Creatures of the Night


By Crow Skywalker


Disclaimer – I don't own Pokemon, nor do I claim to. Characters belong to their creators, I'm just borrowing them for my own fun.

Author's Notes – This idea came to me the other day when I realized, hey…every other fandom has crazy vampire fics, why aren't there many in the Pokemon fandom? Well, from there, my question grew into a plot bunny…and behold, you now have the start of a massive fic in the works. So far I have up to chapter eleven planned out, but not written. Updates will vary depending on the interest of this fic. I have a ton of other fics I really need to finish…why did I have to start another one? Lol. But anyway, this chapter turned out to be longer than I expected it to be. I originally decided it was going to be around 2000 words, but it ended up somewhere in the 3000's. So I hope you all enjoy what's written so far, and tell me what you think. Review, comments, questions, and all that good stuff…you know what to do!

Other Notes – AU. Rated R for dark and sexual themes, blood, violence and all that good stuff. Can't have a vampire fic without it, now can I? Normally I would put the pairings here too, but I feel that it would ruin the story/plot. You've been warned.

Summary – During the day, Celadon City is full of people and pokemon alike. At night, they aren't the only ones roaming the streets.


The year was 1885 when it all began. Life consisted of men working during the day, mainly in the fields, while women waited at home with the children, cooking and cleaning for when their husbands returned home at dusk. Men who worked in the great city lived slightly different lives, though they were much the same. It was a time of old fashions, where noble women wore corsets and great gowns, and men with money threw balls for family and friends. But most of all, it was a time of darkness.

Ashtereon Ketchum was born into one of the noble families, one that was well known in the growing city of Saffron. His father had been a scientist whom specialized in Pokemon, who at the time, were widely feared. People usually fled upon meeting one, fearing its power and their own lives. They were believed to be magical creatures, cursed by Satan himself and set upon the earth to destroy human kind. Cecil Ketchum didn't believe this for one second.

During his teenage years, Cecil had went to school and later on graduated with a degree in medicine. He had always been curious about Pokemon, but it wasn't until he was finished school did his research start. After years of studying different breeds, Cecil came to the conclusion that Pokemon could indeed by tamed, much like common house cats. However, there was only one problem. How would these animals be caught? Most Pokemon knew better the stray around humans, so how would the Pokemon get used to them?

In 1846 Cecil invented what would soon change the world. An invention that could easily capture Pokemon and store them safely, enabling the person who captured it to let it out whenever he or she chose to. He called it the Pokeball, and his invention soon became world known.

It was only a few years later that Cecil met the love of his life and married, and in 1866 Ashtereon was born into the wealthy family. He was brought up proper and well educated, and it was in 1885, just before his twentieth birthday, does our story begin.

Man believes that he can travel through space! Read the headlines of the Saturday paper, and a nineteen-year old man almost scoffed as he turned the page quickly, briefly glancing over the next article. Man dies in alley… Ashtereon Ketchum, known as Ash by friends and family, let the paper drop to the table in front of him and moved to get up, his chair scraping the floor behind him.

"Ash, are you done with that paper?" His mother asked, washing the breakfast dishes despite the servant's protests. Noble women were not supposed to wash dishes – it was the servant's job! However, Delia Ketchum would have none of that. She had come from a poor family; she had been brought up doing chores, and she refused to let anyone else do them.

Ash looked up at his mother, reaching up to move a piece of his unruly ebony hair out of his eyes. "Yes, mam." He told her with a slight nod, "Did you wish to read it?"

His mother shook her head. "You know all that stuff doesn't interest me. Your father, however, is a different story."

Ash straightened his back, glancing down at the paper on the table as he stood there. "Father hasn't been home for almost a week now," he said, "He's busy working on his latest project."

Delia glanced over at her son, stopping her washing for a second, and the servant immediately took over. "Does that upset you?" She asked, drying off her hands as she gave Ash a sympathetic look. Cecil was a good father, or at least he tried to be – but he was rarely ever home.

Ash glanced up at her. "No." He answered, before asking, "You?"

Delia gave him a somewhat sad smile before sitting down at the old oak table, her fingers reaching out to trace her fingers along the expensive looking silverware. "I suppose sometimes it does bother me," she admitted, "But look at what he's given us, Ash."

Ash did not answer, looking across the room to the great balcony doors. The sun had been up for hours now, but the warmth of the day was only just beginning to set in. He stared at the sun for a moment, lost in thoughts before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"He does not mean to ignore us," his mother said in a soft voice, "But he has obligations."

"What of his obligation to his family?" Ash shot back, finally letting his emotions show. He turned his gaze back to his mother, his eyes setting firmly on hers and holding them. She looked a bit startled at his harsh reply, and the hand on his shoulder flinched slightly before she pulled it away.

"He has promised to return for supper tonight, if that makes you feel better." Delia replied in a small voice, looking away from her son.

Supper? Ash frowned. Who cared about supper, when he'd practically grown up without a father? Was eating supper with a man that was more like a stranger than a father to him supposed to make his angry feelings towards the man go away? Was it supposed to make up for the neglect he'd endured since he was born? Ash turned away, heading towards the dining room entrance without a word, intending to make his exit before he upset his mother further.

"Ash," came her voice, and he hesitated only for a moment, and then he was gone.

The rest of the day was spent attending to the manor – there were things to be mended, things to see to, servants to talk to, and everything else the man of the house might have needed to do. These tasks had been bestowed upon Ash as soon as he was able to walk, talk and understand things properly. His mother had taught him everything he needed to know.

By the time dusk set in, Ash was seriously thinking about going to bed despite the sun still up and setting. Taking care of the manor and his mother's well being was not an easy job, though he had servants to help him with some of the chores involved. He was just removing his coat when a female servant with long golden hair rapped on his door.

He turned around, meeting her timid gaze as he yanked at the tie around his neck. "Yes?"

She blinked, and it seemed for a moment that she was afraid to talk. Finally she replied, "The Lady of the house wishes to speak to you."

Ash sighed, letting his tie fall loosely onto the bed. "I shall go see her, then."

The girl disappeared, leaving him alone.

I suppose she wishes me to attend supper, he ran a hand through his hair tiredly. I was hoping to just skip it altogether…the less I see of that man the better. But despite his feelings, he left his room to search out his mother.

He found her sitting in a large room which was usually used to entertain guests. Expensive paintings hung on the walls, and other artistic works could be found throughout the room. Couches of the most costly material were set about, all turned towards a massive fireplace at the very end of the room. A fireplace that was currently lit, the fire glowing brightly and casting shadows against the walls.

He entered the room, stopping meters away from one of the main chairs, where he could see her sitting. She was staring almost sadly into the fire and hadn't noticed him yet. After a few moments, Ash spoke.

"He's not coming."

The silence was broken, though Ash wondered if his mother had heard him. She made no move, and did not look in his direction. He took a step forward, slightly worried as he opened his mouth to repeat what he had just said. Her soft voice stopped him.

"He sent a servant home to tell us he would not be returning tonight."

Ash's eyebrows narrowed, angry with his father for making his mother upset like this. He'd done it hundreds of times over the years, and Ash had witnessed them all, silently cursing the older man.

Delia suddenly turned around, gazing up at him with dark eyes. "Would you do me a favor?"

Anything, Ash vowed, wanting to make his mother smile again. She had done that a lot when he was small, back when his father had been around more often. Now her joy had vanished, and it looked like she had aged twice as much as she should have.

Ash nodded his reply.

"Ash," she held out a pale hand, and he took it into his own as she pulled him closer, "You've grown up to be a fine man. I'm proud of you, have I ever told you that?"

The fire made a crackling noise, the pile of well-stacked logs falling within the fireplace. Ash said nothing, just stared down at his mother.

Finally, she made her request. "Take some supper to your father. He's been working hard…he must be hungry." She saw that Ash was about to protest when she added, "I had a servant wrap it up for him. It's in the kitchen." She paused. "Please, do this for me Ash?"

Ash felt something crumble inside of him, and as he pulled his hand away from his mother's he nodded. If it makes you happy mother…if it makes you happy.

He found the package just where she said it was, laid out in the kitchen ready to be taken. Glancing out a window as he passed, Ash noticed that the sun had disappeared now, and the night had taken over. Though the city was not a safe place to walk at night, Ash would do what his mother asked of him. He was a grown man, after all, and could take care of himself. Nobody would dare attack him.

Grabbing a cloak from an old looking coat rack near the door, Ash pulled it around his shoulders, hoping that the night wasn't too chilly. He's already taken off his coat earlier, and though it probably would have been smarter to go and get it, he did not want to go all the way back upstairs to retrieve it. No, the cloak would do. It wasn't a long trip to the research lab anyway.

Stepping out into the night air, Ash closed the door behind him firmly, making sure his cloak was secure and that he had not forgotten anything. With his father's supper in one arm, Ash began to walk, his eyes to the ground as he stepped on hard cobble stoned streets. Above him, a full moon hung low in the sky and a sky full of stars shone brightly.

It took about fifteen minutes to reach his father's research facility, waving a hand as he passed a old man he assumed was a guard as he entered the building. He half wondered how many people were still here; most people were home and off the streets by sunset. But by the looks of the candles still glowing, dimly lighting up the hallways within, he knew that there had to be a few people still there, including his father.

Walking down the main hall, Ash listened as his boots clicked against the old wooden floors beneath him, his eyes staring off into the darkness as he let the candles guide him. On either side of him were doors, some of them with signs on the door clearly stating 'Keep Out', while others were bare. Ash knew this building off by heart – his father's lab was at the end of the hall.

Finally reaching that last door, Ash wondered if he should knock or not. His father was normally busy and did not want to be disturbed, but by the lack of sounds coming from the other side of the door, Ash figured it would be all right.

Lifting a hand to the knob, he twisted his hand to turn it, stopping suddenly when he heard voices on the other side of the door. Ash frowned, turning his head slightly in hopes of hearing something. Was there someone else in the room with his father? Perhaps his father was in an important meeting with a client interested in his work?

A few minutes passed, and Ash didn't hear any more voices. Either they were talking too lowly for him to hear, or Ash was hearing things.

That wouldn't surprise me, Ash rolled his eyes, I'm already going crazy! As resolve set in, Ash finally gripped the doorknob and turned it, letting the door swing open. The room was empty.

Odd. "Father?"

There was a strange noise coming from behind one of the old lab benches, and Ash listened hard, setting the supper he was carrying down on a nearby table.

"Is there anyone here?" He called out.

No answer. Just a soft gurgling noise.

Where's that coming from? Ash wondered, taking another step into the room. A strong metallic smell met his nose, one unlike the usual medical smell that he was used to. Something was wrong.


A shadow moved, and Ash's eyes shot in that direction. He immediately started across the room, only to slip on something in the darkness. He landed on his back, his head hitting off the floor hard enough that he saw stars before his eyes. He groaned, wincing in pain, and lifting a hand up, he felt the back of his head.

Something warm dripped into his eyes.

What the hell..? Ash frantically rubbed at it, only spreading more of the warm goo across his face. In the darkness of the room, he couldn't see what it was.

Letting his hand drop back to his side, Ash propped himself up so that he was sitting, his hands slipping in whatever it was he had fell in. Moments later he finally managed to pull himself to his feet, gripping onto a table so that he would not slip on the smooth wet floor again.

Glancing down, Ash could not determine what the puddle was beneath his feet, but as his eyes finally left the floor to look at the table, he held back a startled gasp. In the dim light of the candle on the table, Ash could clearly see the red liquid that still clung to his fingers and was now staining the wooden table.

Blood, he glanced down, and lots of it!

His eyes trailed the path the blood seemed to make, and he almost fell backwards in shock at what he saw peeking around the corner of the table. An arm, still attached to a body he presumed, though the table blocked it from view. On the middle finger of the hand was a golden ring – the Ketchum family crest engraved on it.

"Father?" Ash started forward, horror apparent on his face. The closer he moved to the arm, the more the body appeared, right up until Ash was able to see the man's face. He was dead, blood leaking out of a wound in his neck.

Ash stumbled backwards. He had to find someone! He had to get the guard – anyone! He backed up into a strong chest, and his worries doubled as he turned to find a man staring down at him. To any human, the one before him looked pretty normal. He wore clothes that were in fashion, made of material that only nobles could buy, and his hair was slicked back close to his head. He looked like any other man of this time, except for his eyes, which held an evil look about them, which was only intensified as they glinted gold in the candle light.

"Ah," the man spoke, his voice deep and laced with coldness. Ash felt a shiver go down his spine. "So you must be Ashtereon Ketchum. I've heard a lot about you."

"W-who are you?" Ash asked, and glanced back at the body on the floor, "Are you the one who killed him?"

"Well of course not," the man replied, and for a moment Ash's heart finally stopped its rapid beating, slowing down to a steady pace. So this man wasn't a killer! For a moment, Ash had thought this was the end of him! But his heart quickly started up again when the man suddenly smiled, "He killed himself. Well, maybe I gave him a bit of help there."

Ash backed up. "Why?"

"The consequences of disobeying me, is all. He was a good man, but he never followed through with what I told him to do." The man shook his head. "I asked one small thing. Go home, and bring me his son. And did he do that? No, he had to go all hero on me and stay here when he should have been leading you to me!" He snorted a laugh, "But it turns out you came anyway. I didn't need him."

Ash continued to back up, hitting a chair and causing it to fall over. "What do you want with me?"

The man smiled, a cold and heartless smile, before grabbing Ash by the collar of his cloak and pulling him forward. His eyes glowed a fiery golden color, and he grinning wickedly. "Your life," he answered, and the man's mouth opened, his strong arms pulling Ash closer as his teeth dug into the tender flesh of Ash's neck, his teeth extending into fangs as the blood came forth.

Ash struggled hard against the stronger man, unable to comprehend what was happening. All he knew was that his father was dead, this man wanted something from him, and he was quickly growing very tired. Wait, was that his own blood he could feel dripping down his neck?

Minutes seemed to drag on forever, and Ash's struggles ceased. Finally, the man heard him take his last breath, and Ash went limp in his arms. He let go of him, and Ash fell to the floor.

"By the way," the man laughed harshly, cutting his own wrist and holding it above Ash so that his blood dripped into the boy's mouth and wound, "The name's Geovanni."


Ashtereon Ketchum

1866 – 1885

Beloved son.

May your soul rest in peace.


To Be Continued…