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Post by Wolfe on Jul 27, 2013 22:03:09 GMT -5
Memories.
Of Mika, of Isabella, of happier - no - more ignorant times. Back when he only looked out for himself, pursued his own goals, devoted everything to making his own life better. When he had been here - two weeks ago - Arceus, it seemed like an eternity.
Fitting, he thought, that the once bright skies here have been poisoned by the atmosphere around them. Water cascaded down from above, stinging Marc's cheek, and masked the few tears that rolled down his cheek. He was oblivious to the pain that came along with it. After all, what was a physical manifestation of pain compared to all he'd ever lost? He'd been abandoned, again, and again. By his family. Friends. Followers. Change was a constant in Marc's life - become too complacent with your surroundings, and you would die a quick death, to be replaced by others.
As if he had never existed in the first place.
Tybalt tugged at the leg of his jeans, concern evident on his small face.
It's nice here..Marc...but where are we going? Don't we have to find someone? Lilly...was she family?
He turned his back to Ty, a shadow crossing his features, already soaked in tears and rain, in equal parts.
"Don't ever mention my family. They left me to die. Life is better without them."
The little otter ran around to face him, unspoken apology written all over his face.
O-okay...but we should get moving, right?
He bent over and took Oshawott by the hand, with gentleness that he seemingly would have never otherwise been exercised.
"That we should. The future awaits."
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Post by Sam on Aug 4, 2013 20:52:11 GMT -5
Underneath the shadow of a great building, two men were talking in hushed voices. One of them was definitely a man from Team Celestial. He was leaning against the wall, looking tired, worn, and very annoyed with the man he was talking to. The other was cloaked in robes of deep purple that seemed black in the shade. He was nothing like his friend, his voice was hurried and angry, and his hands were hidden in his pockets.
As Marc passed, the discussion was easy to hear, as their voices were slowly mounting. "You were the one that was watching the transportation! What did you do when the man came to you?" The Celestial sighed. "I sent them to Fitzgem, but he said he'd stop in West Wind on the way there." The robed man put his face in his hands. "We should not have trusted you. He could run into a couple of little heroes there who will take those Pokemon!" The Celestial smirked and have a short chuckle. "Like that Pokemorph? Yeah, he was a little hero. And look where you are now. You've gotten yourself those Pokemon and another Phantom. By the way, why do you make those? I mean-" "Shut up!" The robed man shouted the words, then looked around nervously, and the conversation continued in words too quiet to hear.
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Post by Wolfe on Aug 6, 2013 20:04:18 GMT -5
The blood in Marc's veins steamed a seething fury. Tybalt swallowed, fearfully in anticipation. Marc was angry. Someone was going to get hurt.
Looking back, and seeing the fire in his trainer's eyes ignite once more for the first time, Tybalt couldn't determine whether he felt pleased or frightened. After all, as he often thought of Marc as a "loose cannon". The person in question would give him an annoyed glance, devoid of any emotion, but there wasn't really a way around the fact. Marc would display violence with inhumane prejudice - said and done, he did not care for those he "cleansed" - the dead would remain in their rightful place.
Please Marc...please don't hurt them?
"I won't hurt them, Ty. Not yet. I just need to...have a chat."
The Oshawott gulped at that - last time his master had one of his "chats", someone ended up with three broken ribs, and a fractured leg. It was all he could try to preserve what precious little remained of his humanity. Marc was noble - not one person would deny that, but he refused to look at the consequences of his actions in service of what he deemed a better future. He was perhaps arrogant, but never careless, or extravagant. Marc had the attitude, and he did what he pleased.
Tybalt attempted to gain Marc's attention by tugging on his leg, but he found that the boy had recklessly walked over, and had grabbed one of them by the shirt, eyes with untamed fury, and now spoke, rage in his speech.
"You will give me all information regarding the topic you were formerly discussing, you will enlighten me with all knowledge that you have, or you will find, with your friend there, that there are, in fact, fates worse than death itself."
Anger expended, he glared at the duo with now restrained anger, deadly calm now washing over his body. But it wasn't just hatred.
Ty didn't need to be a psychic to know what Marc was thinking.
Fates...like mine.
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Post by Sam on Aug 14, 2013 22:28:00 GMT -5
He'd grabbed the Celestial man who, after his speech was complete, stumbled back, eyes drooping, trying to get away. He would fight but he was smart enough to know he would lose. However, the hooded man stepped up to Marc. They were both around the same height, but there was something inhuman about the robed man that made him seem taller.
"Ah, I've heard of you. You must be Marc. The Pokemorph. One of my...comrades came by with your own Pokemon and a globe of dark energy that I take to be the second half of you. They're trying to give it a body, since it still lives in you. They only took the spirit of the Gallade. Oh, don't worry. It's already a Phantom. They just don't know how to use it without a body."
He laughed. "Aren't Phantoms strange creature? Oh, of course, you don't know what they are. Since half of you is already one, I should enlighten you. Phantoms are Pokemon...or humans...that have been given the powers of the old Kings of the Night Wanderers, as we are now called."
His voice became eerie and unpleasant as he spoke his next words. "They decided that, after Pokemon were successful, they then tried to turn humans. Their power was incredible, however, they were only pure, uncontrollable evil. So they put him down. However, they decided to try the mid-point. Pokemorphs. What stands before you is the result of their experiment."
His hood fell back and his skin was shown in the dull light. It was its natural color, blended with a green that seemed to weave in between lines of skin color. His eyes were cat-like and black, no color. "Power, you see," he hissed, "comes with a small price. But its benefits far outweigh the negatives. I may looked different, but my abilities defeat yours. If you wish to challenge me, come forth. If you win, I give you all the information regarding your team and your Phantom half. If I win, you surrender and you host your Pokemon self again...as a Phantom."
"Choose."
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Post by Wolfe on Aug 14, 2013 22:50:31 GMT -5
The cold glint of unrelenting resolve was the defiance that he showed the man opposing him. Marc had gone beyond fear, past the anticipation of the unknown. One of his instructors had told him that those that have nothing to lose are the most dangerous men in the world. Marc was desperate, and after losing everything, he was ready to stake his life in a last chance for salvation.
But there was Tybalt, so innocent and without a trace of guilt in the world. Would it be so worth staining his soul with the blood of his enemies in his mad purge of corruption? The answer was obvious. He threw the Celestial grunt to the ground before picking up his companion and whispered a few words of goodbye, of thanks, and of confession. He turned the Oshawott away from him, crushing the Pokeball that tied the two together. Farewell was always the worst part, wasn't it?
The best people in life are always temporary..
Marc had already begun preparing himself for a fight when he felt the familiar tug on his jeans and watched in both awe and inspiration as the otter stood in front of him, baring its teeth and holding the shell on its chest, the edge sharpened to a razor point.
"You gave meaning to my life, Marc, and if these men want to take that away from me, they'll have to fight for it!"
Brave, loyal fool Marc thought quietly. He doesn't know what he's getting himself into.
Knowledge or not, Marc returned to his challenger, the Night Watcher, with steel in his eyes, betraying no emotions.
"Power has its price, yes, but at a far greater cost than anything else. When you lose everything that holds meaning to you in life, there is nothing stopping you from unleashing the fury of loss."
"I am Marc Steele, leader of the Iron Fist, son of none, patron of Aero. I have nothing left to lose. Prepare to die."
And with that, he lashed out, a kick to the stomach loosed with the hatred borne from loss.
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Post by Sam on Aug 15, 2013 22:50:22 GMT -5
The Phantom man quickly moved out of the kick's path with a blinding speed. In an instant, he'd disappeared and in his place was a Weavile that inherited the green signature of a Phantom. Everything that should have been red was green. With a lightning speed, he lashed out at Marc with a sharp claw. He held back the power, however, deciding to test this boy's strength.
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Post by Wolfe on Aug 20, 2013 18:27:06 GMT -5
The searing flame of pain flourished in Marc's shoulder, a thin red line of blood already trickling down filth-ridden clothes. Pain, however, only deepened his resolve, and he would not give in. Death was both a beginning and an end - but he knew that he still had his own story to make for himself. Giving in wouldn't only throw his accomplishments away, but also that of his allies. Lilly, Gaius, and Tybalt had all pledged their loyalties to him, believing utterly in his capacity to implement change in a corruption-ridden world. He couldn't - wouldn't fail.
Ty called out to him.
Marc, are you okay? You should -
"Flanking maneuver - slash him, hurt him, kill him with a thousand cuts for all I care! I'll be fine!"
Tybalt had serious concerns about Marc's safety, but before he could bring his worries to speech, the boy had already looked away, locked in his own mortal struggle. So the otter took a leap, twisting his body in a corkscrew to gain momentum. At the zenith of his height, he threw the scallop in an arcing motion - if he missed, he would have another chance. The technique had been hard to master, but it was the one thing that he could defend himself with. Now, it would be used with deadly precision in order to protect his master. For the first time, he felt no qualms about hurting them.
And now, Marc winced as he pulled the claw deeper into his body, in turn bringing the Weaville closer, into attacking range. He breathed hot breath in its face, but the words that came out of his mouth were ice cold.
"Weakling. You fight to gain what you will never have. I fight to reclaim what is rightly mine."
His fist rose instantaneously, and he aimed it for a blow to the jaw. Fitting, he thought, that he would silence his opponent, then move in to still them for eternity.
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Post by Sam on Sept 2, 2013 22:09:45 GMT -5
With a strange, gurlgling, hoarse sound, the Phantom Weavile leaped out of way or the kick, soaring over his head so he was now between the boy and the street. As his claws began to glow purple, the gurgling came again. Laughter. Distorted and twisted until it was neither Pokemon nor Human. He raised his claw to attack the boy. If it hit, the Poison Jab would infect his body and slowly kill him, with no cure.
But as he brought it down for the blow, a sudden, striking thought seared through his mind and paused his arm. His eyes widened as a voice that he recognized...a voice that should not be there...screamed into his hears, echoed through his body, and shook his very core.
But that wasn't possible! He'd killed that man long ago. As the screaming stopped, he realized that he'd not only fallen onto his back, but he'd morpher back into human form. Many spectators from the streets had paused to watch and were slowly dispersing, whispering, "Should he go to the hospital?"
The Phantom slowly rose, staring at his hand, a trace of the scream still throbbing. The boy would have died...he would have died...NO! That's what he wanted! But he was a living form just like him...
As the war in his mind raged, he looked at Marc with gritted teeth.
"Leave...now..." His voice carried a threat, a warning, and immediate danger. It was low, almost a growl, but it did carry a very clear message. This was his chance.
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Post by Wolfe on Sept 2, 2013 22:27:09 GMT -5
Red blood. Life essence. Marc felt the sanguine liquid flow from his body, coating him in a warmth - like all things - that would not last. The Sneasel was not able to slash at one of his key arteries, thankfully, but it was not a blow that could be shrugged off. Initially, he had felt an inkling of pain, but now, Marc was regretting his decision with each passing second.
Then the gargling - the nightmarish sounded ejected from the Watcher's body. Disturbing, yes, to most people, paralyzing them with fear, but Marc knew better. An omen of the dark times yet to come.
He needed to run, to get away from this horrid place, away from the sleeting rain, the numbing cold. He needed his....as much as he was loathe to admit...Marc needed his family.
You've gotten this far by yourself. You don't need them. Your father left you to die. And Rose never cared for the fate befallen you.
Now's our chance, Marc! Let's get out of here!
"Yes...let us run. Run from fate."
END THREAD
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