Symbiont || Pokémon Short Story ✓

Chapter One: Deprivation

The embodiment of indifference and stoicism stood on her side of the battlefield, lilac eyes waiting for the doors on the opposite wall to burst open, only to present her with yet another challenger donning the look of utmost superiority. Whoever it was had surpassed thirty-four of the Trainers set to stand in their way, meaning it was only a matter of time before they came knocking.

Anabel grazed the print of her index finger over the familiar surface of the Poké Ball she clutched in her hand. There was no anticipation that came with these battles. To her, all contenders were one and the same, every previous match blending together in her mind.

As if on cue, the large double doors leading into Anabel's room swung inward, filling the otherwise dim space with bright light. Head held high, a boy in his mid-teens strolled in. With freckles dotting his cheeks and his cap hiding much of his untidy hair, the ordinary look of a Trainer wasn't complete without proudly displaying three Poké Balls on his belt. The girl forced a smile onto her face in an attempt to mask her stifling boredom.

"Greetings, my name is Anabel the Salon Maiden and I am in charge of running the Battle Tower here at the Battle Frontier. Since you have made it all this way, I would like to see your talent in its entirety," she recited, the words rolling smoothly off her tongue for the umpteenth time. "What is your name?"

"Arno. I've heard a lot of rumors about your strength, Frontier Brain," the teen replied.

"Rumors tend to be fictitious. Even so, it is not my power that you speak of, but my Pokémon."

"Then I'll just have to defeat them." He then gazed around the chamber, a dubious look on his face that made Anabel raise an eyebrow. "So, where's the referee? I'm ready to start."

  "I have no reason to falsify the outcome, and I prefer to keep my battles private. Is that not to your liking?" She questioned.

That, of course, was only the half-truth. In reality, Anabel had never invested in the thought of a referee presiding over the outcomes of her matches because of how short they tended to be. She saw no reason to hire someone to watch exchanges that lasted for only seconds at a time.

Nevertheless, Arno shook his head. "It's fine. I play by the host's rules." He unclipped one of the devices from his belt. "I hope you don't let me down."

On the contrary, I should be saying that to you.

Anabel proceeded to unleash her chosen partner. A sleek blue and white Latios appeared, letting out an echoing screech. Arno's eyes widened, and for a minute it seemed as if he was frozen stiff. However, he persevered and shakily enlarged his own Poké Ball.

"A Latios..." The adolescent failed to say more, his voice now deprived of its earlier boldness. "No matter, my team will still beat you and conquer the Battle Tower!"

He finally tossed his gadget into the air, revealing a Combusken. Latios glanced back at his Trainer questioningly. She nodded.

"End this."

~~~~~~

As promised, Anabel sent her young opponent packing. Arno hung his head as he returned his last Pokémon. Latios swooped down and came to a stop beside the woman, nuzzling her cheek fondly as she observed the boy gather his things and turn to leave. Just as he was about to exit, Arno, with tears glistening in his eyes, looked over his shoulder at her.

"I'll return once my Pokémon are stronger, then I'll win!" He shouted in a wavering tone.

Anabel didn't respond and simply watched him go. Only when the doors closed did she step away from the battlefield and beckon Latios to follow.