POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

What’s up, people?  I’ve been away for a while, but I’m back now.  I can’t promise my fan fiction will be on a “regular” schedule, but I’ll try my best to bring you all that I can.  I thank you for your support, as always.

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters don’t belong to me.

TIME:  That Saturday

LOCATION:  Pallet Town YMCA

            Down in the locker rooms of the local Pallet Town Youth Men’s Christian Association, a young man was diligently preparing himself for today’s battle in the Lord of the Fight tournament.  Within twenty minutes, he would be up in the basketball court, battling his second fight in the tournament.

            Lord of the Fight had been going on for three weeks now, and Ash’s first week bye (which was not his decision, by the way) meant that he would always be involved in a battle provided no one backed out or forfeited ahead of time.  That didn’t bother Ash very much.  He was beginning to cause quite a sensation so far, and was only a handful of fighters who still were undefeated.

            As the crowds were gathering up in the main gym, Ash was gearing himself up for battle.  He brought his full gi with him, as he usually does when he goes to tournaments, but considering how hot and stuffy the gym could be on a day like this, decided against wearing his gi top up there and wore a black, sleeveless mesh shirt instead.  His gi pants were black and a little long on him, and were cuffed at his feet.  His hair was getting long, but instead of having it cut to something more common or “proper” for a boy his age, he simply tied it back with a rubber band, the end result being a little duck tail hanging off the back of his head.  He wore cheap leather sandals, but that was only to and from the ring; he trained and sparred barefoot, as does your typical martial arts student.  He wore fingerless gloves, black, like the rest of his uniform.  The obi (belt) was the most important and most prized part of his uniform.

            The day he received his black belt was the greatest day of his life aside from a) the day he became a Pokémon Master and 2) the first night he spent together with Misty.  The belt was jet black, and on one end his name was embroidered in yellow in both English and Japanese.  On the other end were two red hash marks, signifying Ash’s status as a second-degree black belt.  Any time he dressed for practice or for an event like this (where he knew he would be wearing his obi) he always took his precious time with that sacred strip of material, always watching himself in the mirror as he carefully and meticulously tied it perfectly around his waist.  It was a delicate practice to him, and that black belt was the crowning achievement of years of hard work and dedication.

            Just like with his Pokémon journey.

            Unlike his martial arts training, Ash didn’t have any fancy belt to prove himself.  Instead, he had a reputation and the battles waged at the Johto League competition to prove himself to the world.  Ash’s hard work and dedication were his best traits, and he joyously reaped the fruits of his labor.

            He gave his reflection in the mirror a good look over.  Ash adjusted how his belt sat on his waist several times before deciding it was perfect.  He looked down at his hands, staring at them in puzzlement.  Through his training, he discovered that he had the ability to manipulate and expel his ki into forms of electricity (thanks a lot in of part to the massive amounts of electric residue left on his body from the countless times Pikachu shocked him).  He channeled just a little bit of it through his left arm, and as he watched the sparks dance across his fingertips, pondered if he should use it in his battle today. Only time would tell if he had to or not.

            Ash looked at the clock on the wall.  In about five minutes, the match would start.  After getting himself good and stretched out, he slipped on his sandals and exited the locker room, en route to the gym upstairs.  One of the volunteers at the Y led Ash to the entrance to the gym, and just as Ash was going to enter, his attention was drawn to a young man a bit older than him and a bit taller.  He wore blue jeans, and a long-sleeved powder blue shirt with a large yellow stripe across the stomach and elbows.  He wore a bright blue headband that allowed for his long blond hair to spill out the back and rest on his shoulders.  He was giving Ash a hard look as he toyed with a strand of Buddhist meditation beats hanging around his neck.

            “Good luck out there, Ash,” the kid said.  Ash recognized him immediately as Mortimer Grey, the Ecruteak City gym leader.

            “You’ve come all the way out here just to cheer me on, huh?” Ash chuckled.  “To what do I owe the honor?”

            “Nothing, really.  While I will be cheering for you – simply because your opponent is an absolute prick…”

            “Tell me about it.”

            “…but need I remind you that you and I will do battle next week.  Think of this as me scouting you.”

            “Sure thing.”  Ash left on that note, but not before poking his head out of the doors at Morty.  “And don’t worry about me.  I’ll be ready for next week…I just hope you will be as well!”

            Morty said nothing, just nodded.  He went to his seat in the stands, toying with his beads.

            The Pallet Town Y was fairly new, built in the late 1980s, but considering it only served Pallet Valley and the small surrounding area, it wasn’t incredibly too big.  Still, it had very adequate facilities for swimming, basketball and other indoor events, and numerous outdoor activities such as soccer and baseball.  In another wing of the Y was the rooms set aside for travelers and passers-through, even if they saw comparatively little use when stacked against the average Pokémon center.

            The main gymnasium was properly set up for today’s battle between two of Pallet Town’s favorite sons.  The basketball nets have all been retracted, pulled almost parallel with the ceiling.  The bleachers on the walls going down the sidelines has been pulled out, making twelve neat rows of seats for the spectators.  At where center court would normally be, a set of wrestling mats were rolled out and set up, taped together to keep them from sliding apart.  A decent sized crowd was gathering in the stands as Ash entered, while his opponent was in his corner, not taking this match too seriously, it seemed.

            Across the ring from Ash was his rival, dare one say…nemesis, Gary Oak.  He paced back and forth in his corner, flexing out his arms and occasionally rolling his neck.  His trademark smirk was practically glued to his face, and was showing Ash not an iota of respect.

            Out in the stands, a few rows from the front were Misty, Brock and Tracey.  They had come to watch Ash’s battle just as when Tracey battled.  The crowds ranged in size, from a handful of onlookers to a packed stadium.  This one was somewhere in the middle.  In addition to Ash’s “posse” were Mrs. Ketchum and Professor Oak; both would be watching their first battle in Lord of the Fight.  Even though he was Gary’s grandfather, his attitude and recent falling out with his grandson were making him sway in Ash’s favor.

            “I must say I’m not very pleased with Gary’s attitude,” the professor started.  “Ever since he found out he’s battling Ash, he’s become even more arrogant than normal.”

            “Tell me about it,” Brock continued.  “And we all know how big of a rivalry these two have…there’s no telling just what he may do when he gets to fight Ash man-to-man.”

            “But…what do we know about Gary’s fighting abilities?” Misty asked.  “If any…I mean, that uniform he’s wearing…what is that, a Tae Kwan Do outfit?”

            “Indeed,” Tracey answered.  “That’s all we know about him, though.  Guess we’ll just have to wait like everyone else.”

            Gary strode cockily back and forth in his corner, not a care in the world.

            In the opposite corner, on the other hand, things were a different story.  Ash was busy stretching himself out on the sidelines, bouncing occasionally with each exercise.  He was very thorough about his elaborate stretching routine, especially after throwing a crescent kick that tore one of his quads a while back.  The pain was not too pleasant, as it hurt to even walk.  So he made sure to take steps so that wouldn’t happen again.  In his corner was his master Genju, the old 8th dan in Kenpo that taught 2nd dan Ash all he knew.  He was in his late 60s, with hard, narrow eyes and a once-black goatee that had grayed quickly over the years, as did his hair.  He was very strict, and has he told his students once, he “was a prick, but honest.”  Which was good; Ash didn’t want anything less from a teacher.

            “Ashura,” the old man called.  Ash pulled off his gloves as he approached the master.  The old man was seated in a metal folding chair, a basin at his feet.  Ash kneeled, and quietly washed his hands and face in the room-temperature water.  Once he did this, he put back on his gloves and stood back up.  This pre-fight ritual was meant as a symbolic cleansing of the mind and the soul, keeping the fighter free of distractions and negative feelings.  “Even though the young man is a fool, don’t underestimate him for a second.”

            “Yes, master,” Ash responded.  “I’ve known him for a good part of my life.  He’s very egotistical—”

            Genju put up his hand and silenced the youth.  “Even if that is true,” he continued, “do not underestimate him, or you will end up no better than he.”

            “I understand.”  He approached the ring, and just before he entered, turned and bowed to his mater, who returned the gesture.  He approached center ring just as the announcer was going through his spiel.  It was during this time he got a good look at his old rival.

            It was awfully hard for Ash to keep a straight face or go off on Gary considering the way he looked.  A younger Ash Ketchum may have done exactly that, but not this older, debatably more mature Ash.  Gary’s trademark smirk and cocky attitude were apparent just in the way he stood.  Instead of standing in the junbei or “ready” position (stand up straight, feet shoulder width apart, fists clenched and held out about a foot away from the body at obi level), Gary was bouncing up and down, swaying from side to side occasionally, never once taking his eyes off of Ash, who simply followed occasionally with his own.  His outfit was a short-sleeved V-neck Tae Kwan Do gi top, deep blue with yellow trim.  The pants were the same shade of blue, but the right leg (from his groin down) was stark white and bore a red, yellow and blue Taegeuk around the shin.  The gi was a bit of an eyesore; the clashing colors seemed to fit Gary’s irritating demeanor, however.  On his feet he wore blue foot pads – which, in very broad terms, looked like a sock with the sole cut out save for one strap – in the same color scheme as the top.  It didn’t bother Ash the way Gary was being disrespectful; he was okay with that, by comparison.  The thing that grated Ash the most was what Gary wore around his waist—a black belt.

            This did not compute.  You’re kidding, Ash thought, looking at Gary’s obi.  There’s no way that can be legit.  Somehow, this really got under Ash’s skin, worse than any snide remark or grating insult.  As long as he knew Gary, he knew for a fact he didn’t practice any martial arts.  The Pokémon world was always Gary’s top priority.  He got a tip from Professor Oak that Gary had left to train for Lord of the Fight the very same day he got word of the tournament.  But that was three years ago.  How in the hell could Gary obtain a black belt – an almost sacred honor in to some martial artists – in such a short amount of time?  It took Ash nearly five years to earn his, the average being anywhere between four and six.  And Ash busted his balls off to get that accolade.  Another thing that didn’t convince Ash of Gary’s status was the belt itself.  Sure it had the texture and weight of an obi, but it was lightly frayed and slightly discolored.  Even worse, it didn’t have anything embroidered on it.  Where’d you get that thing, out of a dumpster?

            The announcer finished his presentation of the fighters to the audience, and then the referee took his turn to speak.  They would fight three two-minute rounds for points, continuous contact (action would continue even after a point was scored).  Whoever had the most points at the end of the three rounds or whoever scored a knockout first would win.

            “Face me, gentlemen…bow,” the official commanded.  Ash and Gary did just that.  “Face each other…bow.”  Ash bowed, but Gary did not.  There was a bit of disdain from the crowd, and as the referee attempted to correct the situation, Gary simply flashed the ref a nasty look.  He quickly decided no amount of pleading would change his attitude.  “Fighting positions!”

            Gary leapt into a left-leg-lead fighting stance with a very loud kiay.  Ash simply settled back into a defensive stance, glaring daggers at his foe.  Never once did the smirk stray from Gary’s face.

            “Begin!”

            Gary was the first to go on the offensive, charging in and leaping at Ash with a large axe kick.  The loud shout and height of his jump telegraphed the move big time.  It was easy for Ash to evade, as well as follow up with a few roundhouses to Gary’s midsection.  He backed off instinctively, and got a nice look at Gary’s angered expression.  He shouted loudly as he charged forward, throwing a handful of anger-fueled kicks at Ash, all of which he had little trouble defending against.

            Most of the first round went on in this fashion, with Gary not able to get the upper hand, much to Gary’s dismay.  As he saw his opponent’s attacks coming, Ash learned more about how his rival fought.  Whatever dojo Gary belonged to clearly went along with the World Tae Kwan Do Federation (WTF).  This is the system used primarily in Tae Kwan Do as an Olympic event—no hand skills allowed (save for blocking), punches score no points.  Which means that Gary would only be throwing kicks at him.  It wouldn’t be just this little piece of information that would aid Ash in battle.

            The first round came and went, with Ash in the lead, slightly.  Gary may have had far more attacks than Ash did, but, unlike Ash, the majority of such didn’t end in failure or countering.  Ash ended up outscoring Gary 3 to 1.  Gary had no one in his corner save his cheerleader squad, and as the round drew to a close, they went off in chorus, chanting Gary’s phrases.

            “Well, who does he think he is?” Mrs. Ketchum said.  In her experience, she had only seen Gary Oak’s cheerleading squad one time.  “I thought he got rid of those damn cheerleaders a while ago, Professor.”

            “The thought had occurred to me as well,” Professor Oak answered.

            “I’d pay them no attention,” Brock added.  “They’re nothing more than a public display of Gary’s pretentiousness.”

            “Wow, Brock said something intelligent,” Misty chimed in.  Brock glanced at her and flashed a look.  “That’s rare.”

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!”

            That last outburst came from Tracey.  “This guy has his own cheerleading squad?” he asked, shocked.  “How’d he hook that up?”

            Brock, Misty and the Professor hung their heads with a groan.

            Ash was admittedly surprised with some of the aerial tricks Gary was pulling off, but in the end, they added very little to his fighting ability.  Clearly Gary was trying to unnerve Ash with his flashier moves, but it wasn’t happening.

            Ash bounced in his stance as he and Gary circled each other, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.  Gary was doing the same during the first round, but Ash had his hands up, guarding his face.  Now, the positions were reversed.  Only, Gary was getting angrier and more frustrated as the fight went on.  Ash made no real attacks of his own; the majority of the points he scored came from countering Gary’s assault.

            Gary’s foot was above his head, his leg straight, knee locked and against his chest.  With a loud shout, he brought it down hard, only to have it caught by his nemesis.  There were several things he could’ve done in this position—trip him, waylay his wide-open midsection, let him go only to level him, but Ash decided for a more…passive approach, one that would certainly steam Gary up.  He took a step forward, and pushed the blocked leg backward, causing Gary to tumble to the mats.  He hastily got back to his feet, fuming.

            “Imbecile!” Gary shouted, “Why don’t you fight back, huh?!”  He came on the attack again with a few axe and crescent kicks, all of which were blocked or avoided by Ash.  Gary then brought his knee up like he was going to snap kick Ash right in the face, but quickly spun around and thrust his foot out in a nice side kick.  Ash blocked with his left knee and went on the offensive.  He moved in quickly, striking with a handful of back fists, punches and roundhouse and hook kicks that sent Gary reeling.  Gary charged at Ash furiously, and put all he had into a hard thrust punch that connected right with Ash’s mouth.  It was, for the lack of a better term, a cheap shot.  Ash’s head jerked back violently at the surprise assault, tasting a bit of blood in his mouth.

            The referee gave Gary a verbal warning and penalized him a point, but Gary didn’t even blink.  The young grandson of Professor Oak felt not a trace of remorse.  Ash felt around the inside of his mouth with his tongue, noticing a small cut on the inside just below his bottom lip, caused by Gary’s fist and his teeth.  It wasn’t gushing blood, but leaked enough to irritate Ash.  Every once in a while, enough blood would cumulate in his mouth so that he could clearly taste it on his tongue.  He was angry now, but had to keep his anger in check.

            When the match restarted and Gary went on the attack, Ash was quicker to move.  The first opening he spotted on his foe, Ash unloaded with several hard punches on Gary’s midsection.  His loud running-in kiay was snuffed out by several labored grunts and groans as Ash slammed his fists into Gary’s prone form.  Once he retreated after the assault, Gary was in a mix of pain and rage.  He lunged forth again, trying to hook kick Ash’s head clean off his shoulders.

            Time to put this to an end, Ash thought.  It only took him a moment to charge up his electric-powered ki.  He had been very reluctant to unleash it on him during the fight, out of fear that it could cause Gary some serious damage—not to mention give birth to some pretty nasty rumors and farfetched speculation as to what he was taking/injecting/practicing.  However, he wasn’t going to woo Gary into unconsciousness with a Pika-powered lightning blast.  No, he decided on something a little more…subtle.

            His right arm out, leading with the elbow, Ash glided on his left foot (his knee drawn up against his body) at Gary in a heartbeat.  Before Gary could register what happened and put up a defense, Ash’s elbow slammed into his chin, causing his head to pop back.  At that moment, Ash thrust his left palm out, channeling just a small bit of electricity into the blow.  The force of the blow was enough to knock Gary clear out of the ring and tumbling halfway between the ring and the gym’s entrance.

            The whistle blew, stopping the match.  Since Gary was laid out and not getting up any time soon, the match was stopped and Ash was declared the winner.  The crowd was still in shock at the move Ash pulled to end the match, but popped loudly as Ash’s hand was raised in victory.

            As he watched the match, Morty was not cheering or showing any emotion.  His face showed a little bit of surprise at Ash’s move, but he was otherwise motionless.

            I hope our battle is a challenge, Morty thought, for both of us.

            The locker room was strangely quiet after the match, and for a while, as he was changing, Ash forgot that he wasn’t alone.  After the match had concluded and the crowd dissipated, he went down to the locker rooms to get changed into his normal clothes.  Just as he sat down and opened his locker did he notice that Gary had barged in, stomping around and generally not taking his defeat very well.  Repeatedly, the sound of Gary cursing off and punching and kicking lockers, and even throwing a trash can across the room could be heard, but only to the two people using the room at that time.  The locker rooms were far removed from the gym, so even if one listened closely enough, they wouldn’t readily make out the sounds of Gary’s temper tantrum.

            After Gary had calmed down, there was a deafening silence in the locker room.  After Ash had finished changing, he slung his bag over his shoulder and got up to leave.  As he did, he nervously looked down the aisles as he passed, hoping to find out what condition Gary was in.

            There he was, sitting on one of the long benches that ran between two rows of lockers, staring into the nothingness in front of him.  He wasn’t blinking, he wasn’t moving; hell, it looked like he wasn’t even breathing.  Ash’s gaze was fixed on him for what felt like forever, until Gary suddenly turned and noticed Ash.  He glared daggers at his long-time rival.

            “Gee, Gary,” Ash started, “I didn’t think you’d take one loss this difficult…”

            “Shut up!” Gary hissed.  He got up, grabbed his stuff, and stormed off, shoving Ash to the side as he did.  He got to the door and then stopped, slowly turning around.  “Ash.  Tell me something…”

            “Like what?” Ash asked.

            Gary took a few steps forward until he was face to face with Ash.  “Tell me…” he started, “you were holding back, weren’t you?”

            Ash shrugged.  “Okay, a little—”

            “Bullshit!”  His tone lowered.  “I could tell you weren’t giving me all you had, Ash.  Either that, or you’re not worthy of wearing that black belt of yours.”

            “You’re one to talk.”

            Unfazed by his remark, Gary continued.  “I only felt it for a second, but I knew you were using some sort of special techniques on me.  When you did that dash at me at the end, I knew there’s no way you were capable of that on your own.  And when you hit me, I felt my whole body get electrocuted.   So, what’s your dirty little secret, Ash?  Huh?”  He leaned forward.  “Tell me.”

            Ash thought for a moment.  “Okay, I’ll show you.  But if you tell anyone…I doubt they’ll believe you.”  He dropped his bag, and assumed a fighting stance.  His back hand clenched into a tight fist, and he pushed his electric-powered ki into his fist.  Drawing it up behind him, with a loud yell, he through his arm like he was fast-pitching a softball, sending a softball-sized ball of yellow electricity screaming across the floor.  The ball glided like a bullet across the floor before it slammed into the wall, dispersing in a bright light.

            As Ash gathered his things and left the locker room, he left a stupefied Gary Oak in his wake.

NAME:  Mortimer Grey

STYLE:  Muy Thai

DOB:  8 October 1978

HEIGHT:  6’1”

WEIGHT:  184 lbs.

HOBBY:  Astrology

FAVORITE FOOD:  Shiitake

MOST IMPORTANT:  His ghost Pokémon, spirituality

LIKES:  Fortune telling, séances

DISLIKES:  Zealots