator it is, eyes burning with the fire of imminent victory. So what if Ampharos can resist its fire attacks now? Merely a speed bump.
Ampharos readies a Thunderbolt, sparks crackling and flickering about it in a wild frenzy. Blade doesn't bat an eye. “Protect.”
Houndoom shields itself just milliseconds before the bolts strike its spot, crashing uselessly against its barrier and fizzling out. Blade wastes no time.
“Dark Pulse.”
With a snarl, Houndoom readies its attack, shadows and darkness swirling all around it like a blackened whirlpool, all the while Ampharos readies a Power Gem, aiming to strike a super effective hit.
But Houndoom is faster, stronger—before the gleaming stones can be hurled its way, it sends all-encompassing darkness pulsing right at Ampharos, the impact so strong it practically rends the air apart, smoke billowing just as the crash resounds.
There is no question as to who the victor is here. Ampharos lies defeated on the asphalt, its mane gone as the power of Mega Evolution seeps away, smoke curling up in thin tendrils.
The woman utters a curse under her breath, then shakes her head and returns her fallen to its Pokeball, forcing a sportive smile onto her face. “I was clearly outmatched there,” she says lightly. “I suppose you might be wanting information, now, in lieu of my medals?”
Blade raises an eyebrow. “So you know who I am.” That shouldn’t come as a surprise to him following the whole Quiz Whiz incident.
“Well, naturally. It isn’t everyday…er, every night we find someone as, how to say, intriguing as you.” Her smile grows wider, more amused. “The man who asks a question instead of asking for our medals.”
If she thinks Blade is intriguing, she clearly has never met Kafka. He could go into detail just how interesting the woman is, her many complexities and quirks only he has born witness to, but the mere mention of her makes his chest ache ever so slightly. And there’s no point talking about her to someone who couldn’t possibly hope to understand just how much Kafka means to him.
“I hate to let you down,” continues the woman, her smile faltering, “but I really haven’t the faintest clue who the woman might be. From what my peers have told me, wine-haired woman with glasses perched atop her head, classy and charming aura, a striking smile, right? Can’t say I’ve ever seen someone matching that profile.”
It’s an answer Blade has grown used to, so it doesn't stab at his hope like it used to. Instead, he has another question ready on his lips. “Have you seen a man with gray eyes, long blond hair, and perhaps a sneer to his mouth? Or any sort of off-putting quality of his that may stand out?”
While Blade fights to get to Rank A in the Royale, he’ll also look for that man in parallel—that man who, like Kafka and Blade himself, seems to have the ability to traverse multiple timelines and dimensions with ease.
That mysterious man had only recently donated his clothes to the local museum. He cannot have strayed too far. If the tree of fortune blows its leaves into Blade’s waiting lap, he should still be in this city somewhere. Waiting, watching. Perhaps even fighting in the Royale himself. From what Blade can tell, that man might be wherever trouble is brewing.
“Oh, I hadn’t realized you wanted more info. This one seems new.”
“It is,” agrees Blade. “So have you?”
”The description sounds kind of vague…but I don’t think I’ve seen anyone like that lately. It’s been the usual faces gracing the Royale every night.” She huffs out a laugh, the kind of laugh only someone part of the SBC can do. “Though I have to say, you sure seem to be looking for quite a few people.”
“One is a means to an end. The other is my sole purpose for being here.”
Again she gives him a negative. Disappointment settles like soot in his gut.
Fine. Kafka may have covered her tracks; hidden her appearance. People can always go undercover; it’s harder for their Pokemon to do the same. So instead Blade deigns to ask his third question, a new one, “Have you seen a Galvantula user, then?”
“Galvantula…” She taps her chin, frowning, deep in thought. Then she shakes her head, and Blade feels the soot in his gut thicken and his heart plummet. “No, I haven’t seen one. I’m sure of it, seeing as you don’t really find Galvantula ’round these parts. I would have remembered if I had.”
Blade reigns in the disappointment gnawing at him, patience fraying slowly but surely. He bows his head slightly. “Thank you nonetheless.” Without another word, he walks away, zero interest in the many medals she wears in the pouch at her belt.
Blade stands atop a roof, looking down at the glittering city below. Perhaps if he stares long and hard enough, he’ll be able to glean even the faintest lead and follow it to the ends of the world. But no, there is no trace of her even in the chill the night winds carry, and nor is there any in the faint pungent smell carried by the Gastly that drift about.
This endeavor is like looking for a Kartana in a children’s craft book, but Blade has to keep turning the pages until there is nothing left for him to search.
How many planes has he crossed? How many years has it been?
Rank A seems to be his only hope now for any semblance of clues.
Surely…surely Kafka is here somewhere. If not, then that blond man is Blade’s next best bet. And if even he cannot help, even with his affinity for planar distortions and traveling through timelines not meant for him…
He feels hopelessness prick at the corner of his eyes, stinging, moist—
Houndoom whines by his side, and Blade instinctively reaches to scratch under the Pokemon’s chin. And just like that, he’s grounded again, the warmth of his Pokemon companion reminding him why he ought not to give up.
“Wait for me, Kafka.” It’s a phrase he has repeated aloud, over and over again, no matter which plane he’s in. No matter which timeline, which dimension. “I will find you.”
A promise he has no intention of breaking. A promise that, when repeated a thousand times, should surely come to fruition. He will find her. He must and he will.