Disclaimer: I do not own anything pokémon related in this story. Simple as that.

The majority of these characters are only loosely based on their real-life counterparts. If said counterparts ever make the mistake of reading this, please don't be offended by how I've molded you together. In no way does this reflect my portrayal of you as a person. Thanks boys! ;)

Copyright 2006 ©

Hey everyone! Retired fanfiction writer here. It's been a little over a year since I finished this story, and I thought I should just update this Author's Note. The writing is, admittedly, flawed, but it IS over three years old as of writing those first words. As always, please enjoy my 'fic, and brace yourself for an epic story. Review if you like, fav if that makes it easier!


Chapter one: The Pact

I could feel her eyes scanning my writing, my work, and closed the computer window in a hurry, biting back the urge to ask her to leave me alone in my normal, snappy voice. Everyone wanted a look. They all wanted to read my thoughts. Thoughts that were meant to stay private, but put into magical words that sung to you as you read. I was proud of my work, and only those who understood that would be given the privilege to read it.

Turning around in a flurry of chocolate brown hair, I narrowed my eyes, pursing my lips up at my twin, Jill. "Do you mind? I'm writing." And you aren't worthy to read it. I thought.

She mimicked my expression, twitches of discomfort creeping into the corners of her mouth. "It's your turn."

"Oh." My face fell. I wouldn't be able to write after this. "You done drawing the pictures on Marc and Joe's hands?" Drawing, as in digging a needle under the skin in their palms.

You see Marc, Jill and I are at the peek of our childhood, Jill and I being thirteen, and Marc fourteen. None of us want to believe it, but our childhood is slithering from our fingers like water through a porous sponge. To conserve what little childhood we had left, we decided to make tattoos about the size of a quarter on the center of our left palms. The pictures we agreed Jill would draw was our favorite pokémon back when we watched the show. I didn't like the idea much, but it was Marc who thought it up, and Marc always got his way.

She nodded stiffly, turning her back on me to retrieve a clean needle. I watched Joe, who just wanted in because his older brother was doing it, tying a cloth around his wrist. A tissue, growing red rapidly by the second, was pressed deeply into his hand. The scar wasn't something to conserve his childhood to him; he thought it was a pact to never turn our backs on that stupid show.

And then, Jill returned, face grim, and a dull fear coiled around in my stomach. I didn't want to do this. It was so pointless and extreme. A tattoo? Please. If my Mom ever found out about this...

Before I found out what was happening, an iron grip seized my left wrist, and my hand was slammed painfully into the computer desk. I struggled, looking to the side for any reassurance from my friends, but they had been sent out of the room. Frantic, I attempted to pry the fingers off, only for them to tighten even more. A cold pain sensation tore at the tender flesh of my palm, and a hot liquid gathered, dribbling down my arm.

"Done!" Jill threw my hand in my direction with great relief, blood flecking my face as she did so.

"'the hell's your problem Jill!" I screeched, the door to my room opening a crack as two curious pair of eyes peered through. "You never did that with the other two!"

"Yeah, I did. I led Joe into your room, and Marc into Mom's room. I did you last because you were busy writing." Her voice was awfully calm, considering the fact she just mutilated her own twin's hand. "Besides, it was Marc's idea to sneak up on you..."

"I don't care whose idea it was! Think of what the boys' dad'll say-think of Mom!" My mom had been going through some issues since our older sister stopped sending letter to us from Great Britain. She was considered missing, and never to be found again.

"She won't know if she doesn't find out." Jill said, grimacing when she timidly began to create her own tattoo. "Now clean up the bloody towels."

Puffing out my chest in dignified anger, but much more calm then before, I confiscated the evidence, licking blood from my palm. For once, I was grateful that our carpet was such an ugly dark red. Even when it dried, she wouldn't know the difference.

"Hey Superman," I called to Marc, still picking up the towels. "I could use some help over here."

He shuffled out, dragging his brother by the shirt collar and dropping him on the floor. "Get him to do it." He growled, inspecting his own tattoo, the first to have been made, the first to have ceased bleeding.

"Pick up your own towel!" Joe yelled with a cracking voice not yet developed, glaring into his brother's back which had already started for my room.

"No."

And that was that. No more arguing. He used every trick in the book to win a fight, and was even known to lie for his own personal gain. Marc was the type of friend who got you wondering how you befriended such a deceitful teenager in the first place.

After a few moments of cleaning, rain began to splatter against the windows angrily, trickling down the glass like wet paint. Lightning tiptoed across the overcast skies, and thunder growled threateningly a few miles away. The trees across the street swayed dangerously side to side. The T.V was interrupted from its current show for a special weather bulletin, the weather man murmuring nervous exuses for such an odd climate cange. I looked outside anxiously, wringing the towel in my hand so more redness seeped inside. This wasn't normal weather. It had come so suddenly...

The sound of a motorcycle's engine jostled me roughly from my thoughts, the color draining from my face. That was my mom. She'd be home soon and Marc's stuff was still littered on the floor. We were dead. Just as Joe and Jill looked up at the small Rebel grinding up our driveway in frozen horror, I lunged for Marc's towel, no longer caring about how utterly disgusting it was. Near hysterics, I shoved both my towel and his into the already full washer just as the porch door slammed and my mother walked through the door. This wasn't worth it at all. Screw childhood and all its stupid decisions.

"Leave it to the fcking weather to stop me from having a good time." She said with a snarl in her Boston accent. Her motorcycle was a way to forget about her lost first born; her most prized possession, and only the weather could stop her from doing it. God forbid any grime get on the chrome.

"Mom..?" I said gently, flinching at her intimidating hostile tone. "It's raining really hard outside. I don't think it's safe for the boys to go home. Do you think they could spend the night? Until the storm's over?"

She took off her helmet, shaking the strings of hair from her face and sending droplets of water into the carpet, to join the invisible drops of blood that had long since dried. "I really don't care, just call their dad to tell them. You'd better go get the air mattress in the garage while you can...unless Marc and Joe like sleepin' on the floor."

Meanwhile, farther away than any human could imagine, where another sun bathed its universe in warmth, many a creatures watched the four children slowly drift the land of slumber. They gazed into the translucent orb of darkness and light in awe, some reaching out to stroke it and befuddling the image further than it already was. The air was stale, and the dark cavern had never been touch by sunlight. It was a secret place where the creatures could meet for such an event in iscolated peace.

Something beside the orb chuckled, stroking its sides lovingly as if it were a child. "See how easy it is to change their climate? To use the simple items they invent for our visionary uses? They will not survive the next millennia."

"These beings...are they human?" One inquired, whom had touched the orb they were gazing into before.

"Yes...but such creatures are not blessed with our kind. They are lonely, greedy beasts, gradually destroying their planet. I pity them." The first replied, who seemed to be the conjurer of the glowing sphere.

This was followed by mutters of agreement and an eerie silence. They continued to watch the flashes of lightning, the tossing and turning of the children, and recoiled back in wonder when one of the girls seemed to look them straight in the eye and then look away, dozing.

"Why such an interest in these four? Certainly, they are just humans from a different universe, nothing more." A new voice hesitantly spoke.

"These humans have conjured some sort of ritual...I can barely hear their thoughts, but if I'm not mistaken, we are known by them and they wish to remain loyal to us until their life forces go out." Said the maker of the orb. "Three are unaware of that, however."

"Let me search their future. I'm sure to find something to answer our questions." A timid voice suggested.

"You know the risks of looking beyond fate, Cel." The first voice growled, a trace of alarm in his otherwise monotone voice. His warning, however, had been lost among the sea of voices. All of who approved the younger creature's plot.

The cave fell silent, engulfed in velvety darkness as Cel looked into the future. The only light came from the countless pairs of eyes reflected from the orb, watching with anxiety gnawing at them fiercely.

"…they will break there vows!" Cel's voice said a few moments later, gaining in volume from the mounting panic pacing inside his chest. A pair of eyes traveled toward the small one, though nothing proved that it had moved with its legs.

"How so? Surely you are incorrect!" But its voice was cut off by a horrible scream, of bones shifting, and skin melting away. Its decaying body drooped low to the ground, curled into a tight ball in a desperate attempt to ward off the evil clouding its heart. In response, others began to succumb to it like a deadly illness, each one's once mighty form felled so easily. The cave rang with screams.

"Take a good look at what is happening to our kind." The second voice announced over the crying, ignoring the agony slashing at its insides. "...and when we have all fallen to this torture, remember who it was that caused it." The speaker keeled over and fell, writhing among its watchers not yet affected. It opened one eye, pupil growing small. "They will suffer..."

The same girl looked up at the orb again, sighing, and the image was torn apart by a pathway of claws. It flickered, and, very gradually, faded into nothing. The room was enveloped in eternal night once more.