"The wages of sin are death, but by the time taxes are taken out it's just sort of a tired feeling."

Spire clapped his hands together in satisfaction; small clouds of dust springing from his worn brown gloves. “There, 
that ought’ta hold you.” He said, scanning the knots on the girl’s wrists and ankles, which were binding her to a 
barren oak tree. She was nearly in tears but said nothing, partially due to the strip of cloth effectively gagging her.
He sighed as his sense of accomplishment drained away, eyeing the girl with pity. 

“Sorry, darlin’, but this has to be done. As I guess you’d know, I’ve got troubles o’ my own, and I can’t have you 
runnin’ to the police just yet. Hey, it could’ve been worse.” He glanced at his watch, and into the eastern brush. 
“Looks like my work’s done. It’s nearly noon, so someone should come stumbling around in a few hours or so. 
Again, I’m real sorry about this. For your sake, I hope we don’t meet again.” He gathered his things and shouldered 
a cumbersome pack.

“Good luck!” He said finally, turning to the forest with a parting flip of his hand.

“Mffuffuuuh!” the girl yelled after him, struggling futilely against her bindings.

“Bye bye!” He answered merrily.

It wasn’t like he wanted to leave her there, but at least he had left his Warua to guard her from the local predators 
until she was found. Beyond that, he was left with no better choices. It was that, or silence her permanently, and he 
doubted that would be a good way to start off his city experience. It was unnerving that news of his ‘happenings’ 
had traveled to Denvre so fast. But it was, after all, Caliban’s capital and so he could expect no less. He sighed in 
frustration, holding a hand to his temple. Living off the land was not his preferred choice of travel, but with his face 
stamped on every other milk carton, opportunities were thinning at an astounding rate.

“Damn it all, I’m never gonna get a break…” he said, cringing at the bitterness of his own tone. “Not that I deserve 
it…”

As he cleared a sharp hill in the path the familiar bright farmland splayed out before him as a natural patchwork of 
green and brown and gold. Random livestock dotted the countryside, slung with lines of human cables and poles. He 
shielded his eyes from the glaring midday sun and scanned the horizon for any sign of the grand city. Of course it 
wouldn’t be there, but it might make the journey less lonesome.

Maybe it really was time for a lifestyle change. He was almost an adult, now—though he’d been treated as one since 
he could remember—and it was way past when he should have decided what he would be doing for the rest of his 
life. Prison came to mind. When had he begun his downward spiral? 13? 14? It seemed like a blur to him now. He 
couldn’t remember ever having any other sort of lifestyle. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to have one. But then, the past 
didn’t really matter, did it?

He could either carry on to the largest city in the region, in which being caught and packed away would be a very 
real possibility, or head back into the forest and hope he’d come to a village or some other small population. Of 
course, the first snow of winter wouldn’t be far off and who knew how long it would take to reach any sort of 
civilization without a map—let alone one that would take him in? Hypothermia would be another factor in the 
jumbled mess that was his life, though he had never minded the cold much. In fact, he didn’t even feel it anymore…

He considered thoughtfully for a moment.

Hell with this, he thought as he turned his back on his hometown and trudged once more into the forested 
wilderness. Freedom was his top priority, even if it was struggling to survive in the winter woods. 

He didn’t notice the dark shape gliding smoothly over him, and Lazarus didn’t notice the young man treading 
beneath.

Chapter 2 
Compromise: I must conquer my loneliness alone. 

"The doctor can bury his mistakes, but the architect can only advise his client to plant vines."

Conekone Forest Outskirts
Thursday, October 21
11:44 AM

The young tree groaned in protest as the cleaver landed heavily on one of its thicker branches, showering the ground 
with needles. He cursed in his native tongue, shaking himself briskly and sending a ripple through his naturally 
shredded coat. Lazarus quickly gained his bearings, though he was still puzzled. For a brief second it seemed he had 
lost all sense of direction and instinct, as when he was near Yurika, but that was impossible—he had left her in the 
human city. He glanced briefly at one paw, confirming the leather pouch of money dangling from a claw. It seemed 
to be stretching from the seams, a good catch for the midday.

He shrugged off the odd occurrence and sprang from the tree, the force finally toppling the young Spruce with a 
deafening crash.

Miles off in a fit of rage, Yurika grabbed a man by his collar and held him against the wall, biting back an 
animalistic growl. 

Tasuki pushed her away and sprawled clumsily to the floor, “All right, all right! Jeez, Yurika! Take a pill!”

She scowled, before clasping his hand and helping him up.

“You gotta understand—if I tell you, then Hashino’ll kill me. If I don’t, then you’ll do worse! I just—I need some 
time to think!”

“You don’t have time because I don’t have time! They’re after me, not you, so let’s get this over before I have to 
start with some fingers.” She said, cracking her knuckles and glaring fiercely. Despite being nearly midday the room 
was dark, vacant aside from a broken chair in one corner. Aged blue wallpaper showed signs of wear and slight burn 
marks.

“Gyaah! I hate this! You know I would if I could, but what I know won’t help you anyway. Plus…” His voice 
dropped an octave. “They have—you know—Psychics. And ghosts. They could be here, even now.” He gave a 
shudder at the thought.

Yurika finally sighed in defeat, rubbing her temples. “Is that what they said…? Poor baby.”
He made an indignant sound. “Yes, and it’s true. And they’re also saying that you killed Hash—I mean—his son. Is 
it…?”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand. You don’t know what happened, so don’t go off telling people about 
‘big bad Yurika’. They’re liars, and you know that. I don’t know why you bother keeping up this charade…”
“Listen, I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. There’s a guy in Surekki Village that might be able to, though, if you want to 
know.”

“Surekki? I might be heading in that direction. What kind of stuff is he into?”

Tasuki hesitated. “Well, not good stuff, but he’s not afraid of the Hashino family. And he knows a lot—a lot he 
probably shouldn’t. He owns the Sableye Emblem—an inn on the far side of Surekki. He’s always there, just tell 
him I sent you. I’ll call him beforehand and make sure he knows you.”

Yurika scowled. “I guess this means I owe you. I just sent my money west, so you’ll just have to wait.”
“Damn straight you owe me. I’m going to have migraines for weeks.” He said, rubbing his head sorely.

“Get a backbone.”

“You know you love me.”

“Get away from me.”

“I’ll tell him you’ll arrive on, what, Monday?”

“Give me a little credit. I’ll be there by Saturday night.”

“All right,” Tasuki crossed the room in a stride and held the door open, letting a bitter cold zephyr flutter his coat. 
“Sorry, but I have some company on the way. I’ll talk to you when you get there, all right?”
-

She hated the city and it’s constant rush. Unfortunately, her ‘hobby’ prevented Yurika from leaving the big cities 
permanently. And knowing that Hashino resided in one of the towering skyscrapers of the urban area, it felt as if 
someone was always watching from a dark window somewhere.

It really had been an accident, the incident with Hashino’s son. Pissants like that, they just push and push, thriving 
off daddy’s money ‘til he’s finally knocked off and the circle begins again. He deserved what he got; there was no 
doubting that. He just wouldn’t back off… Nevertheless a pang of guilt squirmed into her stomach at the memory, 
gnawing relentlessly.

Ignoring the discomfort, she glanced at her watch.

3:13 PM

The following nights would be difficult, seeing as damn Lazarus would only travel on foot with her at nighttime. 
Perhaps she would spend the rest of the day at an inn, build up her strength for the upcoming journey. The smaller 
villages were a pain to find, especially at night, despite that she’d been to every one in the vicinity at least a few 
times.

Screw Lazarus, rest sounded nice.


…
…Darkness…
…
… A brief feeling of panic, followed by dead calm…
…
…
The sound of her own panting filled was all that filled her senses, a fearful sound of exhaustion and panic. She ran 
with her arms outstretched, tiny branches slapping and cutting into her face, but she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t, or 
she would be shredded into pieces. Her thighs burned painfully, sporting thin grazes and bloody knees. 
I’ve got to keep breathing. It’ll be my worst business mistake if I don’t
. 
She would have giggled at her mental pronouncement, if she could spare the oxygen. Somehow, she doubted her 
brain was getting a sufficient supply anyway. 

She regained her bearings and shot off at a whole new velocity as she heard something crashing through the waist-
high tangle of brush behind her, accompanied by another’s heavy breathing. Oh, God, her second day of training 
and she was going to die. She would be the scraps of bloody clothing and disembodied limbs she only heard about 
on the news. 

The flood of tears came as she remembered her faithful starter who had, just moments before, been silenced forever 
by the monster’s arsenal of knifelike claws. Her only sound now came in coughing sobs for her friend, and for her 
own near demise. 

Her adrenaline seemed to melt from her in a split second, and when she couldn’t take it anymore she simply let 
herself go, barely conscious as she hit the ground and tumbled, halted finally by a Fir tree, facing upward. The 
starry blue sky peeked out from numerous gray clouds, both shades hazy from the night’s thick fog. Though her 
mind was past registering the sight she smiled lightly, finding peace now that her body was at rest. She could feel 
something just at the edge of her grasp. She was on a tether, and just an inch away was her savior—if she could just 
reach it—she could feel it brushing her fingertips, taunting her. It was maddening, she was so close, but she 
couldn’t grasp it. Just a tiny bit further…

Voices and the sounds of a violent battle managed to penetrate her thought process and pique her interest just 
enough to let go of the unreachable form in her own mind. A bright light. A boy’s sharp order. Within the corner of 
her vision a Pokemon appeared. Under normal circumstances she would have recognized it as the ice-type Wargon, 
a powerful second-form starter from her own region, but for now the name was beyond her. 
Her tormentor and predator lay just outside her field of vision, but she could hear it’s violent cries, cries for blood. 
The sound of claws on metal shrieked through the dark woods, but with one bone-cracking thud it was over. Several 
mumbled words, but just beyond comprehension. The heavy sound of boots shook the ground as they neared. 
“Girl? You ‘kay? Sorry, stupid question…” 

A concerned face lowered to her, and dark blue eyes. 

“Gawd, you look terrible. If you can hear me, blink…”

Moron. If I could twitch a muscle, you’d be the one in my position right now. 

The voice sighed. “What’s a cleaver doing ‘round here anyway…?” he asked mostly to himself as he lowered a pack 
heavily to the ground, several twigs snapping underneath. He rummaged for a moment and pulled out an ancient 
cell phone, nearly as big as a brick. Yurika’s sense of rescue all but dissipated. 

“Damn static… Yes, I’m reporting a girl down on route 390. She looks out cold, and her leg’s pretty messed up… 
I’m not sure, I don’t see any Pokeballs… No, none, but she’s breathing… What! I don’t think I can hold them all off, 
I don’t have any third-forms… No, nothing that can carry both of us… Yeah, a few. Okay, thanks.” An audible beep, 
then he stored the relic away with a heavy sigh, replacing it with a thin flare. 

“Listen—sorry, girl, but there’re more of those things coming and I’ve really got to high-tail it. There should be an 
airlift heading this way soon. Hmmm…” He revealed a muddy Pokeball from his pack and studied it carefully. “You 
can have this guy—I already have a dark-type anyway, and if you’re gonna be running around the woods at night 
you’ll need a Pokemon, hon. Maybe we’ll meet again.” He said, brushing his shoulder-length black hair away from 
his eyes. 

He spoke further as he mounted his Wargon, but she had slipped past consciousness even as the flare ignited several 
yards away, illuminating the hundreds of eyes surrounding her and sending thousands of tiny pinpoints of light 
refracting into the wilderness. The boy was gone, he had taken to the sky, and she was alone. 
In the starry void of her mind, she grasped it. 

SLAM!

Yurika nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden noise, her limbs flailing under the bed’s cheap fabric and her 
heart racing. 

“YOU!” A voice returned.

Yurika sat bolt upright, face contorted with fury at the intruder. She was met with the equally angry face of a 
younger boy with messy brown hair and garnet eyes. He seemed slightly familiar.

“Ahh, shi—“

“Shut up! I know you remember me, so give me my money back!”

She lay back down on the bed and threw a pillow over her head. “I thought I told you to bugger off already!” She 
said, slightly muffled. “You’re really pissing me off! I let you off once, so don’t push your luck!”

The boy’s eyes bulged. “Wait, wait, wait—you let me off! On what planet did that happen! You steal from me once, 
then I catch you the second time and you run off with some ‘yes, losses are hard’ crock, and now I’m here to claim 
my stuff! Speaking of, I also want my school ID, my wallet, my working permit—“

“Hang on- before you go off all half-cocked, I don’t have any o’ that stuff. I chucked it in some ally, I never keep 
that stuff. Secondly, I don’t have the money on me. So… leave.”

He blinked.

Yurika continued, undeterred by his slowly clenching fist. “That frikkin’ Holiday Inn guy, I tipped him a twenty so I 
could sleep in peace, and he couldn’t even do that. Wassa time? Almost midnight… Ah, I could’ve had another half-
hour of sleep! Well, I’ll let you off again—lucky boy—and I’ll be shoving off. Kwaa!” She sprang upward as the 
boy’s muddy boot landed directly where her head had been half a second ago. “You’re really pissing me off!”

“No, you are pissing me off! I want my stuff!”

“I just told you, I don’t have it!”

An angry voice resonated from just outside the door, accompanied by the sharp rapping of knuckles on wood, 
“WHAT’S ALL THIS RACKET? IF YA GONNA FIGHT, TAKE IT OUTSIDE!”

We exchanged glances.

“Outside!” The boy yelled.

“Ah, man…”

-

(Thou dost resonate an icy aura of utter dissatisfaction. The evils that be, be. Nothing that remains can be of thy 
relinquishment at this hour.)

“God, why do you talk like that?” Spire yelled in frustration, though more at himself than his Warua, christened 
Leviathan. “Your language is hard ‘nuff without you spouting Shakespeare nonsense!”

(Content ye, I am resolved. But a word, I pray, thinkst thou that these unholy times are of your essence not. Good 
Spire, I bade the rascal who does knock upon your gate two-and-thirty.)

“I will kill you right here and now if you don’t drop this ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude and speak like—like—normal!”
Leviathan towered nearly four feet above Spire’s head, a ponderous reptile, and he was still only on all fours. His 
entire body was plated with several inch-thick sapphire spades of ice, growing steadily smaller as they arched up his 
neck and finally into the quarter-sized scales lining the tip of his nose. The sheer thickness of his hide gave him a 
stalwart and burly appearance in itself, yet his long legs still accomplished a lithe look. His long dragon-like face 
seemed in a fixed expression of haughtiness as several sets of ivory horns snaked horizontally two feet behind him 
and down his long neck, curling at the ends. Gi-normous wings folded at his sides, carved muscle lining every inch 
as was necessary, with such bulk. Intricate symbols of lavender lined his entire body, right down to the spiky spades 
tipping his tail.

(Was ever a man so shrewish…?)

Leviathan never really was good company. Even as a little Wadraug he was unbearable, but at least back then he 
could get the gist of what he was saying. But, like most dragons, he spoke in that illegible boring I-am-GOD way 
that he had about him.

It was nearly midnight and the clouds had dispersed to reveal twinkling stars dotted across the swarthiness of the 
night. So far there had been no sign of human civilization, save a crushed Pepsi can. He had slung his pack onto one 
of Leviathan’s spikes, traveling only in a black muscle shirt and blue jeans despite the frigid air, but he either didn’t 
notice it or didn’t acknowledge it. He had sent Leviathan to fly ahead and try to locate a town, but then couldn’t 
make heads or tails of what he said. The dragon seemed sure of his chosen direction, and Spire didn’t argue with 
him.

“When will we get there?” He asked, arms folded behind his head.

(Thine eyne be bleared with a witness. Be learned in thy patience, Spire, for I am but unworthy, as my cake is dough. 
But yet we must succumb not to the forbidding twilight.)

“Gyahh! SPEAK NORMALLY!”

(I know not where we be.)

Spire paused, jaw hanging open. “We’re… we’re lost?” He stopped sharply on the leaf-littered trail. “We’re lost! I 
thought you knew where you were going!”

“Nothing said have I of our goings.” Leviathan replied as calmly as always, turning his long neck to his 
acquaintance.

“Yes, you did! You said you knew where we were going!”

(……… Thou liest in thy pleads of ignorance to my ways.)

“Well, I understood that! Do you always lie to me or is this just because you’re a hateful, arrogant little prick?”
(As ye be a raving ankle-biter of small mindfulness.)

“OH, YEAH? Well, you’re nothing but a lying, fat headed, fast-talking pissy piece of unworthiness!” Spire said, 
enunciating each syllable with a jab to the warua’s pointed chin.

(Dost thou challenge of me?)

“Damn straight! Bring it on!”

Somehow, a large number of Spire and Leviathan’s conversations end up as so. The latter referred to Spire more as a 
partner rather than ‘trainer’, and often disregarded strict orders as mere suggestions.

He paused, though, and cocked his head thoughtfully as the backpack swung slowly at his side. (Dost thou sense the 
coming of ungodly tidings?)

-

Lazarus froze as the voices halted. Just past the brush he could see the two figures perfectly with his slitted pupils. 
The dragon had most likely sensed his presence—a dark-type was cursed with an easily detected aura. But no 
matter, he could still scrape up a surprise attack. Yurika was late, and he was hungry.

The warua might go down hard, but once he took the trainer out all he had to do was take his prize and outrun it. It 
was midnight, after all, and the cleaver’s powers had peaked. There was no way he could fail. He crouched against 
the tree’s woody surface as the dragon’s eyes passed over him, closing his eyes to prevent any reflective light from 
betraying his position. He hesitated until the whites of the dragon’s eyes were clear.

Then he pounced.



NOTES
Warua
Type: Ice/Dragon
Height: 12 feet (When standing)
Length: 18 feet
Weight: 1434 pounds
Ability: Evangeline- Has the ability to heal itself of most physical attacks.
General Reference: The warua resides in underground caverns or mountains in Caliban and some regions of Kanto. 
The warua does not feed, but as it burrows, its metallic permafrost coat absorbs minerals- it’s only major internal 
organs being the lungs, heart and brain. It is said that the warua is immortal, only to die when it’s icy hide is 
completely shattered, and shows no sign of age other than the thickness of it’s coat. Warua sleeps 12 hours a day 
when left alone and will usually let trainers pass by unscathed, providing it is treated respectfully. It can only take to 
the sky with a large running start, as its body is so heavy.
Caution Rating: 3/10 when encountered peacefully, 8/10 if challenged.
Leviathan’s Skill Rank: 40
END NOTES