Resistance
By: Trix
E-mail: q-chan@juno.com
Category: Gen.
Part 2a: Chapter 1

Warning: Kiddies, this is not for you.

Disclaimer: I own only the plot and the theory. And a few characters, who aren't original trainers, thank you. I try very hard to stay away from Mary Sue-ism, but if I slip up, let me know.

Chapter 1

Splitting the heavens jagged bolts of lightening blazed in graceful arcs and forks, the land temporarily gleaming in eerie cerulean light before plunging back into indigo darkness. Thunder rumbled, faint, but not muted by distance. Moisture hung in the air, threatening to fall. Clouds boiled above, a dark, tempest tossed sea of the sky.
The heavy air undisturbed by breeze or wind left their cloaks to drape like empty sacks around them. Auras lit their immediate area with unnatural light. Sword met spearhead with a ringing clang, sparks showering where metal joined metal and parted again. Booted feet pounded the turf, shredding foliage, throwing the sharp, fresh scent into the thick atmosphere.
Energy flaring the length of his blade, Master struck out at Trainer, locked in their wild, savage death dance that spoke with some morbid beauty and grace. Dust rose behind them, thrown up by invisible forces. Maroon auras continued to gleam, accenting muscle and throwing strange shadows upon their faces. Cheekbones seemed angular, nose bridges prominent. Sweat beaded temple, forehead, and cheek alike. Sleeveless cloaks allowed limbs gleamed with the sheen of perspiration to move much more freely, the trailing cloth hampering neither.
Dark eyes betraying no emotion, Goliath spun the steel shaft of his spear effortlessly, allowing it to dance across his fingers, using it as an extension of his arm rather than a mindless weapon. He was rightly named for his large stature, which he used as an advantage in battle, hidden speed and grace leaving his enemies just as he liked them: Dead.
Brushing steel gray hair from deep eyes, Jonathon crouched in a more defensive position. His life was at risk; he was getting old, though he hated to admit it. The young man before him was in his prime and fought as if the very flames of Hell burned in his veins. Smiling grimly, he readied for the next onslaught. He had killed cocky men as young as this one countless times before in protection of life and his title of Strength Master, and he would do so again.
Lightening bloomed through a midnight sky, the blades of grass and leaves standing out in the glow, sharp enough to cut. Thunder roared harshly, much closer now. A wind picking up, stirring hair and cloth alike.
Using light, rather than shadow, Goliath closed in, attacking fully. Parrying the blows with his sword desperately, Jonathon fought back as well he could, a growl building deep in his chest. Snarling, the Trainer thrust upwards, hard. Spearhead catching in the crosstrees, he jerked to one side, sending the broadsword spinning, the brush hiding where it landed.
With the sudden turn of events, it was only a matter of moments until the sharp edge had slashed across his opponent's throat, leaving a long gash in its wake. Stepping back, satisfied, he watched the elder fall forward with a last, strangled cry.
His name was unimportant now. He had failed, and the punishment for such failure was Death. Throwing back his head, Goliath roared his victory to the storm, the first torrents of water breaking free from the clouds.

A crack of thunder causing him to nearly leap from his saddle, Brock Stone settled, grimaced, and pulled the hood of his charcoal gray cloak over his head. Goddess, he had not been expecting that, and he began murmuring something inaudibly, most likely a curse to the rain.
Riding ahead, Ash Ketchum's hood formed a fold between his shoulder blades, and most likely would for the rest of the journey. The Electric Master seemed to be enjoying the waterthough the thought seemed almost alien to the Rock Master. Looking up, a strange smile hovered on Ash's lips, brown eyes reflecting a mirror image of the electricity sizzling overhead. The sluicing rain had already drenched his scruffy black hair, causing it to fall in his eyes. Absently raking it to one side with his fingers, he barely noticed when it resumed its original position.
The pounding of rain nearly drowned out the dull thud of Rapidash hooves on hard packed earth. The thin trail they traveled being rarely used, cutting strait through mountains to the Indigo Plateau. It was the only course they could take if they wished to make it to the Palace in three days, when the League Tournaments would take place. They were being forced to ride in single file, Brock's wife, Elisabeth (or Liz, as she was commonly known), at the lead, Ash's fiancée Anne just behind her on a Flying Type Rapidash whose feathers were dragging across the soil. Ash, himself, two Masters, the Plant Lieutenant, and a Normal brought up the rear. Marie, the only Normal of their small party and Liz's twin, damned the rain for all she was worth, and loud enough for him to hear. From Ash's chuckling, he had caught the string of curses, and found it amusing.
Glad, for once, the children were at the League "Palace", Brock laughed at his sister-in-law's discomfiture.
"C'mon, gel," Anne urged her mare, "C'mon, nearly there."
It was a lie; they had several days of traveling ahead if this Goddess forsaken rain continued. But why lie to the Pokemon carrying you? Continuing at a trot that would soon slow to a walk, they rode the winding path, a steep, rocky incline to the right and a gradual slope to the left. Moss and colored creepers trailed down the rock, water trickling in temporary waterfalls cutting through old tracks in the path. In the glades and valleys, the growth was lush, in shades of green from the near yellow and dirty gray of the willow to the deep emerald of spruce and fir growing higher up, the medium of oak, beech, and rowan between. Tatters of mist wove around the trunks, moving like partially translucent white water, the gleaming trunks of aspen, ash, and sycamore melting into the vapor.
Closing his eyes, Brock allowed his Ground-type Elemental stallion to have free reign, keeping a light grip on the braided leather to prevent it from dragging in the mud. Feeling the Rapidash clamp lightly on its bit in annoyance, he reached forward and patted its roan neck with a gloved hand.
"Yes, I know you don't like the rainneither do I."
"Well, rain is a natural occurrence thatoccurs rather often," Ash called back, "You'd better get used to it."
"Shut up, Ketchum," he tried, without success, to bite back the amusement in his voice. Ash was one of his best friends, though they often traded harsh words.
"I pray to the Goddess you will take your own good advice."
The Lightening Rapidash slowed for a moment, its rider crossing trailing reigns over the saddle. Now with both hands free, Ash began undoing the top clasps of his golden-yellow cloak, a symbol of his position of Electric Master. Putting two fingers to his mouth, he let out a piercing whistle.
Seconds later the undergrowth rattled and a Pikachu bounded from the sparse undergrowth. Shaking itself, it leapt onto the saddle front, shivering. Even after its quick shake, the electric mouse was soaked, yellow fur mud splattered and gray eyes wide with displeasure. Seeing the open collar, it gripped the cloth with stubby, five fingered paws, scaling the material and nestling beneath the waterproof cloak. The Electric Master did not seem to mind the damp fur against his carefully pressed black tunic, redoing the hooks with the exception of the top one.
"There ya go," uncrossing the reigns he jabbed the Rapidash in the sides with his heels, humming a tuneless ditty as if nothing had happened and there was not a very wet Pikachu at his chest.
"What's with the special treatment for the rat?" Brock could not help but comment, one eyebrow raise over squinted eye.
Ash shrugged. "Pikachu was becoming cold and miserablewhich in turn was making me cold and miserable"
"Oh," he understood the Bond. Each True Master held one with at least one of their Pokemon; he carried his with his Onix. The simple Mental Link allowed them to feel, to some extent, any emotion, pain, discomfiture, or pleasure the other experienced. The downside of the situation was at times the Masters could act as a Pokemon would. With Ash and Pikachu's exceptionally strong bond, Brock had silenced Ash when he had been growling without realizing it in the oddest of places, including Council.
At the lead, Liz had turned to the slope. They veered off the path without question, leaning forward to avoid low branches and trying to ignore thin, whippy limbs against their legs. Cursing had begun again, but this time it was Misty, the Water Mistress, and Brock himself.
The open clearing was well worth the scrapes and welts. Trainers in capes that matched their element color flocked around canvas tents and fires crackling beneath make shift shelters.
"Your Rapidash, Master Ash?" a young blonde boy in the yellow cape of an Electric Trainer offered. Dismounting smoothly, he handed the reigns to him and those accompanying him were quick to do the same.
"Ashton Ketchum," Anne sighed, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.
"What?" he shrugged at her disgusted tone, one arm crossed over his chest to hold the lump that was Pikachu up.
She could not hide the faint smile that touched her lips. "Never mind."
"My little sister is just annoyed with you, that's all," Todd, the Flying Master grinned obnoxiously.
"Come, ladies," Ash motioned Anne towards the cerulean tent she shared with Misty. "To your tent?"
"Why, Ash, how brave and noble of you, leading us poor and defenseless women to our tent!" Misty retorted sarcastically, brushing water from the indigo cloak she wore over her jeans and sweatshirt. "We will forever be in your debt, oh kind sir!"
Narrowing his eyes, Ash smirked slightly. "Who ever said I was speaking to you? I was talking to Anne, why would a little hellion like you need an escort?"
"Well, that's the first time someone else was called a hellion and not me," Anne speculated.
"You're just the cute one, unlike Misty," Ash teased.
Ignoring Misty's replying growl, he turned on his heel. Following, Anne tried to move in closer, and he unconsciously distanced himself from her. Brock chuckled, what an unlikely pair, the sweet yet loud Flying Trainer and the moody Electric Master.
"Not an enjoyable outing, eh?" Marie tucked her long russet braid into her soft gray cloak.
"No, most certainly not," Todd, her husband, agreed. He was reluctant to give up his hold on his Flying Rapidash, but released it to the care of a red haired Plant Trainer, patting the brilliant white flank a last time. Brushing one hand through matted, amber dreadlocks, he sighed. The Flying Master had no desire to be on the ground, he wanted the sky. Flying in this weather was suicidehe knew it, but he did not have to like it. "To our tent, dear?"
He held out his arm and she took it, fingers resting in the crook of his elbow, and they sauntered to a sky blue shelter.
Slicking water from the hem of his own hood, Brock turned to the Psychic Mistress. "Shall we be off?"
Nodding, she grasped his hand, their fingers intertwining. "Yes, we have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow, I'm going to need a clear head."
"Well, let's go," Brock fairly pulled Liz to their own tent, eager to be out of the rain and into the dry interior.

The rhythmic pattering of rain -accompanied by a quick electrical shock from Pikachu- awoke Ash early the next morning. Bolting into a sitting position, he swore, loudly, at the electric mouse. When he was finished, he listened to the near silence outside. It was long before dawn yet, and he was the only one, besides sentries posted the previous evening, who was fully awake.
Sighing, he ran his fingers through wild black hair that fell past his shoulders. He was aroused and would not get back to sleep for only the Goddess knew how long.
"Dammit, Pikachu," he glared at the Pokemon that was little more than a shadow against the yellow tent wall. "Why the hell did ya wake me up?"
"Pikapi, pika, pikachu."
"That is not a good enough reason for me."
Holding out one hand, he allowed his golden aura to from around his fingers, raising the visibility in the tent a great deal. He brushed his other hand through his short raven locks, not bothering to use a comb.
Reaching over, he tugged a thick turtleneck from the straps of his pack, slipping it over the sleeveless white undershirt he slept in. Out of habit he moved quickly, though there was no need. Pulling on black leather boots and pulling his jeans of the same color over them, he quickly laced them up and knotted the strings off, tugging fingerless gloves on his hands.
"Well, are you coming outside?" he asked the silent Pokemon.
"Pika," it replied.
"Have it your way, then."
Donning his cloak, a long trench coat with a hood, he did up the lightening bolt clasps that served as buttons but added to the fact that it was the symbol of the Electric Master. He straitened his hood so water wouldn't fall in his face and ducked under the flap and into the dark, starless predawn.
Liquid collected in the folds of cloth around his shoulders. As long as it did not soak through, he wouldn't worry about it. There was a definite bite to the air, not unusual for an early summer morning in this regionbut he could feel the tension. Like thin wires strung to tightly through the air, it hummed in the hushed whisper of the rain.
Something was wrong. He took stock of camp, and everything appeared to be normal, or at least what he could see, which wasn't much. Even with the light of his aura, sheets of rain lowered his visibility more than he deemed safe, or felt comfortable with.
Nerves already aflame screamed. He could barely see the cloaked figure making a beeline for him. Reaching for his hilt, his hand met with empty air. Shit, he had left his sword in the tent. Drawing the only weapon he had, a dirk he had left strapped to his belt, Ash crouched, holding up a slim blade that was somewhere between a long dagger and a short sword.
The thin strip of metal saved him from the fatal downward swing of a large, single bladed battle-axe. Though he felt the burning aura of the Fire Element, he could not tell whose face hid in the shadows of the hood. But he knew when the feel of the aura changed to the deep, throbbing of the Rock Element. Duplica.
But wasn't Duplica dead? He had thought so, but no one else could change their auraand he was very sure from her attacks that she was very much alive.
Duplica rose into the air and both of her booted feet hit his chest. Falling, he made heavy impact with sodden ground, somehow able to keep the leather wrapped hilt in tightly clenched fingers. Very much alive indeed, she crouched on his chest, making breathing difficult, battle-axe pressed against his dirk. The sudden force of her newly gained aura would cause the steel to shatterAsh knew he was going to die.
Taking a desperate gamble that would end in either death or survival, he added pressure to the dirk, pulling his legs up and kneeing the Change Mistress in the mid-back. Grunting, she jerked forward, adding more weight to the handle. If the weapon had been double edged, it would have caught in her ribcage, pity it wasn't. The thought fled him; his blade was broken into small fragments with a piercing crack and scattered across the ground.
Using the speed Electric Masters are renown for, he rammed the pommel of the shattered dirk into her side. Putting his momentum to good use, he kicked out his legs, sliding himself from underneath booted feet. The blade's edge sunk into earth where his head had once been.
Kippering to his feet, he staggered back, breath finally coming raggedly, dirk hilt clenched in a death grip. "Attack!" he screamed hoarsely, seeing other figures moving outside of the range of his aura light. "Attack! We're under attack!"
*********
Sorry, I'll be posting Chapter 1 in three different parts. It's just to darn long.

-Trix