Blackbird Fly 
Oh, I’m so ashamed… I have no focus when it comes to fanfiction… see, when I started 
fanfiction, I had three ‘fics in mind before I even started writing, the storylines for: Foolish 
Games, Those Without Wings, and this ‘fic. And that is IT, I swear! No more fics until I finish 
at LEAST ONE! Not even one-shots! (I don’t do those, anyway) So… yes. Oh, I’m also re-doing 
FG… again… so yeah, I AM working on all three ‘fics at the same time, it makes it easier for 
me… Yee. 
PS since this new rating system hurts my brain, let’s just say this ‘fic is PG
PPS, this scene was inspired by the best manga in the history of the world and any other 
planet that may have manga (in my humble opinion), Immortal Rain. God, that’s good 
reading. But there’s, erm, a hot tub scene in volume 2 that you should be warned of… other 
than that, there’s barely even kissing (though I’ve only read up to volume 5… ;), so that’s it. 
Oh yeah, and I don’t own Pokemon or Immortal Rain, but everything else is MINE… 
Enjoy.
Prologue Wish upon a star 
A hot wind blew through Acro, heavy with a clean, acidic stench. Though it was nighttime, it 
hardly differed from the earlier hours in terms of light and dark. The heavens had long been 
blanketed in unflattering, ugly brown clouds, leaning more towards black in the eastern sky. If 
you faced north and put a hand in front of your face so that you could only see peripherally, 
the difference was like night and day.
Wynn Erbane perched precociously, arms folded against her chest, on one of the twisted 
spires of steel, peeking out from a crumbling plate of half-shattered cement, playfully 
teetering in the breeze as her tall frame was rocked by the wind, to the children’s delight. She 
was in no real danger-- in her mind, at least-- but she nevertheless locked her feet in two 
grooves in the shrapnel and waved fervently at the Matron, earning a brief grimace before the 
woman shifted her attention on the priest before her, out of the children’s hearing.
Father Collabell chuckled softly, to Matron’s dissatisfaction, “So, the neutral zone…” she said, 
coughing suggestively.
“Oh, yes,” he smiled. ‘Matron’, as she was only known as, smirked impatiently back. Though 
almost twice his senior, she was still a subordinate, and so kept her temper. Her life was, after 
all, only with the children. The outside meant nothing. It had been dead for years to her, 
ravaged by war. But the children had a chance for a future and, God willing, she was going to 
make sure they made it happen. “We are still out of the fire zone, and there has been no word 
of hostility against Western Acro. Though…” he added, his smile dissolving, “I won’t lie to you, 
the battlefields are inching nearer.”
Matron held her head in frustration, wiry white hair veiling her front, “But I don’t understand, 
there’s nobody here anymore. Just unregistered children and wanderers. Why?”
True to her words, the land around them stretched for miles and miles, filled with nothing but 
the ruins of long-dead cities and civilizations, sometimes the frames of demolished buildings 
jutted out from a twisted mass of steel and iron, some with windows pitted into their sides. An 
occasional scar of earth peered through the rubble, but nothing more than dust or stone, let 
alone any sort of plant life.
He shifted uncomfortably under her pleading gaze, hesitating, “Well, it has been predicted that 
this is where the military and trainer borders will finally meet…”
A gasp escaped her, “you can’t be serious, Collabell! I thought the military wasn’t going to 
fight directly! It’s too risky, their ammunition can’t stand up to that kind of power!”
“They’re out of ammunition, Sister…” he whispered, biting the inside of his lip in hesitation, 
“This might be the last month. They’re going to fire the last of the missiles… then go for an all-
out attack. They’re going to need everyone they can get.” He stated plainly, but averted his 
gaze to his feet.
Matron’s aged eyes widened, “No…”
“They will be here soon.”
“No…” a tear slid down her cheek. She turned from the priest, instead at the children dotting 
the hillside. So young. Some she had known even since the day they had been born. Her 
memories were all that she had in these difficult times. “This isn’t right.”
The priest’s expression remained blank, but his insides twisted uncomfortably under her 
pleading gaze. “I know…” As if something had caught his attention, he turned away and eyed 
the horizon line. “Goodbye, Sister Matron.”
A heavy buzzing noise filled the air almost instantly as a carrier helicopter cleared the hill 
beyond, dropping a few meters as the pilot apparently spotted them. The children gasped in 
awe at the battle-worn machine that was kicking up a fine mist of dust even from several 
hundreds of feet above. The steady thud-thud-thud of the rotors felt like a pulse more than 
anything as it circled several times, landing finally on a clear face of asphalt several hundred 
yards from where Wynn perched. Matron knew that resistance would be meaningless and 
probably only assist in frightening the young further.
Several uniformed men hopped off the plane as if for the thousandth time that day. Even 
Wynn slid uncertainly down off her spire to investigate, shielding her eyes as the continuing 
twirling of the rotors kicked up more grains of dirt and glass.
The men began speaking to the children, though Matron couldn’t hear from such a distance. 
Soon enough, they were being herded into the transport plane. Some looked excited, while 
others were apprehensive, but all gazed at her with bewilderment and confusion. She waved 
tearfully, mumbling comforting words that were left unheard.
The helicopter took off again almost immediately with its burden without much difficulty, 
leaving Matron alone and seemingly lost for actions. Wringing her hands, she watched as the 
machine gained more and more altitude.
The inside of the machine was crowded and loud. Everything vibrated sharply, but the thud-
thud-thud wasn’t as loud as it was from the outside. Wynn pressed her face against the 
browned circular windows, though Matron’s slight figure was nearly lost among the desert of 
rubble and shrapnel below. As she though she saw her wave back, a sudden a flash erupted 
from the west, just bright enough to force her to cover her eyes and gasp. The other children 
crowded against her suddenly, necks craning for a glance.
They breathed in astonishment as tiny pinpricks of light flared brightly, then slowly began to 
lengthen until the ends were tails of some sort, streaking across the sky in an arc. One child, 
Aliyah, if Wynn’s memory served her correctly (but she preferred her solitude and so did not 
bother to learn all of the children’s names), gasped in realization, “shooting stars!”
Another, perhaps old enough to be a teenager, scoffed, “You idiot, those are—“
He was quickly silenced by a glare from one of the military personnel, but Wynn was shocked 
to find that he was only slightly older than she was. The boy turned to Aliyah, smiling kindly, 
“You… you have to make a wish, right?”
“Huh?”
Of course, Aliyah would be hardly old enough to remember stars very well, let alone their 
traditions. Since the sky had been blanketed, which seemed like a lifetime, the stars had 
eventually faded until there was nothing at all left except the muddy skyscape.
The boy drew up a knee, resting his chin against it. His eyes danced with amusement, but the 
rest of him seemed very tired. Wynn wondered briefly if he had a gun. “Whenever you see a 
shooting star, you have to make a wish on it.”
Aliyah’s face broke into a smile, “For anything?”
He nodded. “Anything you want.”
Aliyah closed her eyes, “I wish… I was taller than my brother,” she finally decided.
“I wish I had a million dollars,” another added.
“I wish I could fly to Rainbow Cloud!”
“I wish plants would grow again!”
The brilliant streaks of light eventually cleared the horizon out of the children’s line of view, 
and continued for another good twenty minutes, clearing miles of broken wasteland and the 
shells of old buildings and skyscrapers. Nearing their destination, the satellite-guided missiles 
gently merged into perfect formation, like a flock of birds, but in a straight line. Signs of life 
now dotted the scene such as tiny curling wisps of smoke and small shelters.
Several Pokemon also roamed below, glancing curiously heavenward as the ‘stars’ arced 
downward as creature and human alike erupted in pandemonium, darting uselessly under 
outcropping rubble. The creatures that could fly arose as one, some with their trainers in tow.
The missiles, of course, did not react as they diligently continued their kamikaze course. As a 
single being they continued downward, their triangular tails flattening into a dive.
-Five seconds remaining-
The trainer known as Ramus, about twelve or so and at least three years Wynn’s senior, felt 
his heart rise in terror under the brilliant lights in the sky which gaining tremendous ground 
every moment. He had imagined the scene in his head over and over again in his head with 
feverish worry, occasionally wiping away a stray tear in memory of his father.
-Four seconds remaining-
He twisted around and sprinted to a low outcropping, ducking and dropping into a small pit 
into which he had sleeping when he heard the ruckus. Inside were his treasured, if not meager 
possessions. His eyes darted from side to side, but the splash of pink immediately caught his 
eyes. He shouted at it, ignoring the tight knot at the base of his throat.
-Two seconds remaining-
The bubble gum-colored puddle complied immediately, startled by the boy’s frantic tone. It 
shuddered violently and shifted, stretching like putty to melt around the burrow’s exit, draping 
them in darkness.
-One second remaining-
It enveloped the better part of the hollow and began a chemical transformation. It shed it’s 
pink color in favor of a duller imperfect gray, hardening and thickening until it was nearly 
three feet thick, now the tough substance of an Aggron’s pelt, adding layer upon layer, 
enveloping the terrified young boy who was curled into a fetal position inside, arms shielding 
his head and muttering softly.
The missiles vaporized upon contact, and released a wave of destruction that would mark the 
end of the Blight and the advent of the Nirvana Period, which would in many hundreds years 
come to be known simply as the Armageddon.
o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o
Wow, that was a little dark for me. There’s a 99 percent chance that this will be the only ‘post-
Armageddon’ fic I will write. The rest of the it won’t be as dramatic… maybe some humor… 
This isn’t a one-shot, please review! Well, I don’t have anything else to say here, except sorry 
the chapter was so short… uh… so look for the next chapter! And read Immortal Rain! I have a 
lot of other things to work on, so unless this gets a lot of reviews it will be third priority under 
Those Without Wings and Foolish Games.
ObsidianSpires