Never Again

Prologue

Define war. Define it in all of its complexity. It holds the power to obliterate reality and spit out nothing but skeletal structures. It creates monsters, only to destroy them in the next breath. It tears people apart, souls apart, families apart. Its flight or fight. It's kill or be killed. Yet the manifested pain isn't simple or explainable. It's physical, emotional, and mental. It destroys your very core, taking a piece of your humanity with it. It's unforgivable. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth that can never be rid of. It will haunt you forever. The blood. The screaming. The agony. But when does it end? Is it when the last person dies at the hands of another? Is it the first smile breaking through amongst the sea of tears? Is it when a morsel of relief settles in your heart? Or, in reality, is the prospect of a climax just an optimistic dream? Is hope just an illusion we hold onto as to not drive us to complete madness? Can we not stomach the thought of this agony to outlive us?

Ash Ketchum started to believe it may never end.

. . . . . . . . . . 

Ash had long achieved his goal. He could have walked away from that life, unscathed, and satisfied in the knowledge he was one of the few who'd achieved their dream. But he always strived for more, more, more, more, and he made many sacrifices on his pursuit for absolute power. He carried the burden of mistakes on his shoulders, was crippled by it, yet couldn't bare to let it go. The pain reminded him to live.

Ash basked in the glory, relished in the fame, but the unescapable repercussion of power had already dug its claws into those already corrupted. He became their thing to hate most. Their reason to start a movement, fixated on their own delusion of omnipotence. To redefine the world into their own utopia.

Genetic modifications to weaponize the pokemon. Pumped with toxins to ensure absolute compliance. Suppressed empathy and moral compass. They needed cold indifference, a survival advantage to guarantee the winning hand. Afterall, the most corrupted hearts and souls are the winners of this new world. Corruption became a sport, and all their medals were gold.

The Rockets started a war of darkness, believing they could not fail. The light were willing to sacrifice their lives to prove them wrong.

Present Day

Ash felt the heat of his companion's flame sear majority of his left arm in attempts to block a thundering attack connecting with his chest. He winced as the skin bubbled and charred, and he dry heaved as his feet slammed into the uneven earth, his sprint unwavering. He was exhausted. They all were. What should have been a simple mission of retrieving the blueprints of a building the Rockets were rumoured to have invested in, had quickly turned into something none of them had anticipated. Underestimating the danger of the situation meant they essentially went in blind. No detailed maps, no real plan, and seemingly absolutely no idea. Ash's body thrummed with the numerous undeflected attacks that had hit his body full-on. He could feel the sweat trickling down his brow in the same motion as the blood coming from somewhere on his back. With a raise of his hand, Charizard hurled a masked man into the air, the strike exploding in a deep purple wave. He caught sight of red eyes in his peripheral, and no command was needed as the silver of shuriken's struck their intended target. Ash could feel himself weakening dramatically and hauled himself behind the wreckage of a building as the other man retaliated with a snap of his wrist, and his pokemon sent a blazing orange light in his direction. He had mere seconds to compose himself enough for his next move. He took a shaky inhale, his throat rattling with the putrid air.

"Inferno. End it." His voice sounded hoarse, unknown to him, as the blinding attack engulfed the atmosphere and the stranger collapsed in a limp pile of charred clothing. Ash let out the breath he'd been holding, dragging his drained body to his feet. No matter how many times it came to it, no matter the situation, no matter the reason- it never got easier. His muscles screamed with each movement he made. His actions felt sluggish and weary. He was momentarily distracted by his discomfort, and a flash of amber burst into the middle of his chest, knocking all the air from his lungs, and causing him to buckle back to his knees. His insides felt at boiling point, and the sound of his own quickened heartbeat resonated in his head. Another man approached him rapidly, his footsteps crunching from the debris beneath his feet.

Gary had long lost count at how many enemies had met their end by his own command. They all blurred into one obscure image of a memory he never allowed himself to dwell on. He felt at breaking point, his energy near enough non-existent, purely running on his adrenaline alone. He stumbled unwillingly, blinded by the number of attacks illuminating the sky. There was no thinking when it came to these things, your body acted before your brain could even process the extent of the situation. Gary's feet moved, raising his hand and uttering the command that had become common catchphrase that night.

"Blastoise, hydro cannon. Drown these fuckers."

Gary's feet carried him towards the place he'd last heard Ash's voice. They needed to get out of there. Now. They didn't stand a fighting chance. The slash across his forehead was streaming of blood and obscuring his vision. Flash after flash. Block after block. A shuriken flew through the air, striking his right arm. He roared in pain as the blood gushed from the wound; his fingers losing all feeling and movement. He fumbled to catch his now-empty handgun with his other hand and continued sending out attacks blindly. With his feet still moving in rapid succession, a blade skimmed his remaining working arm, and he breathed a string of profanities as the pain radiated from the open lesion. He caught sight of the source of the attacker, and a glimmer of relief swilled within him- despite the misplaced attack.

"Ash! Get everyone the fuck out of here! Now!"

But as the final word left his mouth, his world slowed down. His eyes widened as the roar of protest erupted from his chest. Raw. Animalistic. He watched his best friend engulfed in flames, and a silhouetted, lifeless body fell limp to the floor. He no longer saw the chaos around him, blinded by the need for his feet to get him there faster, faster, faster.

Our need to save the ones we love, is what makes us human. But in war, it is what marches us to the gallows. Gary did not even acknowledge the binds winding their way up his limbs. Nor did he concede when his knees buckled, and his only feasible option was to crawl across the decomposed earth. He fought to the point of suffocation to reach his side. His determination whirred his brain into incoherency. The need for oxygen distorting his tunnelled hellscape.

Three figures, dressed in black, dragged Ash away, and Gary was completely powerless to stop it.