Moonfall

TW: Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence/Gore

The nameless man pulled on the last piece of his armor five hours before the red moon rose. The sun was not yet below the horizon, throwing vibrant shades of violet, pink, and especially red across the sky like an omen of what was to come. Oni Mountain loomed over them as always, casting the village into premature shadow. The sun had not yet set, but Kitikami was silent, as it always was on the nights when the red moon shone.

The man strapped the last bracer into place with uncommon force, as if to dismiss the thought. Mienshao cast a glance in his direction, pausing in her slow, graceful maneuvers. She was the only one present in the house at the moment; the others would be outside, preparing in their own ways. She did not need as much space as they did, and he knew she wanted to keep an eye on him. She had no need for such worry. Tonight, everything they had worked for came to fruition. Tonight, it all ended, in one way or another.

With the last piece of his armor fixed in place he stood. Mienshao made room for him without a sound, and he fell into the familiar slow motions she’d taught him long ago, loosening muscles, steadying his thoughts, and settling his mind to focus on the task ahead. It was not difficult; some part of him had focused on nothing else ever since that day so many years ago. All he had to do was bring it to the surface.

Man and Pokémon moved together, almost one entity in how well they matched one another. A traitorous part of himself, one that he’d tried to crush for many years but hadn’t quite succeeded, wished that they could stay like this forever. In this moment in which the past and future did not matter, just soft, silent companionship, a bond that went deeper than words or gestures could express.

The man broke off the stretches and stood stock still, turning to face the window. Mienshao flowed into a final stance before turning to face the window as well, though he knew if he turned her eyes would be on him, not the tiered fields visible out of the slit of a window. No, he could not remain, no matter how that traitorous part of his mind whispered that he should. The rest of him screamed that he had taken too long as it was. The night had come, the time had come. He had done too much, sacrificed too much, to leave his quest behind now.

He cast one last glance around the room, shadows growing as the sun gave a last gasp of light before sliding behind the horizon, eyes sweeping over his meager belongings to make sure nothing was forgotten. There was little to check; this place had not been a home, merely a place to prepare before the hunt commenced. He turned and opened the door, stepping outside without looking back, Mienshao only a step behind him.

His other companions turned to face him as he emerged, their own stretches stilling. Eyes of many different colors and shapes found him, some looking down, some looking up. He turned first to his oldest companion, closest to the door. She never could leave him alone for long. The great Serperior’s emerald eyes carried the same fire he felt inside, and the same ice. She alone knew exactly what they would face, as he did. She knew, yet she followed anyway, as she always had, as she always would. Even be they only two, she would be at his side for this last great hunt.

He turned and walked out to the street, Serperior falling in next to him without prompting. Mienshao followed next, never more than a foot behind. A shadow fell over the man as Grimmsnarl took up position at his other side, the thick hair covering his body twitching a thousand diferent directions in his excitement. No dire warnings or the aura of fear that hung over the land like a cloud could block his excitement for the coming battle. A smile tried to tug at the man’s lips as he looked up to see the hunger in the dark-type’s eyes, but he suppressed it.

A chill and a haunting laugh, a smile he could feel more than see, let him know Banette was in his shadow. A feeling of satisfaction, of anticipation, the knowledge of a promise kept, and that he must keep in turn. Vengeance, their shared desire, would be fulfilled at least in part tonight. If they survived this night’s hunt, he would fulfill his end of the bargain and help Banette find its vengeance next.

No others joined their group, but the man was not worried. They would find him later, further on the path. For now, he walked from his house to the end of the village, where the wilds waited. He passed house after house with boarded windows and barred doors, no lights visible anywhere. They passed no others on the street, despite the relatively early hour. None would dare leave their homes tonight. In truth, he doubted many remained in the village; any who could afford to do so fled during these nights, and many who could not did so anyway. Only those who had nowhere else to go and no money or supplies to attempt a journey would stay in Mossui when the red moon rose.

In a way he resented their ability to leave, their knowledge of what was coming. He hadn’t had that. Nowadays the red moon was predictable; scientists would spread word of the “rare lunar event,” touting the lunar eclipse as a beautiful wonder. Perhaps it was, elsewhere. He could acknowledge that in other places, the blood moon meant little. Even so, his colleagues had quickly learned to never mention it around him, even if they didn’t know why. He’d only seen the red moon twice during his nearly two decades away from this land, and each time he’d drunk himself into a stupor to avoid the memories it summoned.

He looked to the side, at a house no one currently lived in. It still bore boarded up windows on the half that still stood. The other half was nothing but shattered wood and broken stone, rot slowly eating away at the exposed timbers. He almost fancied he could smell the blood of those who had died within. He hadn’t been here when this place had last suffered the Beast’s wrath.

He was here now. No longer would the people of Kitikami need to fear the red moon.

No longer would he fall into memory every time he looked up and watched the uncaring moon shine down.

Serperior’s long tail flicked by his ear, and he returned his eyes to the road ahead. The sun was truly gone now, shadows deepening as they passed the last of the houses in the village, following the road over the bridge into the wilds. They had a long way to go before they reached their destination. The man stepped off the dirt path that led towards the ancient Kitikami Hall and the path up Oni Mountain. The people of the village might fear the ogre, but the man knew Kitikami held worse monsters than the one who occupied the mountain caves. He had a different destination this night.

They walked for a time in silence. His companions knew how to move without making a sound, though they did not use that knowledge this night. There was no need. The silence around them was unnatural, pressing down like gravity upon unbowed shoulders, suppressing the normal night sounds. Even the river was silent as they approached, the usual murmur less than a whisper in their ears. The man could feel the wet and the cold as he stepped in, wading across the river with sure steps, but even that sensation felt muffled somehow.

There was no sound to accompany the splash of something emerging from the water as they forded the river, but the man didn’t need it. The flash of blue and yellow out of the corner of his eye let him know Clawitzer had joined them. He did not look around for his friend; he would already be gone, positioning himself somewhere high where he could always keep an eye on them. Clawitzer didn’t like getting close to his enemies.

The group continued, emerging from the river and skirting around the edge of the Fellhorn Gorge. It was a long, difficult walk, but they had tackled worse terrain. The man could not help but remember the rocky mountains of Sinnoh’s southern territories. Fellhorn Gorge, and even Oni Mountain, could not compare to those treacherous slopes, even if they didn’t hold a candle to the great jewel that was Coronet itself. He wouldn’t know. His force had not pierced Sinnoh proper before the National League rallied and the Ministers called for retreat. Cowards, but he had found the challenges he needed while working for them. He almost smiled, imagining their rage when he did not return to Unova as ordered. Masters were always in short supply, and with the National League knocking at their door they wouldn’t appreciate his disappearing act.

Let them rage. His quest, his homeland, came first, and it was finally time to end his long quest. All his travels, his companions gained, his pain and sorrows, the pain he’d inflicted on others, the blood on his hands. All of it was to fulfill his quest, his vengeance.

The moon was high in the sky by the time they passed Fellhorn Gorge, the stars hidden behind its white glow. He kept glancing at it, even though he knew it would not stain red for some time yet. They still had time.

He could feel the tremors in the ground made by heavy feet and the sharp drop in temperature long before the final team member joined them. Well, not the final. His fingers brushed the single occupied Pokéball sitting on his belt as a towering shadow lumbered up to the group, falling in at the back with only a tail flick to greet them. Baxcalibur was never very expressive, but the man could see the way the silver moonlight glinted off the great axe-spine on the dragon’s back, freshly sharpened. His newest companion, discovered on a frigid mountaintop deep within the conquered territories, was as eager to see their task complete as the others.

Their group was finally complete, and just in time. They’d passed through the short stretch of hills between the gorge and their destination, and the moon was nearly at its apex. Time was short. He could see the too-tall, too-still trees that marked their destination if he strained his eyes to see through the darkness.

The man stopped, staring out at the not-so-distant trees. His Pokémon, his team, his partners in vengeance, his family, huddled around him, closing ranks instinctually. He turned to face them. Their scars stood out to him under the moonlight, marks of all they’d done, all they’d fought for and all they’d sacrificed to be here now. But were they ready?

He looked at the muscles they’d earned from years of training and fighting, the scars they’d earned in battles that should have killed them many times over, the bared fangs and the bright eyes, the twitching shadows and the sharp claws. He felt power of many forms fall over him like a blanket, a familiar, comforting weight that heralded pain and terror to their enemies. He could already see the coating of red they’d wear before the night was done.

Almost. They were almost ready. He tapped the release on the final Pokéball at his belt and a round blue form materialized in a flash of red light. Wobbuffet, their secret weapon, opened his eyes, skin shining like a mirror under the moonlight for a brief second. Now they were ready.

Was he?

The man looked down at himself. At the armor, flexible yet protective, but not enough to block a Pokémon’s dedicated attack. At the knives, bombs, sprays, poisons and more that were clipped to his belt. For the most part useless against his quarry. At his own muscles, his own scars. The two fingers on his left hand that were webbed pink and useless, seared away by dragonfire. He felt at his side, feeling the scar as wide as his palm that crossed his stomach and side below the fabric, older than any other that crossed his flesh. He searched his own feelings, the ice and fire of memory and vengeance that drove him. That had driven him since a red moon rose on this land almost thirty years ago.

He looked up at his team and spoke for the first time since the sun had risen that morning. “We’re ready.”

He turned and strode into the Timeless Woods. His family followed.

The moon began to take on a yellowish cast as they entered. Not yet the full eclipse, but soon.

The Timeless Woods lived up to their name. Elsewhere on this night all was silent; here nothing moved. No breeze made the trees creak or the leaves shiver, no bush swayed, no twig snapped. The leaves under their feet did not move, as though they walked over stone instead of soft earth and leaf litter. No Pokémon appeared despite the rich bounty of the forest around them. Even the stars above seemed to freeze in place. Soft fog began to appear through gaps in the trees as they walked, but though it grew thicker and obscured more as they continued, it did not move as fog should; it sat over the forest like a blanket, smothering and still.

Without warning, the trees gave way. They stood in a wide clearing, a small pond at the back fed by a silent waterfall. The moonlight bathed the area in soft light, slowly taking on a reddish hue. Fog drifted between the trees but did not enter the clearing. The man took it all in immediately, but only a tiny piece of his mind registered it. The rest was reserved for the Beast that stood, waiting, in the center of the clearing, basking in the moonlight.

It was and wasn’t the monster he remembered tearing into his home when he was barely old enough to form memories. It resembled but was far larger than the strange Ursaring-like beast he’d seen in the far reaches of the Coronet Range, standing taller than the trees as it pushed itself to stand on its hind legs. Its outer layer of gray fur was patchy and scarred, huge chunks ripped away to reveal thicker brown fur underneath. It hunched over like an old man but had muscles that a Slaking would envy hidden under enough fat to protect two Snorlax. Claws as long and thick as his arms tipped all four paws. Red eyes peered at him past shaggy fur. Well, eye. The other was nothing but an empty socket, a scar nearly as wide as the eye socket itself slashed across its face revealing the fate of that eye.

Most, if not all, of this sight was new to him. But he would never forget the red disk set into its forehead, shining with bloody light. The mark spoken of in whispers, the mark of his nightmares. The mark of the ancient Bloodmoon Beast of Kitikami.

He didn’t yell to it or call out a challenge. That was for fools and heroes, for worthy opponents. This was murderous, slavering beast, unworthy of the whispered tales and hushed legends it had spawned. He would treat it as such.

He grabbed one of the cryobombs on his belt, throwing it as his team lurched forward to begin the battle he’d been working towards ever since he’d become a trainer.

The moonlight turned red.

A roar shattered the oppressive silence, so loud the man fell to his knees, a hot wind like the beast’s breath blowing past and making the trees shake. Though that might have also been from the blast as his team unleashed every energy they could throw at the Beast at once.

The Beast shrugged it all off. Enough power to destroy a huge swathe of the forest and the Beast shrugged it off. Its mouth was open in a fanged roar and the mark on its forehead blazed brighter than the lunar eclipse above. Red eyes bled endless rage and it moved faster than anything that large should be able to move, sending Serperior flying with an errant swipe and smashing Baxcalibur into a new crater in the ground, making the entire clearing ripple like waves on a pond. Blood stained its claws already and the man felt himself screaming as he scrambled to his feet, unaware of what, if anything, he was yelling to his team.

His team recovered far faster than he did. Serperior was supposed to restrain the Beast but Grimmsnarl moved to take her place, hair strands reaching as the Beast focused on carving huge gashes into the dazed Baxcalibur. He felt Banette leave his shadow, ready to unleash her worst. Clawitzer was nowhere to be seen but his presence was felt as an endless barrage of Dragon Pulses, Dark Pulses, Ice Beams and blasts of water that could cut through steel appeared from every direction, hammering the Beast whenever it tried to shift focus. Mienshao avoided blows with impossible grace, ducking behind it and hammering blows into specific points all along its back.

The Beast screamed, the sheer force of its rage blasting out like a shockwave under the red moon’s light. It tore off half of Grimmsnarl’s restraining hair as it fell back to all fours again, red mark glowing bright enough to block the man’s view of its body as its maw opened wide. The man’s heart leapt, and he shouted a single name as Baxcalibur rolled away and the rest of his team scattered before the terrible power the Beast brought to bear.

All but one. Wobbuffet leapt from the shadow Banette used to hide him, appearing right in front of the Beast. Mirror Coat, Reflect, Counter, every reflecting move available to him coated Wobbuffet’s blue skin, a combination they’d honed over many years together that could deflect anything. Draco Meteors would wash oL him, Hyper Beams laughable before this perfect defense. The sneaking shadow tendrils of Destiny Bond reaching out for the Beast sealed its fate; if it got past Wobbuffet’s Reflect Shield, Destiny Bond would take it down

Red. Heat. Light. It was all the man could comprehend. He didn’t know how much time passed before he forced his eyes opened (when had they closed?), unable to force down the hiss of pain as burns make themselves known all along his right side. His suit and armor were in tatters, belt hanging by a thread. He looked up, and his heart stuttered.

There was a gap in the trees as wide as a house now, no sign of the former vegetation but a few fires along the edges of the neat hole and glowing coals in the bed of ash that marked the path of the blast. Wobbuffet’s body ias little more than cinders and cooked pieces of flesh, burned beyond all recognition, still standing in the same position as before.

Banette’s unearthly wail broke the shocked silence. Distortion burst from the back of the clearing where she waited, wreathing her in a burning black aura larger than he’d ever seen from the small ghost. Her wail was ice water dripping down his spine, claws scratching at his bones, a scream no mortal being could making searing at his mind as his ghost leapt at the Beast that had murdered their teammate, vengeance given form-

The Beast snorted, whipping out huge claws. They carved through Banette- and hit resistance.

The man’s jaw hung wide open. He stood stock still in the middle of a desperate, bloody battle, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Those claws should have gone right through Banette like a sword through smoke. No ghost could be harmed by something so mundane. But- Banette was speared on the end of claws thicker than a tree branch as though made of flesh and blood. Distortion itself seemed to drip like blood from the places where the claws pierced through. Her attack was – gone. Like it never was. Shadow fleeing before the sun.

The Beast stomped with a free leg, ground heaving like ocean waves to keep the others back as it raised its other paw and swung

Banette wailed, high and clear, the first time he’d ever heard her make audible sound. Her body fell in pieces on the forest floor before vanishing into purple mist. The man knew, deep down, that she would not reform.

He was screaming. His team was screaming. They threw everything they had and more at the Beast as they leapt into battle once more, fury and grief pushing them to heights they’d never reached before. The man threw cryobombs, pyrobombs, poisons and more whenever he saw a chance, though he could barely see the Beast beyond the bodies of his team as they tried desperately to destroy it, beyond their continuous wave of attacks that could destroy a small city. His voice was so close to breaking, his throat like sandpaper and his wounds burning, but the rage in his heart overcame it all. The fire had overcome the ice inside, and it would not be satisfied until the entire forest burned.

The Beast did not make it easy. The ground moved with every bare twitch, acting more like water than dirt as it surged up to trip, block, bury, or batter any one of his team that tried to get close to the Beast. Bloodstained claws tore furrows into flesh, the impossible strength of the rage-filled Beast ripping through all defenses. It did not use the terrible red beam again, but it didn’t need to. Under the light of the red moon, its rage would not, could not, be stopped.

They needed to turn the tide, expose a weakness, do something. The man searched desperately for a plan, for something he can turn to their advantage, anything! He’d felt more secure facing down the armies of the National League than he felt now, fighting the Beast he’d trained to destroy since it killed his-

Clawitzer emerged at the top of a tree twenty feet away from him, the first time he’d seen the team’s sniper since the battle began. A blue eye fixed on him, then turned to face the Beast again. He didn’t strike. What was he waiting for?

A white and purple figure, smooth as a still pond, graceful as the wind, danced around Grimmsnarl and Baxcalibur as they took the brunt of the Beast’s blows. She twisted around Serperior’s lithe form as the serpent tried to restrain the Beast with every plant in the forest and her own body to boot, around its swipes and stomps, around the spikes that burst from the earth. She ducked underneath an errant swing, paw glowing white and burying itself in the Beast’s gut-

The Beast howled as the breath left it and it dropped to one knee. Clawitzer fired, a single, precise shot of water moving so fast the man could barely see it; then the scream as the scar above the Beast’s dead eye opened once again, weeping dark blood.

It looked up, hate flashing in its eye even beyond the red, moon disk in its forehead shining the same color as its blood, and then the red was everything.

When the man managed to get to his feet again, bearing new burns and a huge cut in his arm from falling tree branches, Clawitzer and Mienshao were gone, the trees near where they stood nothing but cinders.

Baxcalibur did not roar or scream as he charged. No dragon’s cry of rage echoed in the night, though the snap-crackle of ice spreading over the earth in a wave made the Beast turn. It was not prepared for hundreds of pounds of dragon to slam into its leg, knocking it off balance for a bare moment. It was even less prepared for the giant axe blade Baxcalibur honed to perfect sharpness tearing through flesh, fat and muscle, freezing blood as it spurted from the deep wound. Burning dragonfire exploded from Baxcalibur’s maw as his terrible blade did its bloody work, leaving long burns on the Beast’s belly and neck. But the Beast was not done yet. Spikes exploded from the ground as it screamed, spearing right through scales that could stop most physical blows in their tracks. The dragon fell without a sound.

Grimmsnarl didn’t waste the opportunity. A bare second after Baxcalibur dropped Grimmsnarl was there, what few hairstrands he had remaining twined around his arms for extra power, pulling on the nearly detached leg with all his strength. Darkness dripped from his open maw and he spart Distortion at the Beast’s eyes. It vanished as soon as it came near the shining red disk in the Beast’s forehead, but it blinded the Beast for a bare moment as he opened the gaping leg wound wider, bone catching the moonlight-

The ground opened up underneath the dark type and Grimmsnarl fell, the Beast’s opening wide to reveal sharp white fangs a moment before it struck and its teeth were stained as red as the rest of its body. Grimmsnarl did not rise, a hole carved through the center of his bulky form.

Only Serperior and her trainer remained.

A pyrobomb hit the Beast square in the eyes and its gaze snapped up, whole body teetering on its weakened leg, huge gash over its eye oozing sheets of blood. A Leaf Storm consumed it, swirling leaves hiding it from view as Serperior barreled forward, desperate to land a final blow

She wouldn’t get there in time. The man moved by instinct, grabbing his last cryobomb in one hand and his near-useless knife in the other, running to the side. He screamed wordlessly as he threw the cryobomb, watching it impact and explode as the Leaf Storm died, the red eye turning towards him as he charged with his knife out-

WHAM.

He couldn’t feel anything anymore. Not the blood trickling down his face, not the burns or the gash that cut nearly to the bone on his left shoulder. Not the three thick claws piercing through his abdomen, holding him up to stare right into the Beast’s red eye. Perhaps the numbness should be a comfort. It was not. He didn’t not know if his distraction worked.

The Beast shifted, and he could see its agony, but also the triumph in its soulless red eye. It glanced to the side and his eyes followed its gaze without meaning to. Ice consumed him as he saw Serperior, spitted on the end of the Beast’s claws just as he was. The great serpent was limp, unmoving, as still as the woods around them, blood coating so much of her that she appeared more red than green, like the forest itself.

He had failed her. They had failed. His eyes started to close as the shadows moved in, a red eye staring at him with satisfaction, maw opening wide in anticipation.

Serperior moved. His final companion, the one he thought dead for his mistakes, whipped her thick green tail around both arms, underneath and around the Beast’s head to cradle it in a mockery of comfort, then squeezed.

A silent roar; the red eye bulged as it gasped for air without success. For a single moment, a single flap of a Vivillon’s wings, it was vulnerable.

The man smiled for the first time in longer than he could truly remember. The knife in his hands whipped forward with nearly supernatural speed, and with a final cry he drove it directly into bleeding gash over the monster’s dead eye.

“For my family, now and before,” he whispered, the knife falling from nerveless fingers.

The Bloodmoon Beast did not roar or thrash as it died. The red faded from its single eye, from the moon on its forehead. Its power vanished from the air, a thick weight dissipating like fog on a sunny morning. It dropped without a sound, never to rise.

The man could feel again, just in time to feel his life fading away. His eyes closed for the last time.

His last sight was the moon above, red fading away to reveal soft silver.

At last.