| Combusken POV |
As Rio once said, "This is not daijobu..."
I thought those ugly-looking Pokémon were just naturally... ugly.
But according to rock lady, they're very sick. Oh! Rio also said something like that, didn't he? Something about "Xeno this" and "morpho that" and "we're all gonna die unless we stop licking radioactive sludge." Or whatever. I wasn't paying full attention—I had a sandwich.
Anyway, apparently, the ones with too many teeth and glowing pustules? Yeah. Not normal. Not a new regional form either, which is disappointing. I was hoping they'd at least be edible.
Now they want to send a message out. To the outside world. You know, the outside, where people aren't getting chased by their zombified Wurmple colonies and weird brain tentacle stuff. Problem is, none of the usual ways work.
No PokéNav signal. No flying types willing to cross the mountain. No courier Pidgey dumb enough to fly straight into death fog.
Which means I have to help.
Why me?
Seriously, why me?
I'm just trying to dump my cult, maybe steal a few snacks, and sleep under a gym bench without being declared a prophet. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently, yes. Because now Roxanne is looking at me like I'm the chosen one. Again. Probably because I'm the only one stupid enough to try running through the infected zone without a plan.
...She's right.
I am that stupid.
"What would Rio do..."
He'd definitely shout something that sounds cool, pose dramatically, and wave his hand to destroy all our problems with a giant fire missile made of emotional trauma.
But I'm not Rio.
I don't have a catchphrase. Or style. Or grace. I've got the fire though, loud opinions, and just enough leftover snacks to bribe a Geodude.
So... what would Rio want me to do?
He'd probably say something annoying like "Follow your instincts, Combusken!" while doing backflips off a cliff.
Or worse, he'd look at me all proud and say "I trust you."
Ugh. That smug bastard.
I hate it when he believes in me. Makes it harder to run away.
Fine.
No backflips. No catchphrases. Just one burned-up, unqualified bird about to run a suicide errand across a zombie-infested wasteland.
For the record: I still hate this.
But if it means I can get rid of these cultists and maybe—maybe—get home in one piece... I'll do it.
I'll do the stupid, heroic, probably-on-fire thing.
Because someone's got to.
And apparently, that someone… is me.
"So, all I have to do is make it to the gym in Mauville City?"
"That's what Roxy said."The massive Tyranitar doesn't even blink as she steals my sandwich and eats it in one bite.
I glare. "Why can't your team go?"
"We've got too many to protect here. But you? You're fast, annoying, borderline immune to shame. And your Rotom buddy—once you reach Mauville—you can contact him from there. Only you can make it possible. Just get there. The old man will handle the rest."
How would that even…?
It's probably easy.
I better not ask any questions that would make me look stupid...
...er.
"Right... and do I get some help along the way? Food? Rations? Snacks?"
Tyranitar squints. "You mentioned food three times."
"Potato, tomato. Same thing."
"That's what I meant..." she mutters, staring at me like I'm the real apocalypse.
The next morning, the sun barely peeked over the ruined skyline when Combusken stood at the edge of the settlement, trying to look brave and not completely, soul-crushingly exhausted.
Behind her, her loyal "followers" gathered in solemn silence, forming a line like they were seeing off a hero on a holy quest. Some were crying. One held up a handmade effigy made of charred twigs and burnt feathers. Another waved a shredded sock like a flag. Where they got this stuff, Combusken did not want to know.
"Oh mighty Flamebringer," intoned the Meowth cult-leader-in-spirit, raising his arms to the heavens, "may your path be lit by fire and your enemies turned to ash! Accept this humble offering as a token of our devotion—"
He held up a struggling, terrified Wurmple bound in vines.
Combusken blinked. "...What the hell is that."
"A sacrifice, of course!" Meowth said proudly. "May its essence empower your righteous journey—"
Combusken karate-chopped the vine in half so fast it left afterimages. The Wurmple squealed and launched itself into the grass, flopping wildly down the cracked road like its life depended on it. (Which, to be fair, it did.)
"Do NOT offer me bug sacrifices!"
There was a beat of awkward silence. Then someone in the crowd coughed and muttered, "So... no bugs? Got it."
"Don't sacrifice anything that's alive!"
"Her Highness clearly wants us to offer only the carcasses of our enemies!" declared the overzealous Meowth.
"No dead ones either!"
Another whispered, "What about symbolic bloodletting—"
"NO."
The cultists all bowed in synchrony, murmuring apologies and reverent awe like she'd just handed down divine commandments.
Combusken groaned and stomped off, muttering under her breath.
"Rio's gonna laugh so hard when he finds out about this..."
Behind her, Meowth sighed, eyes full of fervent admiration.
"Truly… The Flamebringer walks a path beyond us mortal's understanding."
( To be continued )
Writing this chapter made me want to invade Poland.
MC: Well... as long as you don't try the same with Russia during the winter.
Do I look stupid to you? We wouldn't forget our coats when we do!