Hey everyone, I'm here with a new chapter. This just might be the last chapter I submit before I dissappear until June 24th or 25th. Hopefully though, it will not.

SO, anyway, I've re-written the first two chapters. I also changed a couple of rules around in battle wise when I re-wrote chapter 2. I don't know why anyway; it's not like there's ever really going to be a fair battle anymore. XD

Yeah, and just to let you guys know, I'm totally throwing out the idea of made up regions and made up Pokemon. I'm going to edit the chapters that had the made up Pokemon later. In their place, I'll put Sinnoh Pokemon. Oh, and this chapter introduces a new character. Attack of the Moron's character, actually. So, applause goes to him whether this character builds the story for the better or not (which I think it will be better). Don't know if I got Taron's acts right, but I'm going to add some more attitude in later chapters.

Chapter 11: Aggravation

It seemed to be just another peaceful day. That's the way it was programmed to stay; have that cheery feeling. That is how it felt during the ride to the island. Unfortunately, that feeling drastically changed when everyone was forced to cry out for help, and wonder how they felt the pain they felt.

Down deep at the center of some canyon, a river was flowing. It seemed like a designer worked his but off just to get this place to look as realistic as it did. It was beautifully designed; worth a photo. It only took a second for a Charmeleon body to fall on hard sand, knocking the breath out of her. She was surprised that she was still conscious; the adrenaline made sure the pain had not reached to her yet.

Seconds later, two more bodies fell into the river. It was Andy and another Charmeleon. Male.

She squinted as much as she could, trying to see a bit clearer.

She failed at doing so.

Andy was falling deeper into the water. He felt the pain so much; and it hurt so much. It was enough to knock him out right there, and in seconds, he shut his eyes.

Beside him was the Charmeleon. At point of impact, he was simply…dead. His tail had lit off, and since he was technically a full blown Charmeleon now, what happens when their tails go out?

Andy was sinking. It did not take long before some webbed fingers went around his armpits and pulled him up.

He was dragged to the surface. The Charmeleon girl saw that a Golduck had saved him. The Golduck looked up, and seemed pretty surprised in wide eye fashion. He swam as fast as his body could allow him to. He barely reached the surface of the sandy dirt, throwing Andy next to the Charmeleon girl, when a large train cart crashed right into the water. Screams emitted from inside the cart.

Well, that was going to be a couple of trips back and forth to save everyone in the cart for the Golduck.

And then the Charmeleon girl felt the pain she should have felt when she had landed, and screamed in agony.

Everything had been passing by so fast, that no one could comprehend what had happened as of yet. Even seconds after they crashed. It was not until the deep sticky mud began to pour inside through the windows did they realize their situation.

And so was the situation on the train that had fallen upon the swamp area. The train was sinking into the mud now. It did not take an idiot to know that if they stayed there any longer, than they would be locked in a tomb.

Everyone was reaching for the exit. It was the only opening at the back of the cart; the half of the cart that was not stuck in the mud.

Everyone was piling up at that area, and jumping out into the mud. In their hurry, it's the ones that had jumped out to freedom first that had to pay the price. The ones to follow jumped out too, falling on top of the first ones out, and drowning them in the mud. And guess what? For some extraordinarily strange reason, they could not breathe under the mud!

Meanwhile, Brett ended up getting stuck on a seat. It did not help when everyone else passed him, not wanted to help him and just wanting to escape. It also did not help when they stepped on him.

He cried out each time they did, and cried for help when the mud began to rise closer to him.

By now, almost everyone was out of the cart. The last person turned to Brett, as if thinking for a moment. It did not take long for the kid to do something. He came to Brett and looked for the back side of his scythes. Then, he pulled.

"Come on…" he said, tears forming in his eyes. It was not from the pain from the blades, but from the pain that had happened to him when he was tossed around in the train. Finally, Brett was free, and he got out of the way by jumping the seats. He was now at the exit.

He saw everybody out there, on the mud, swimming (or at least trying). They all looked very helpless; they were struggling. The kid came up to Brett, worried about what to do. He looked about 11.

"Are you gonna…help me?" he asked.

Brett was not sure what to say. He was a 10 year old; how could he help?

Then again, it was hard for the kid to tell. To him, he saw a Scyther. Sure, he knew that the Scyther was a human, but he was unsure of how old he was.

Brett moved only his eyeballs, from left to right, trying to comprehend it all. And after awhile, he did not know why, but he answered to the kid. "Yeah."

He brought his scythe down, close to the kid. "Hold on."

The kid did not hesitate, and tried his best to hold onto the scythe without cutting himself. "How are you going to do this?" he asked.

"I—trust me."

Brett readied himself, starting his wings up. He could not believe it; never had he felt his wings act so…real before. He felt the flutter on his back, and even felt the wind push. To him, it actually felt really…good.

He blinked out of his trance, and quickly, threw his body forward. He tried his best to keep a good hold on the kid without cutting him, but he was being dragged down by the weight and flight. Now it just felt too real, and he believed he was actually getting…fatigue.

He landed on soft, wet land. He was grateful that there was no mud.

As he landed, he dropped the kid and fell face first to the ground. It felt so wet. Slightly uncomfortable to his body, but he felt it.

He picked himself up with this knowledge, looking at his arms and their scythes.

"Are you okay?" asked the kid when he got up.

Brett could not answer at the moment. He thought that he should try something now. So, he felt hungry…

He had been carrying some berries with him. He knew that. He was sure of it. But, as he tried to open his inventory as he always had, he failed. Nothing was coming up. No inventory was opening before his eyes.

"Oh my god!" he yelled, falling back. And he felt that too.

Brett felt, as unrealistic as the species was, that he had become a real, breathing and biologically live Scyther.

For the most part, Jerry felt dead. He felt too pained to move. And he did not want to move, afraid that it would bring forth more pain.

Unfortunately, he was not allowed to stay put for much longer. Someone, blurred to Jerry, came up to him, and began to pull him. It hurt like, well, hell.

Deciding not o have this pain stay with him, he agreed to go along with whoever this person was. It was definitely a much better move than being dragged along.

His vision was coming back as he was brought out to the light. Actually, there was hardly any light. Most of it was blocked from seeping in by trees.

And then the first thing that had happened once he stepped outside; a man, possibly 19 maybe, tossed Jerry to some girl around his own age. She placed him on the floor, and now Jerry was happy. He could didn't have to move anymore.

"Is he okay?"

The voice had come directly above him. His vision came fully together at once, and he saw a Sneasel staring down at him. He blinked once, twice, thrice. Yeah, it was a Sneasel. And it was staring down at him. And he felt the breath of it too.

"Wha—," Jerry began. He took some notes on the Sneasel as fast as he could. Big notice; blood on the right cheek. A heck of a lot of it. Wasn't the game like, PG-ish?

"Taron, give him some room," said the girl he pushed him away. She too was covered in some blood, but not as much as the, as Jerry now noticed, most of the Sneasel's right side.

He looked around where he lay, and found that there was quite a bit of chaos. He even saw some people trying to climb down the freakishly large trees, as well as Pokémon either climbing down or helping the others climb down.

"What's go—where's Irene?"


Jerry sat up, shaking his head. There was some pain on his side. He looked for a moment, as if scared and unsure of the feeling he felt. I'll live.

He stood.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," the girl tried saying, but Jerry turned the other way and looked around.

"Irene?" he called out. There was no response. He saw just a few feet, there was a dead body of some kid, a 13 year old maybe. A kid. A Quilava was right beside him, tears in his or her eyes. He could not tell the gender.

But it was not the Quilava that had gotten his attention; it was the kid. The kid that was dead.

That was not a good sight for anybody. Not anybody that had joined in the game they were in. Jerry knew that he felt pain. It was really pretty impossible to feel pain in the game, so why was he feeling the pain?

This led him to believe something. Could he die? That kid was dead; could he die like that kid?

This struck him very quickly, and the fact that Irene could be dead too hit him. "Irene?!" he called out, moving about.

"Taron, go help someone else," said the girl, watery eyes showing.

Taron submitted to this, and turned around, looking for somewhere to be helpful. There plenty of places he could help. He had to decide where to start.

This could very easily be decided. Just pick somebody to help and get on with it. But he could not do this; he had to pick carefully. For one thing, he had claws. And they were very sharp. He could seriously hurt someone, as he had tried moments before.

Normally, the sight he, or anyone else would see, would cause the person to go to insane shock. But he did not. This was not the only game he played online; he placed several shooters, horrors, slashers, smashers, it went on. Seeing a lot of blood was not a problem. But this time, he was having trouble on how to react to what he had done.

He had tried to help as soon as he was out of the cart. He ended up killing a person, on accident. He could not control his powerful claws that caused a slash. They were now a part of him.

He stared at them for quite awhile. He said nothing. There was blood on them. He closed his eyes. Silently, he whispered words only audible to himself. "Fuck…"

He kept his mind on this; on how the blood had spilled. And then he clenched his fists. He felt that. He closed his eyes, tightly. He felt that. He opened his eyes again, then looked at his feet. Clawed. He moved what used to be toes. He felt that. Experimentally, he reached with one hand to his other arm. He winced when he scratched himself. There was pain. And there was blood. Of course, he felt this.

He closed his eyes again. He was not about to let the fact that he might have just killed someone stay fresh in his mind. But it would not go. So, silently and inaudibly, he said again, "Fuck," with just a bit more guilt. Enough for a short tear.

He wiped it away, and looked around again. He was not about to kill anyone. At least, he hoped so.

Slowly, Taron took his first step, now fully understanding the complete situation of what was going on. And now understanding the fact that he was not human anymore.