Writing The Elemental Spectrum ~ Finished

I've been struggling a bit lately to maintain interest in this story, unfortunately. There are several problems I've found with it, including the fact that I had to scrap almost the entire plotline, and that it doesn't feel as though the protagonists are really in danger, because they have so many advantages. I took a break from writing this for a while to devote more effort to this round of The Challenge, hosted by @Athena in the Forum Games, which basically has us write a short story.

Well, now I'm back. I decided to pursue this till the end of summer, at which point, if I'm not finished, and I don't want to finish, then I don't finish. I'm projecting there to be somewhere between five and eight more chapters, which I figure I can finish before that point. If not, we'll see.

Without further ado, here's Chapter 25.

Ryan, Froakie in tow, ducked and weaved between the milling masses, trying to find his friends. He hadn’t seen them since the fight began, when they had been forced to split up to find their way back to Professor Sycamore.

A Team Flare Grunt barred Ryan’s way with his Houndour. He grinned and said something Ryan couldn’t make out over the din of the battle. Froakie felled the canine Pokémon with a well-placed Water Pulse, and the Grunt, grin fading, scrambled away.

There!

Through the chaos, Ryan saw Azoth, his white hair looking almost as wild as Professor Sycamore’s, battling a red-haired man Ryan didn’t recognize. Ryan tried to catch a glimpse of their Pokémon as he jostled his way through the crowd, but when Azoth’s arm flared with a violet aura and connected with the man’s crimson-glowing arm, he realized that they weren’t using any.

Azoth had been reluctant to explain things of this nature to Ryan, so he had gone to ask the professor instead, who had told him that people such as Azoth––people with a powerful connection to the World Tree––could harness their own auras for very specific purposes. Azoth, apparently, could use his to battle, almost like a Pokémon could.

Azoth flickered out of view. Ryan was forcibly reminded of Blake, with his mysterious jacket, but his thoughts were drawn back to the battle when Azoth reappeared behind the red-haired man. Azoth thrust his hand, swathed in purple mist, at his opponent.

Another body blocked Ryan’s view. A Team Flare Grunt––not the one he had defeated earlier––held an open Poké Ball, his teeth bared in a snarling rictus.

Order, Ryan thought. How many of these people have I fought already?

Reluctantly, Ryan gestured Froakie to attack the Grunt’s Croagunk. Froakie obliged, aura flaring, and fired off a quick Water Pulse.

The Croagunk rolled out of the way. Ryan commanded Froakie to attack it again. And again. And again. Each time, the small froglike Pokémon narrowly avoided the attack.

“Flame Charge!” came a familiar voice. Ryan turned just in time to see a shape wreathed in a violently red aura collide with Croagunk.

“Ani!” Ryan said.

“Ryan,” Ani said, sparing him a quick glance and a smile before she turned her attention back to the Croagunk, which had come barreling back toward Fennekin with a purple-hued arm.

“Fennekin, Psybeam!” Ani said sharply.

The Grunt seemed to decide he’d rather take his chances elsewhere than risk continuing this fight. He recalled Croagunk, who looked on the verge of collapsing, and dashed off.

“Have you seen Roc?” Ryan asked, looking at Ani.

“No,” she answered. “I was fighting them with Nika, but she got hurt. She told me to go find you and Roc, and then meet her back wherever Professor Sycamore is.”

She turned to run off again, obviously expecting Ryan to follow, but Ryan grabbed her arm.

“Ani, do you know what’s going on?” he asked seriously. “Everyone was saying the fight was supposed to happen at the Pokémon League. Why is Team Flare here?”

“I don’t know,” she said, biting her lip. Ryan realized she was terrified. “That’s Xerosic,” ––she indicated the man with the red hair–– “but Nika told me not to go anywhere near him. Apparently he was Lysandre’s right-hand man in the old days.”

“He’s the one Fylon and Arin were supposed to go check on?” Ryan asked, trying to calm Ani.

“Yeah,” she said. “They said he was still locked up, but he’s obviously not now.”

“So Lysandre must have sent a hundred or so Grunts to help Xerosic assault the Tree,” Ryan said, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place.

“So it would seem,” Ani said grimly. “Come on, let’s go find Roc.”

*

Roc, as it turned out, had been assisting the professor in tending to the wounded. There were too many of them.

“Such destruction,” Ani murmured. Ryan privately agreed, feeling too sickened to say anything.

“We’ll make them pay,” Roc said tonelessly, as if he had already had to convince himself of this.

“It’s imperative that you three stay out of the fight,” Professor Sycamore said, striding over to them, wiping his hands on his lab coat.

Ryan nodded mutely. He wanted nothing more to strike back at Team Flare for what they had done, but now was not the time.

There was a soft whistling sound, followed mere instants later by a deafening crack. Ryan turned and saw a shower of sparks sent into the air by a burning tree branch. It seemed as though it had fallen from the tree overhead. But … how?

Ryan searched the horizon until he saw a pair of Team Flare Grunts. They held bows almost as tall as they were, and they fired flaming arrows at the tree. Most bounced off, falling harmlessly to the earth. A few stuck, however. And that was all that was needed.

The tree burst into a blazing bonfire, sending sparks and embers cascading down over the wounded with every crack of wood.

“Froakie, Water Pulse!” Ryan yelled, anger blazing almost as hot as the fire. Froakie’s aura flared, and it sent a jet of water at the burning tree.

It was only seconds before Ryan realized it would be no good. The blaze had already grown too big.

“Professor,” he shouted, “I’m going to find Azoth! We can’t put out the fire without him!”

“Ryan, no!” Professor Sycamore almost screamed. “I will not have you die!

“I’m sorry, professor,” Ryan said. Then he turned and dashed off, back through the crowd, and did not look back.

*

When Ryan found Azoth, he was still grappling against Xerosic, each trying to get in a lucky blow with their aura-imbued arms. Ryan could have sworn he saw the flash of a glowing auric blade in there somewhere.

“My lord! Azoth!” he cried, trying to get the king’s attention without getting too close to the battle. Fortunately, Azoth seemed to hear him.

“What do you want, lad!” Azoth said, not looking at Ryan, but keeping his utmost attention on the fight.

“Sir, there’s a burning tree––it’s over the wounded––” Ryan began.

Without hesitation, Azoth turned from Xerosic, avoiding a swing, and grabbed Ryan’s arm. Ryan abruptly felt a lurching sensation.

Flicker.

He stumbled forward, opening eyes he hadn’t realized were closed. He was back with Professor Sycamore, Ani, and Roc, except now Azoth was there, too.

Was that … is that how it feels to Azoth when he disappears? Ryan thought.

It seemed that in the time he had been gone, the professor had managed to douse most of the blaze. Nika had found her way back, and now lay on the ground next to the wounded, breathing heavily, her arm in a cast.

The professor weaved through the many herbalists and doctors tending to the wounded, until he stood face-to-face with Ryan.

“Ryan,” he said, evidently struggling to keep his temper in check, “that was the most reckless thing I’ve ever seen. How dare you just run off like that! Do you have any idea what could have happened to you!”

They weren’t questions. Nevertheless, Ryan answered wordlessly by gesturing to the king.

“Azoth,” Professor Sycamore said, turning to the king and inclining his head slightly, “thank you for coming. I assure you, however, we had it all under control.”

“Of course, Augustine,” Azoth said, “but considering the wounded––”

Another crack sounded, even more thunderous than the first. Ryan looked up to see the upper half of the tree itself toppling, falling over and hurtling as if time had been slowed down toward the wounded.

Azoth raised a hand, palm facing the tree. His aura exploded into a fiery violet brilliance as he called the wind. It whipped around, streaked through with purple mist, and surrounded the falling tree. Eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration, Azoth moved his hands as if in a trance. The tree slowly moved in midair, supported by the power of his aura.

Azoth maneuvered the tree away from the wounded, and then opened his eyes, extinguishing his aura and allowing the tree to crash to the ground a safe distance from the group.

“Go,” he said. “Continue tending to the wounded. We cannot afford casualties if we are to––”

Ryan had turned to leave, but he heard a sharp intake of breath from Azoth. Whirling around, he saw a glowing crimson blade piercing Azoth’s upper torso.

The king’s eyes glazed over, and he fell to his knees. “Order …” he whispered.

Ryan looked up from Azoth’s limp body to see Xerosic, holding the crimson blade in both hands. The red-haired man looked Ryan directly in the eyes and seemed about to attack, but then he abruptly turned and fled.

Ryan numbly heard a shriek from Ani, and a gasp from Professor Sycamore. They both rushed to Azoth’s side, but Ryan barely noticed. He watched Xerosic retreat amid many, many more burning trees, and felt a rage boil inside him. He wanted nothing more at that moment to fight Xerosic, to attack him and make him pay for all the destruction he had caused.

He started forward, as if to do just that. But he was caught from behind by a massive force. He struggled against his captor for a moment, before realizing it was Roc.

“Roc! Let me go!” he said.

“So you can go and get yourself killed?” Roc said flatly. “No.”

Ryan stopped struggling. “Roc,” he said, breathing heavily. “That man … he killed …”

“Yes, and he’ll kill you, too, if you give him the chance,” Roc said. “Don’t give him the chance, Ryan.”

Ryan hesitated, torn between trying to fight his way free of Roc and listening to his friend’s logic. He knew that he had no hope against Xerosic, but at the moment, he didn’t care.

But he also had to be there at the Pokémon League. If the Spectrum was incomplete … Ryan didn’t want to have to imagine that destruction across all of Kalos.

He sighed. “You’re right.”

Roc appeared very relieved, as if he had been afraid Ryan would try something irrational.

I almost did, Ryan realized. I wanted to avenge …

Azoth!


Ryan rushed to the king’s side. Azoth’s breathing had grown ragged, and he seemed to be in his final moments. Ryan saw the flash of recognition in Azoth’s eyes as he kneeled.

“My king,” Ryan began, his mouth dry. “I … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you come back. It’s … it’s my fault, it’s all my fault …”

“Lad,” Azoth said, his voice still strong despite his weakness. “Ryan … What is the value of a life?”

Ryan was dumbfounded. “A life is priceless,” he whispered, eyes filling with tears.

“Yes,” Azoth said. “And today, you helped me exchange one life for those of everyone in this Tree.” He coughed, and then looked to Professor Sycamore. “Augustine … Xerosic will not be back. He thinks his work is done. Find the queen. Assist her in getting everyone out of the Tree. She will join you at the battle. She has no choice.

“Today, I die. Today, the World Tree dies with me. Tell Kharissan that the Talents are no more. You will have to fight this battle on your own.”

Professor Sycamore nodded, blinking. Ryan realized the professor was on the verge of tears as well.

“Ani …” Azoth began. A coughing spasm wracked his body. He cleared his throat painfully and continued, “History turns to you. I am the oldest living man in Kalos, but today, that will be no more. It will be up to you to record our history. Your history.”

“I will, my king,” Ani said, bowing her head and trying to conceal the fact that she, too, was crying.

“Roc … the world loses a masterful work of art today,” Azoth said. “Keep bringing art to the world. Order knows it needs it.”

Roc only nodded stonily, accepting Azoth’s words. Last, the king turned his head back to Ryan.

“Ryan, Team Flare is strong. It seems if they are this strong already, they have the forces of Life and Death on their side again. This does not bode well, but we have an advantage.”

Ryan looked at Azoth in shock. What could possibly constitute an advantage over the forces of Life and Death themselves?

“I understand you have met my son,” Azoth said. “For eighteen years, he has kept a three-thousand-year-old secret safely hidden.”

Ryan suddenly recalled the filthy prison cell in Team Flare’s laboratories.

“It is because Team Flare thinks I hold some great secret that I am imprisoned, a secret passed down to me from my father,” Zavier said, changing the subject.

“And do you have such a secret?” Ryan asked curiously.

“Yes.”


Azoth closed his eyes, breathing shallowly. Ryan began to fear that the last threads of life would leave the king at that moment. Finally, however, Azoth reopened his eyes.

“After my death,” Azoth said, “Zavier will be the last living person who knows how to summon the Breaker.”

“Order itself …” Professor Sycamore murmured, awestruck.

“Yes,” Azoth said. “I can do no more. I … I am sorry.” He smiled wearily, and Ryan realized they were the same words he himself had said to Azoth mere minutes before.

Azoth’s eyes closed for the final time, and life left him. Ryan knelt with Ani, Roc, and the professor for a moment in silence, in respect for the death of the oldest, most powerful man in Kalos. The king.

Eventually, they rose. “We have work to do,” the professor said briskly. “We will not allow Azoth to die in vain. Ani, help Roc evacuate the wounded. Ryan …” ––he looked searchingly at Ryan, and seemed to come to a conclusion, though what the conclusion was, Ryan couldn’t guess–– “Ryan, you’ll come with me to find the queen.”

“Yes, professor,” Ryan said. Ani and Roc snapped to work as he followed Professor Sycamore through frenzied crowds and burning trees, in search of the queen.

*

Team Flare seemed to have vanished without a trace. Ryan figured this made it much easier to find the queen, but in reality, the queen found them not five minutes after they set out.

“Augustine Sycamore!” she said. “Where have you been? Why has Team Flare retreated? Where is Azoth?”

Ryan drew in a sharp breath.

“My queen,” Professor Sycamore said, struggling for once to find the right words, before apparently realizing there was no easy way to say it. “Azoth … Azoth is dead.”

Queen Valerie stood, her mouth open in shock. Then she drew herself up to her fullest height and said, “If you think this is some sort of joke, Sycamore, I swear––”

“As much as I wish it were, it isn’t a joke, my queen,” the professor said. “With his last words, he told us to find you and tell you that you must help us evacuate the citizens of the Tree. There are wounded, and––”

“By Order,” the queen said softly. “You’re serious. Azoth is truly dead.”

Her face contorted, though whether in grieving or rage, Ryan could not tell. She ignited as much of her aura as she could, pure white mist flaring up around her more brightly than the sun.

She screamed. He aura exploded in dazzling white light. Ryan felt the same lurching he had felt earlier, when Azoth had grabbed his arm, and the world winked out.

Flicker.

Ryan opened his eyes, finding himself in the center of a massive group of people outside the burning World Tree. All the wounded were there, being tended to by Roc and Ani, and many other people Ryan didn’t recognize.

The queen stood before Ryan and the professor, her mouth still open in a soundless scream. Her aura gradually faded, and she closed her mouth.

Kharissan sauntered up to them, flanked on each side by Arin and Fylon. “Queen Valerie,” he said, executing a quick bow.

“Kharissan,” the queen said shortly. “It appears we must join Sycamore and his Spectrum at the Pokémon League. The king is dead. The world’s fate falls to us now.”

If Kharissan was surprised, he did not show it. He merely nodded.

“Kharissan, with his final words, the king told us to tell you something,” Professor Sycamore said. “He said that with his death, so too does the World Tree die. The Talents will be no more.”

Again, Kharissan gave no sign of surprise. “We are truly on our own, then.” He turned to the queen. “My lady, we must make for the Pokémon League with all haste. The Tree still has enough aura left for us to Travel one last time.”

The queen nodded. “I will act as a conduit. You have a Traveller?”

Kharissan gestured toward Fylon, whose face paled. “You mean …”

“Just do what you did before,” Kharissan said, “and the queen will channel your aura.”

Fylon gulped. Ryan had never seen him so nervous. Finally, however, he nodded and closed his eyes. At the same time, the queen’s aura flared to life. And for the third time that day …

Flicker.

So, how to fix the balancing problem?

Once, I read a foreword to a great book by a great author, and he said that there's one thing his editor always tells him. The fabric of the universe needs to be in peril.

The fabric of the universe isn't in peril here. Team Flare has Lysandre, the Scientists, Xerosic, and a few hundred Grunts (who are barely significant except for their numbers). Opposing them are Professor Sycamore, Azoth, Zavier, the Elite Four, and most of the Gym Leaders, not to mention an Elemental Spectrum. That's almost thirty significant characters on the "good guys'" side compared to the six (seven if you count Malva) on the "bad guys" side.

So, what to do?

Here's the thing. I hate to kill off characters. I almost killed off Serena early on, but ended up just letting her get captured instead, because I couldn't bring myself to kill her off.

But I had to kill off someone here. I don't know; maybe there was another way to imperil the fabric of the universe, but I felt like killing off Azoth and destroying the World Tree was one of the best ways I could have gone about it. And this was in my headcanon, if not my plotline, for a while now.

There isn't much else I can say here, except this. Pay attention to the flickers. They're important.
 
Finally came back to reading this, partially for inspiration, partially because I have found time to continue the journey with the Spectrum. I'm really liking how things are travelling so far, and while you said that it appears the Spectrum are not in particular danger, as the reader, I feel like they are. There is apparent looming danger, and the irony is, I don't feel like that Spectrum understands the full extent of this (or rather, is only just discovering this with the destruction of the World Tree and death of Azoth). I think the Spectrum is largely flawed at this point, in that they don't seem to be working together enough, nor have they trained their Pokemon to become powerful enough to put a stop to Team Flare. In fact, in this chapter, the lose of two assets puts more on edge.

Right now, there are three secrets that I'm wanting to discover - the first being the whereabouts of the other gym leaders; the second being what is this big plan of Team Flare's (it appears to be slightly hazy, but that may be because I haven't read for a while); and the third being the relevance of Life, Death and Order to the Spectrum.

As a side note, I would personally love to create a Pokemon Game based on this story using an RPG Maker, because that is how good I think the storyline is, but I do have too many projects for my own good. :p
 
Finally came back to reading this, partially for inspiration, partially because I have found time to continue the journey with the Spectrum. I'm really liking how things are travelling so far, and while you said that it appears the Spectrum are not in particular danger, as the reader, I feel like they are. There is apparent looming danger, and the irony is, I don't feel like that Spectrum understands the full extent of this (or rather, is only just discovering this with the destruction of the World Tree and death of Azoth). I think the Spectrum is largely flawed at this point, in that they don't seem to be working together enough, nor have they trained their Pokemon to become powerful enough to put a stop to Team Flare. In fact, in this chapter, the lose of two assets puts more on edge.
First of all, thanks! It's really nice for me to get a second opinion on the state of the plot. :D

I agree that the Spectrum aren't really all that together, but they still have a distinct numbers advantage over Team Flare. With this, I've noticed, come other problems. It's hard to develop every character when you have a group of eighteen protagonists. :p

Right now, there are three secrets that I'm wanting to discover - the first being the whereabouts of the other gym leaders; the second being what is this big plan of Team Flare's (it appears to be slightly hazy, but that may be because I haven't read for a while); and the third being the relevance of Life, Death and Order to the Spectrum.

*cough*Diantha*cough*Calem*cough* :p

As a side note, I would personally love to create a Pokemon Game based on this story using an RPG Maker, because that is how good I think the storyline is, but I do have too many projects for my own good. :p
That would be incredible! :O
 
The castle loomed high, casting an oppressive shadow over the legions of Team Flare Grunts as they entered the field before the Pokémon League. The sky was in fog––by no means ideal for a battle, Eldan was sure, even given his limited experience. And the rain would certainly ruin his stylish red suit. He had other problems to contend with now, though.

He stood beside Alma at the forefront of Celosia’s battalion. Each Scientist led one, and the leader took charge of a fifth. Bertram and Jarret were also somewhere in Celosia’s battalion, Eldan knew, but with upwards of seventy troops, he hadn’t any idea how to find them. If he couldn’t find them before the battle … No. We’ll all get out of this alive.

The leader strolled forward almost leisurely, fifty paces and more before the Grunts under his command. His Pyroar padded along silently by his side. Once he had drawn within one hundred paces of the castle, he stopped. At a whispered command, Pyroar’s aura––deep red, the color of fire––flared to life.

“Drasna! Wikstrom! Siebold!” the leader said. He did not shout the names, but Pyroar’s aura magnified them so that he might as well have. There could be no doubt that the Elite Four heard him. “You know why I am here. You do not wish to emerge from your impenetrable stronghold, and with good reason.”

Eldan knew, of course, that the leader did not intend to hold a siege. They lacked not only the equipment for an extended fight, but also the supplies. It took a lot to feed an army and their Pokémon.

“However,” the leader continued, “you may wish to reconsider. You see, I have captive one of your number. And I assure you, Serena will not last for more than a few days without care.”

He gestured back toward the army, and Serena, bound and gagged, was thrust forward. She staggered, trying to maintain her balance, but at a shove from one of the administrators, she fell forward with an incoherent shout.

“If you all show yourselves within the hour,” the leader said, “she will come to no harm. One hour, and she will be returned to you. You need only present yourselves outside the castle. One hour.”

Pyroar’s aura faded, and the leader stopped speaking. He turned on his heel and walked back toward the army. Almost at once, however, Eldan heard a rumbling sound, and the gates of the castle began to swing open. From inside came a dazzling light, reflected by countless mirrors lining the entry hall to the castle. Even at several hundred paces, he found it hard to look directly at the gates. Dimly, through peripheral vision, he perceived three silhouetted figures against the glow. They came forward, and the gates closed.

“Lysandre,” the tallest one said in a deep gravelly voice. Now that the glow was gone, Eldan could see an Aegislash by his side, surrounded by a steel-grey nimbus. “Return Serena to us. You will have your battle.”

The leader paused, and Eldan thought that even at this distance, he could see a smile on the leader’s face. Then, turning and pointing at Celosia, the leader said, “We do not break our word. Release her.”

Celosia activated a Poké Ball, releasing Absol. In a second, Serena’s bonds were cut, leaving only a wisp of violet aura behind. Eldan noted that Celosia did not return Absol to his Poké Ball.

Serena struggled to her feet. She took halting steps toward the castle, where the other three awaited, but collapsed after a few moments, the effort proving too much. Raucous, sneering laughter came from the more sadistic of the Grunts.

“Too much, Serena? Need any help?” came the voice of the leader, snide and taunting.

Serena appeared to ignore him, teeth gritted in concentration. She put her hands on the ground as if to heave herself up again, but she trembled and crashed to the ground again.

Eldan broke ranks and went over to where Serena lay on the ground. Dimly, he registered Alma following him unsteadily, as if reluctant to break ranks, but even more reluctant to get too far from Eldan. At the moment, he didn’t care. He knelt beside the fallen member of the Elite Four.

“Grunt!” Celosia snapped. “Get away from her. Do not break ranks!”

“Serena,” he muttered. Her eyes shot open, and she stared at him, though in defiance or fear, he couldn’t tell. “I know you can hear me. Listen, please. If you do not get up now, you will die. The leader is not merciful.” He held out a hand, and Serena grudgingly accepted it.

Eldan waved Alma over, and she supported Serena under one arm. Eldan supported the other, and amid shocked and angry shouts from the battalions of Team Flare, they led her to the rest of the Elite Four. Wikstrom, the tall one with the gravelly voice, looked down at them without expression. Drasna’s face was equally impassive, but Siebold’s betrayed his anger. Once Team Flare, always Team Flare, Eldan thought bitterly.

Wikstrom stooped to pick up Serena, showing scarcely a hint of effort in lifting her. “Run along,” he rumbled. “Go back to your masters.”

Eldan hesitated, wishing he could explain, but then he sighed. He should have expected something like this. Why he broke ranks for Serena, he would never know. He turned and retreated to Celosia’s battalion, Alma in tow. Celosia nodded grimly as they took their places, and Eldan was sure she was trying to decide which punishment would be most fitting for them, once this was all done.

The leader’s voice boomed again, magnified by Pyroar’s aura. “You are reunited once more. I regret that it is only for moments. The time for vengeance, you see, is upon us.” The Elite Four took his words in stony silence. They must have known this was coming. Why did they not try to defend themselves? Why did they not retreat inside the castle? “Ten years ago,” the leader continued, “you took everything from me. I tried to create a perfect future, and you destroyed it. You were revered as heroes––as legends!––by the people of Kalos, but you are no more than cowards. You have barricaded yourselves in your isolation these ten years, but no longer. Now, the world will see you for what you are, and me for what I am. Team Flare will be the heroes of this history. And you … you will not be part of that perfect future.”

A few moments passed. “Are you done yet?” one of the Elite Four asked. Eldan could not tell which, at this distance. The leader visibly bristled at the mocking words, and an uproar ran down the battalions. Eldan couldn’t hear the leader give the command, but he saw him raise an arm, and the troops all surged forward as one.

The air bent in on itself in the space between the Elite Four and the battalions of Team Flare, and was followed by a blinding flash of light and a crash like thunder. When the afterimage cleared from Eldan’s vision, he could see upwards of thirty people standing, facing Team Flare, and every one of them had a Pokémon by their side.

A man in a long white coat, with styled black hair, stood at their head. He took a step forward, mouth set determinedly, and spoke to the leader alone. “You died once, Lysandre. Need it happen again?”

*

Alexa awoke to the deafening sound of thunder. She sat bolt upright on the slate-grey plush couch, and got up tiredly. Almost immediately a wave of dizziness struck her, and she sank back onto the couch. She still wasn’t fully rested from her encounter with the League over a month before.

Now only slightly unsteady, she rose from the couch again, fortunately unaccompanied by vertigo. She slowly made her way over to the window of her small room, and outside, she saw a battlefield.

Legions of men and women wearing bright red crowded behind five leaders. A dim memory surfaced, and Alexa recalled that they were the four Scientists of Team Flare, and the leader himself. Then, the troops behind them were …

Oh no.

*

“Well, that’s certainly something,” Korrina said, adjusting the focus on the spyglass she had borrowed. She knelt on a ledge on the frozen peaks of the Eastern Mountains, looking down at the Pokémon League below. Team Flare had risen again, or so it seemed. And … yes, she could make out Professor Sycamore in the midst of it all.

What?” her companion asked.

“Team Flare’s back,” Korrina said. “Viola was right after all. Come on, we’ve got to go report this to Wulfric and Olympia.”

If you say so,” her companion said. “I still don’t see why you humans get into these fights in the first place.

“Neither do I,” Korrina said. “I don’t think anyone does. Human nature, I guess. Ramos would probably have some reason for it.”

The short blue Pokémon by her side lifted one doglike paw, tilting it side to side. Lucario didn’t actually speak, in the usual sense. Instead, his aura was powerful enough to project his thoughts directly into the mind of those he had formed a close emotional bond with. Korrina didn’t fully understand it––of course, there were a lot of things she didn’t understand. She wished her grandfather were still alive. Gurkinn always knew what to do.

Lucario rose from his reclining position and followed Korrina down the mountain slope. In minutes, they came to the encampment that was the home of about half of Kalos’s Gym Leaders, now. Some, like Viola, usually stayed in or near their Gyms, while others, like Clemont and Valerie, had found other places of residence. After the disaster, though, Olympia and Wulfric had retreated into the mountains near their former homes, carved out a haven, and lived there ever since. Korrina, lacking a better place to go, had found her way to the site after the Tower of Mastery in her hometown of Shalour City was renovated into a prison.

The usual clamor greeted Korrina as she passed through the gates. The bustle of shopkeepers doing what they could to earn a living out here was almost deafening, drowning out any words spoken from more than a few paces away. One and all they were Pokémon Trainers, the last remaining people who did not wish to give up the lives they had led before the disaster at Geosenge Town.

Korrina singled out Wulfric instantly, his bulk making him easy to spot even among the crowds. He was making his way over, wading through the masses, trying to get to Korrina. When he finally managed it, Korrina wasted no time in getting down to business.

“Wulfric,” she said, “Team Flare is back.”

“Order,” he growled, exhaling through his bushy grey beard. “Viola was telling the truth?”

“Why wouldn’t she? I know she’s half mad after all these years, but she’s not against us.”

“Truth,” Wulfric said. “So where are they?”

“At the Pokémon League,” Korrina said. “We need to find Olympia and Ramos and Viola and head there straightaway. We have no time.”

“I’ll find them,” Wulfric rumbled. “You go to the League. Tell them we’re coming.”

“Yes,” Korrina said with a nod. “Just hurry. Team Flare is over three hundred strong. The League can’t hold forever.”

Wulfric nodded. “We’ll be there within the hour.”

With that, he turned to jostle his way back through the crowd, and Korrina turned and sprinted the other way as fast as she could. The sounds of the encampment faded behind her as she and Lucario ran between the frozen peaks, following a rocky path that wound around the slopes.

Abruptly, several feet before them, the path broke off, giving way to a sheer cliff. Without hesitation, Korrina jumped off.
It's been a while since the last Eldan/Alma chapter, and I thought it fitting to put another one here (even if it's not all theirs). The chapter opens up fairly straightforward, with Lysandre using Serena as a bargaining chip to flush the Elite Four out. Then Eldan openly betrays Team Flare for the first time. He takes the initiative this time, instead of Alma.

Not super noteworthy, but Eldan also begins to think of things less in his "stylish" sense as he grows apart from Team Flare. Just a tidbit I thought I'd throw into the notes here.

There's a short viewpoint from Alexa––you didn't think I had forgotten about her, did you? :p She's still at the League after carrying Sycamore's message to "Diantha", who is still mysteriously absent ...

Last viewpoint should clear up one of the big mysteries. Now you all know where the Gym Leaders went.
 
A thick gray fog descended over the plain, mists swirling and condensing. Professor Sycamore could hear thunder, but did not bother looking for the flash of lightning, even though thick raindrops began to dampen his no-longer-pristine lab coat. He had more important things to worry about.

Before him lay the legions of Team Flare, perhaps three or four hundred troops in all. As many uniforms marked them for who they were. At their head stood four figures in similar uniforms, though more elaborate. Professor Sycamore knew them to be the Scientists. He had faced them ten years ago, and would do so again, if it meant the salvation of Kalos.

Maybe one hundred paces before the battalions of Grunts stood a man Professor Sycamore knew all too well. Shock painted the man’s face for a moment, quickly contorting into a snarl.

“Sycamore,” he spat. “I thought you were … dealt with.”

“Was it you who sent Xerosic, Lysandre?” Professor Sycamore asked grimly. The death of Azoth still shook him, but he would not let it show in front of this man.

“What if I told you it wasn’t?” Lysandre said, the ghost of a smile curving his lips. Professor Sycamore noted the abrupt change in his adversary’s mood and wondered, not for the first time, if Lysandre was not mad. “He went to the World Tree on his own, Sycamore. Said he had a score to settle. I admit, I did not stop him.”

Professor Sycamore stood in silence for a moment. No, it did not change anything, knowing that Lysandre was not behind Azoth’s murder. The man still had to be stopped.

He recalled a script he had read in the Archive of the World Tree. Kharissan found it for him after he had asked for all the scripts they possessed on the Prophecies of Order. This particular one had been a partial translation––not word for word, but most of the meaning was the same.

By the light of a candle in the Archive––guarded, of course, to prevent the scripts from catching fire––he had pored over the translation, trying to find anything that might help him bring down Team Flare. He had only found a single verse about a battle. This battle, if he was correct in his assumptions.


As Life and Death are both unmade,
The Stone of Victory the King retakes.
The price of Order must be paid,
For the cost of our mistakes.



He was still clueless as to what the words meant, although no part of the Prophecies had really been clear. Kharissan had tried to simplify the translation, but Professor Sycamore suspected the oracle was as lost as he was.

The voice of Lysandre jolted him back to the present. “An Elemental Spectrum,” the leader of Team Flare said almost mockingly. “And you’ve had how long to train them? Months?”

Professor Sycamore endured Lysandre’s taunts with no more emotion than a stone. It seemed the leader wasn’t finished yet, though. “And you have … three Gym Leaders with you? An admirable goal, reassembling the League, but all for naught, it seems.”

Professor Sycamore felt his eyes widen slightly. He doesn’t know about Tierno. So they had some small advantage, at least.

“Four,” Tierno said, stepping forward.

Professor Sycamore’s heart sank. Order.

Lysandre’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “You … you’re Tierno, aren’t you? One of the five from ten years ago. With … Calem.”

Tierno nodded defiantly. “And now I’m a Gym Leader,” he said. “The Gym Leader of Coumarine City!”

The leader’s confusion seemed to deepen. “Not that old fool Ramos? Surely … he is not dead?”

Professor Sycamore saw Tierno open his mouth to answer, but he was abruptly cut off by a dazzling blue light in the center of the plain, between the Spectrum and Lysandre. He hastily blinked the afterimage from his vision, and saw a young woman, pale yellow hair gathered in a tail, standing beside a Pokémon only slightly shorter than she was. “Ramos is very much alive,” she said. “In fact, he’s on his way right now.”

Korrina? he thought. The Gym Leader of Shalour City?

“The Successor,” Lysandre snarled. Even as he spoke, Professor Sycamore saw four more lights streaking down through the gathering storm, as if heading from the mountains. Even before they landed Professor Sycamore knew what––or who––they were. From a pale green light, Viola, the Gym Leader of Santalune City. From a deep violet, Olympia, of Anistar City. From a blue so light it was nearly white, Wulfric, of Snowbelle City. And from a deep green, the color of the forest in summer …

Ramos. The professor grinned at the old gardener, hunched over with age. Now they had a chance.

“Spectrum,” he said, “attack.”

At the same time, Lysandre screamed, “Battalions, advance!”

As the thunder in the sky grew more and more fierce, the legions of Team Flare surged forward, though not as one. Grunts stumbled over pits in the ground, and were left there by their fellows. The Scientists remained standing in place, but were not overrun by the unruly troops. The flow parted around them, like a river breaking around stones.

The Spectrum, on the other hand, fought together. Through the din, as he himself started forward to meet Lysandre in the middle of the plain, Professor Sycamore could make out Arin’s Noivern and Fylon’s Braviary swooping and diving around and between other flying Pokémon Professor Sycamore could only assume fought for Team Flare. With incredulity, he saw that Noivern and Braviary carried their Trainers on their backs. Fylon and Arin seemed to be directing each other, alerting one another to weak spots in Team Flare’s defenses, where the other would swoop in and take out several Pokémon at once.

Clair and her Sandslash opened a pit of sand in the earth, trapping half a battalion of Grunts and their Pokémon while Erell, riding Aerodactyl, fired off attack after attack at the legions below. Mica stepped lightly between Grunts, wielding Honedge as though it were truly a sword, no more than tapping Grunts, but where he tapped, they fell, one by one, unconscious.

“Don’t kill them!” Professor Sycamore called. Members of the Spectrum nearest him turned around, but every one of them, face set, only nodded grimly.

“Your merciful nature will be the death of you one of these days, Sycamore,” Lysandre said. The leader was advancing at a leisurely walk, but he was advancing. Professor Sycamore took an inadvertent step back before he strengthened his resolve and stood his ground. “You’ll forgive me if my Grunts have no such qualms about killing you and yours.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, Lysandre,” Professor Sycamore said. He pulled a Poké Ball from his pocket and released Charizard. At that, Lysandre blinked and stopped for a moment in his tracks. Then, with an almost inhuman growl, he suddenly held his own Poké Ball in his hands, and faster than Professor Sycamore could follow he opened it, releasing his Pyroar.

*

Ryan darted between a pair of Team Flare Grunts, just barely avoiding a jet of flame from one of their Pokémon. He didn’t bother turning to see which Pokémon it was. One wrong step could get him killed, today.

Froakie seemed strengthened somewhat by the rain, for which Ryan was grateful. He would take any advantage he could get, against these legions of Grunts.

Suddenly, there was a Grunt in front of him. Ryan stumbled, almost bowling the man in the red suit over. Regaining his balance, he saw that the Grunt held an open Poké Ball, and a Houndour stood, teeth bared, by his feet. Ryan gritted his teeth. Fortunately, what advantage Froakie had from the rain would be reversed for the Fire-type Houndour. “Froakie, Water Pulse!” he said.

Before Froakie’s aura even had a chance to form, though, a crackling blur slammed into the Pokémon. Sprawled on the ground, Froakie shook his head as if dazed. He got up, slowly.

The blur had stopped moving, and Ryan could see now that it was an Electrike. Looking up, he also noted that a new Grunt––a young woman, nearly ten years younger than the man––had joined the fray. No sooner had Electrike stopped, however, than its aura flared to life, crackling with electricity.

Ryan knew the signs of an incoming attack when he saw them. Think, he told himself. What would the professor do?

Electric-type attacks were extremely difficult to evade; he knew that. This was mainly due to the speed at which the attack traveled––whichever way Froakie tried to run, Electrike could easily follow his movements, firing off the attack when Froakie stopped for a breath.

He couldn’t outrun the attack. Might Froakie be able to take the hit? Unlikely. Froakie’s defenses were nothing special, and the type-effectiveness might prove too much. There was always the chance, of course––the rain would help––but Ryan wasn’t sure he cared to take chances. One wrong step …

Substitute. I don’t have another option.

He gave Froakie the command, and the Pokémon leaped to obey. His aura glowed like a pale blue beacon, hardening and solidifying until it was hard as rock. Abruptly Froakie jumped––almost danced––away from its own aura. Electrike’s Thunderbolt crashed into the substitute, and Froakie was left unharmed.

Ryan called for Froakie to use Substitute once again. This time, though, the substitute he created was much smaller; almost half the size of the first one. Ryan held his breath. The Thunderbolt Electrike fired off curved … and hit the substitute. Ryan exhaled in a low sigh.

It was the nature of Substitute: It could be either an extremely potent move, even one that could change the course of a battle; or it could sap the user’s own aura to the point of its own defeat. Froakie wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long. He would need to replenish his aura soon. Perhaps they could just hold out long enough––

A dark shape barreled into Froakie from the side.

Ryan cursed himself for a fool. The Houndour!

Froakie was sent into the air by the force of the blow, utterly defenseless by the time Electrike’s third Thunderbolt hit. When he landed on the ground, Ryan knew there was no hope. He recalled Froakie into his Poké Ball before he could come to more harm.

No. We … lost. One wrong step.

Ryan forced himself to meet the eyes of his opponents. The woman looked as if she’d rather be somewhere else, but the man looked back intently. He seemed to be trying to convince himself of something. Or strengthening his resolve to do something.

Finally, the man averted his eyes. He muttered something incomprehensible. Ryan thought he caught the word “stylish”. He must be tired from the battling. He hadn’t slept since in more than a day, since before the attack on the World Tree. Yes, that was it.

“Come on, Alma,” the man said to his companion, and turned to leave. Ryan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. The woman looked at the man with surprise, but then she nodded, a faint smile on her lips. Ryan tried not to think of what might have happened if the man hadn’t averted his eyes.

In moments, the two of them were gone, vanished into the crowds milling about. Ryan realized that standing still like this, he was practically asking for a fight. Quickly, he tried to lose himself in the shifting masses.

Now to find Ani and Roc. They’ll know what to do.

*

The iron bars making up the door of the cell reverberated with the deafening claps of thunder. No flashes of lightning made it this far down, in the deepest reaches of what was once Lysandre’s laboratory, but where there was thunder, there was lightning. Now if only Zavier could find a way to make use of that.

Mere hours before, he had been shocked awake by a tremendous auric explosion. He knew of nothing that could cause such an outburst of energy; an amount far surpassing even the most power he had ever seen his father draw. Zavier had just been awake enough by the end of the explosion to draw some of the auric residues into himself.

He closed his eyes. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t necessary to do that––his father certainly never did––but he had always found it useful for concentration. And in auric magic, one needed all the concentration one could get.

He turned his thoughts toward the sound of the thunder. Loud, crashing, as if the very world was angry. Had he not been wrapped in a consciousness void of all thought, Zavier might have supposed that the world was indeed angry. Furious, even. Instead, however, the thought slid off his consciousness. He was one with the sound of the thunder.

BOOM.

Zavier drew out the auric residues from the explosion, stored somewhere deep inside him. As they surfaced, he knew that had anyone been there to see, they would have seen a violet aura surrounding him, much as a Pokémon’s aura would. But, in a state of such consciousness he was nearly unconscious, Zavier paid the thought no mind. The sound of the thunder.

BOOM.

He could feel the lightning above his head. He could not see it––he could not see anything, in his current state, even if his eyes were open––but he knew it was there. It wasn’t a rational thought. He was presently incapable of rational thought. He simply knew. The sound of the thunder.

BOOM.

Flicker.

A blinding flash of light was followed by an ear-wrenching clap a thousand times louder than any of the distant peals of thunder. In his almost-unconscious state, Zavier did not even notice. He opened his eyes, and blinked. Then he smiled. The door to the cell was gone. The iron bars ended in red-hot stumps, fading back to the usual metallic gray even as Zavier watched.

He rose from the floor, and nearly fell down again. He hadn’t used his legs in days. How long had it been since the Scientists had last come for him? At least a week, surely. Steadying himself with a hand against the bars, Zavier half-walked, half-dragged himself out of the cell.

The door was unlocked. Zavier was hardly surprised. Team Flare was nothing if not arrogant. He shoved it open with a grimace for the patina of filth, and started to limp down the corridor.

Briefly, he wondered why there were no Grunts in the corridors. An instant later, he dismissed the thought. He had no time to wonder. He would just be grateful that he didn’t have to fight.

He wasn’t too familiar with the underground laboratories, but he found his way out soon enough. There still wasn’t another human in sight. It was as if everyone had simply up and left, all at once.

Outside, in the streets of Lumiose City, Zavier took a moment to get his bearings. He was in an alley near Magenta Plaza. Rain pummeled the filthy rags he was dressed in. As an afterthought, he tried to form an auric shield to ward off the rain. He reached inside himself, stretching for auric energy … and found nothing.

Well then. I’m on my own.

He moved into the center of the plaza to gain a better view. Yes, there was Prism Tower. And, just to the right of Prism Tower …

Order …

The storm swirled, mist and fog circling, wind howling and thunder crashing. And it all converged on one point––right over the Pokémon League.

Zavier sighed. So that was why no one was in the laboratories. Lysandre had finally decided to march on the League. Zavier considered searching for his father––the last he had heard, Azoth was somewhere in the north. He dismissed the idea. Azoth could be anywhere. The threat of Team Flare was right now, and he had to do something about it.

“The storm gathers,” he said to himself. “Order send I don’t get blown away.”

This is the first viewpoint in the story from a character using auric magic who knows what they're doing. Fylon Traveled a few chapters ago, granted, but this chapter shows the exact process for a person who knows how to use auric magic.

This should also answer the question of the Flickers from earlier chapters. Basically, they're given off by extremely powerful uses of auric energy. The Ultimate Weapon is related to this, and actually gave off a pulse of its own when Azoth died. That's what woke Zavier up so suddenly.
 
As Life and Death are both unmade,
the Stone of Victory, the King retakes.
The price of Order must be paid
for the cost of our mistakes.
~from a script found in the Archive of the World Tree

For someone who was bound and gagged not half an hour before, Serena of the Elite Four was remarkably strong. Her Delphox, even faced with one of the Team Flare Scientists and half a battalion of Grunts behind her, was a force to be reckoned with. Eldan commanded Houndour to attack Serena’s Pokémon over and over; darting in between other attacks from other Grunts, getting in a blow, and quickly dancing away again.

Alma and Bertram and Jarret fought alongside Eldan and the rest of the half-battalion. Eldan still was not sure where the other half had gone. Overwhelmed by that Sycamore and his group of unstylish children, no doubt. At their forefront stood Celosia, hands on hips and a cruel smile on her face as Absol fired off bolt after bolt of auric energy at Serena’s Delphox. The foxlike Pokémon blocked them all.

Eldan commanded Houndour to retreat from the fight, and then signaled to Alma. She recalled Electrike into its Poké Ball and jogged over to him. Jarret and Bertram noticed, and fell back, too.

“Listen,” Eldan began, and then stopped. How was he to put this? His show of defiance earlier, following Alma out of ranks to help Serena, was already bordering on treason. But it didn’t sit right with him, either. He couldn’t fight the woman he and Alma had just saved. It just wasn’t stylish.

“You don’t want to fight this battle,” Alma guessed. Eldan stared at her, though he supposed he should have expected nothing less. “I don’t either,” she continued. “It doesn’t seem right, somehow. I know the leader and Miss Celosia won’t be pleased, but …”

“I think we should leave,” Bertram put in quietly. “It won’t be good to be around here when this is all over. Miss Celosia will be looking for us. And Alma’s right. She won’t be happy.”

Jarret only nodded gravely. From Alma’s and Jarret’s faces, they were ready to do as Bertram suggested. Eldan shared the sentiment. “Let’s go, then.”

A sharp crackling sound was all the warning they had. Eldan whipped around, and saw that as they were talking the battle had gone on without them. He cursed himself for a fool for not paying closer attention to their surroundings. Absol and Delphox were now continuing their skirmish much closer to where they stood. And as Absol let loose with another auric pulse, the bolt speared Alma right through the middle before continuing toward its intended target.

Eldan did not care whether the bolt hit Delphox or if it was deflected like all the ones before it. Right then, he did not care about anything else at all.

“Get her to safety,” he snapped at Bertram and Jarret.

They nodded without hesitation. “And you?”

For an answer, he threw himself at Celosia and Absol. A look of shock passed over the Scientist’s expression at being faced with one of her own Grunts. That moment was all Eldan needed.

“Houndour, Overheat!” he screamed.

*

Weaving in midair between spurts of fire, Charizard was slowly tiring. Professor Sycamore knew it for true; the dragonish Pokémon’s movements were slowing, and each time Pyroar’s fire came a little closer to its mark. Fighting in the rain was never easy work for a Fire-type Pokémon, but Pyroar did not seem to grow weary at all. Each blast of flame was just as strong as the one before it.

Lysandre’s mad laughter filled Professor Sycamore’s ears. He knew he was winning, and wanted to make it last. Professor Sycamore shook his head. Why isn’t Pyroar tiring? Nothing he had ever heard or seen could explain it. All Pokémon feel the same effects from weather as others of their type; that was Oak’s Law. He was sure Lysandre knew why Pyroar did not seem to follow that law. That was probably why he was still cackling.

Being on the run would do no good, not if Pyroar could keep at this for hours. He did not have hours.

Around him, he could still see the Spectrum. Fylon and Arin continued to attack from the skies, swooping down here and there, surrounded by their Pokémon’s auras, but now Team Flare had apparently figured out how to protect themselves from the aerial onslaught. The Grunts below them huddled close enough together that it was more difficult for Fylon and Arin to pick out individual Pokémon to attack. Sometimes, while they flew low to the ground, a Grunt’s Pokémon would seize the opportunity to get in a darting attack. Carrying the weight of all those attacks could not have been easy for Braviary and Noivern. Professor Sycamore could see that Noivern was favoring one wing, and was correspondingly flying around in awkward circles.

Amaline and Julian, too, fought as a team. The ranged magic of the Fairy type, and the physical force of the Fighting type, working in tandem to bring down Grunts three or four at a time. Here Amaline’s Togetic would immobilize a Grunt’s Croagunk, freezing it where it stood while Julian’s Mienshao struck with the whiplike fur on his arms; there Mienshao would pin a Fletchinder to the ground while Togetic cast charms and auric pulses at it. But even this could not last, not when the Grunts kept coming. While Mienshao was busy with one Grunt and his Bunnelby, another Grunt and her Vivillon came in and cast their own auric pulses––but at Mienshao, not the Pokémon pinned to the ground. Togetic weaved around in the air, trying to stop a Pidgey in flight, but in the midst of it she failed to notice the Zubat before it collided with her, knocking them both out of the air.

Other teams of two or three fought against perhaps fifty or so Team Flare Grunts each, from the forest’s edge almost up to the castle walls, where the Elite Four held the final defense. Clair and Erell, twins even in battle, fighting as if one, though Clair fought from the ground with her Sandslash, and Erell took to the air with her Aerodactyl. Rosuke and Morgan, an unlikely pair, but seemingly close after their adventure to the far west of the region. Peter, Warren, and Sera took on one of the Scientists by themselves––Professor Sycamore could not be sure which one, not at this distance, but those huge flashes of auric light could be caused by nothing less.

And the Windier Towners. Ryan, Ani, and Roc each fought their own battle, but if one was in trouble, the other two would be there in moments. How they’ve grown since those first days in the laboratory. He could still remember when the four Scientists had defeated the Spectrum with ease. It seemed so long ago, though he supposed it really was not. A matter of months, perhaps. If that.

Others fought on their own. Nika zipped between Grunts, Zebstrika firing off bolts of lightning at opposing Pokémon as he and his Trainer moved too fast to follow. Blake, ephemeral in his Zoroark-fur coat, ran from fight to fight, never staying long enough for anyone to notice he was there. Mica, his jet-black cloak caught in the harshly gusting winds, wielding his Honedge as if it truly were a sword. Liam, jumping around as though he were an overgrown insect himself, using Scyther’s flight to gain a bit more height when he needed to.

But of course, none of it could last. The Spectrum was growing tired, fighting a losing battle, just as Charizard was now. No, he did not have hours. It was time to stop running and fight.

“Slash!” he called out.

Charizard’s aura, now feeble with exhaustion, enveloped his claws, projecting a perfect imitation of them, three times as large. Professor Sycamore’s Pokémon moved in to rake Pyroar with the enlarged claws, but before he could get more than a pace closer, Pyroar let loose with a giant burst of flame, much wider than anything it had done earlier.

And it’s so powerful, too! How can I even hope to fight this?

Charizard took the eruption of fire head-on. There was no room to maneuver, no chance to avoid the attack. He fell to the ground, exhausted enough that his wings could no longer support him. Professor Sycamore almost rushed forward, but there would be no use. He took out Charizard’s Poké Ball.

“Finished already, Sycamore?” Lysandre said mockingly. It seemed his mirth had subsided. However, he still wore a cruel grin, that, if not quite mad, was certainly not that of a sane man. His fiery red hair whipped in the steadily increasing rain and wind, looking almost as if it were truly aflame.

Professor Sycamore’s finger hovered over the button that would activate the Poké Ball, recalling Charizard in an instant. But he needed to keep Lysandre talking. He would not admit defeat yet. “How?” he said, the words nearly a whisper.

“Ten years, Sycamore!” Lysandre said. “It was ten years ago. With the ultimate weapon that resided under Geosenge Town, I was going to recreate the world. It would have been a paradise! But you stopped me. You, and them!” He flung an arm out in front of him, claw-like fingers pointing at the castle.

“You were going to destroy the world, Lysandre,” Professor Sycamore said, his voice still almost a whisper. “You were going to take the very life force of thousands of Pokémon to destroy the entire human race, except for you and your criminals.”

“The sacrifice was, unfortunately, necessary,” Lysandre said, seemingly unconcerned at the thought. “But it would have been worth it.”

“You’re mad,” Professor Sycamore said, raising his voice to almost a shout.

Lysandre’s face darkened. He pulled a strange-looking device no thicker than a stack of cards out of his pocket, and pressed a button. Lights on the device flashed once … twice … three times …

Flicker.

*

It was a long time since Clemont had fought against the likes of Team Flare. True, he had not been at Geosenge Town when the disaster struck, but over the course of Team Flare’s campaign to destroy the world he had seen and battled his fair share of Grunts. Now he was as rusty as a machine left for a week in the rain.

He did not have a Pokémon anymore––shortly after his self-imposed exile and return to the World Tree, he released Heliolisk back into the wild, in the hope that his best friend in the world could avoid some of the shame that he had brought on both of them. It was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do, saying goodbye to Heliolisk. But it had been necessary.

Now, he fought with his machines. They did not quite use his aura––even under Azoth’s tutelage he had never learned how to do that––but they replicated the effects of lightning bolts and jets of flame quite nicely. They did not even deal lasting harm to a Pokémon, much the better. That had been a particularly good innovation of his.

A mechanical arm swung up from over his right shoulder and lobbed a ball of electricity at his opponent’s Linoone. The swift mammalian Pokémon dodged it, naturally; Linoone was one of the fastest Pokémon Clemont knew of. Except Electric-types, of course.

Linoone retaliated with a blast of auric energy from its jaws, which Clemont just managed to block with an energy shield thrown up by another of his gadgets. As he turned instinctively to ward off the force of the blow, he caught a glimpse of Sycamore battling Lysandre only a hundred paces away. No, not battling. Lysandre had already won.

As Clemont watched, Lysandre pulled a machine out of a pocket, and activated it. Seconds later, he and Sycamore and their Pokémon vanished.

Clemont activated every defensive device he had. He needed to think. Lysandre and Sycamore just … disappeared. That could only mean one thing. Despite the destruction of the World Tree, Lysandre was somehow still able to Travel. And that machine was one Clemont recognized. He reached into one of his own numerous pockets and came up with an exact copy of the contraption Lysandre had used to Travel.

Lysandre would have needed to Travel blindly for this. And for that, he would have needed a Conduit. Think! Clemont told himself. Where would Lysandre have gone?

And it came to him. He dropped his energy shields, pressed the button on the device, and waited. One second. Two. Three …

Flicker.

*

Flicker.

Professor Sycamore opened his eyes. And hastily blinked them shut again. This place … This place he knew all too well. The blood-red walls of a dimly lit circular chamber featured too heavily in his dreams. In his nightmares.

He had thought the ultimate weapon was destroyed in the blast ten years before. It seemed he was mistaken.

“You see, Sycamore,” Lysandre’s voice said as if reading Professor Sycamore’s mind, “something happened in that blast. Something … unprecedented.”

Slowly opening his eyes again––every fraction of an inch was an effort––Professor Sycamore saw Lysandre pacing around the pedestal where, ten years ago, two vessels stood. A vessel of life and a vessel of death. Of light and darkness. No vessels stood on that pedestal now.

Charizard lay, still defeated, on the ground before Professor Sycamore. Apparently the leader of Team Flare had returned Pyroar to its Poké Ball. Now, he continuing to pace, he said, “Yes. Do you remember, Sycamore? I was the only one left in the headquarters when the weapon fired on itself. And that means that I was the only one who should have been killed.”

“But you weren’t,” Professor Sycamore said. His voice was even more of a whisper than it had been back at the castle. How had Lysandre transported them both here? Was he able to Travel without need of the World Tree?

“No,” Lysandre agreed, “I wasn’t. And do you know why?” He barely waited for Professor Sycamore’s almost-imperceptible shake of the head before going on: “Because I could not die.” He stopped pacing, and now faced Professor Sycamore across the room. Across the length of the ultimate weapon.

“The great forces of Life and Death were fighting against each other that day, Sycamore.” Lysandre’s voice was rising, as if in anger or simply excitement, but Professor Sycamore hardly noticed. He was hanging on every word. He had to know what happened that day ten years ago. “They fought, and when they fight, strange things happen. I was caught in the blast––caught between the forces of Life and Death themselves! The conflicting forces of nature removed my very aura from existence. I am immortal!”

The insanity in Lysandre’s voice was stronger than ever, but at that moment Professor Sycamore did not care. He was completely dumbfounded. “So that’s why …”

“Yes,” Lysandre said. He wore a wide, cruel grin again. “That is why. And that is not all, Sycamore. Though the weapon fired on itself ten years ago, you can see that it is now, once again, fully operational, due to the efforts of myself and the Scientists.” A wicked gleam had entered his eyes. “There is something I should have done a long time ago, Professor Sycamore. You are a constant stain on my––on Team Flare’s––dream; an obstacle in our path. I will not allow you to be an obstacle any longer.”

He pulled another device from his coat. Unlike the one that had apparently allowed him to Travel, this machine was pure black, except for a crimson stylized “F” emblazoned on its top. The emblem of Team Flare.

“This time, Sycamore, when the ultimate weapon fires, it will not fire on itself. It has been carefully positioned by the Scientists. All their calculations are in order. This time, it will fire on the Pokémon League.”

Professor Sycamore felt the blood drain from his face. “No …” he whispered.

Perhaps Lysandre could not hear him, but the leader of Team Flare’s smile deepened. “And the best part? When it fires, the weapon will explode. It is only held together now by the last reserves of auric energy we were able to salvage, but when it fires, all of that will be directed into the blast. The weapon will explode. And you, Sycamore, will be in it.”

It was not his own life that sent fear into Professor Sycamore’s heart. The Spectrum, back at the castle … He would not be able to warn them. They would all die, too. And there was nothing he could do about it.

In a last fit of desperation, he said, “You wouldn’t do that to your own troops, Lysandre. Even you are not that cruel.”

Lysandre’s smile grew even wider. “I think you’ll find there are no limits to what I would or would not do to achieve my goals. I believe you’ve always known that. The sacrifice will be … unfortunately necessary.” He broke into mad laughter.

There’s no way out, Professor Sycamore thought frantically. Order help me, there’s no way out!

“Professor,” came a voice. A voice he recognized; a voice from a long time ago. No, he had heard that voice only a few weeks ago. Suddenly he recognized who it belonged to. But how could the Gym Leader of Lumiose City be here?

With a crackling of energy, Clemont became visible as one contraption or another was deactivated, standing directly between Professor Sycamore and the leader of Team Flare. His face was set as if he was about to do something he did not like very much, but knew it had to be.

“Professor, they need you,” Clemont said. Lysandre had stopped laughing and was now looking at Clemont suspiciously. He did not make any move to press the button that would fire the ultimate weapon, though. “The Spectrum, the Gym Leaders, the Elite Four, they all need you back at the castle.” Clemont sighed. “They can’t win without you.”

“How did you get here, Clemont?” Professor Sycamore demanded of the inventor. A thousand questions whirled through his mind. “How did you know where to find me?”

“No time,” Clemont said, shaking his head sadly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there ten years ago. You were right. I am not fit to be called a Defender of Kalos.”

“No,” Professor Sycamore whispered. “No, I was not right. I only said that to get you to come to the castle!”

Surprisingly, a wry grin passed over Clemont’s face, before it was replaced once more with sadness. “Even still. Professor, give my sister my best. Tell her … tell her I did what I could. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

He opened one of his hands, revealing a device. A machine exactly like the one Lysandre had used to Travel here. Lysandre saw it, too, and for the first time, fear flooded his face. “No, stop––!”

Clemont pressed the button. And threw it directly at Professor Sycamore.

Reflexively, he caught it. Suddenly, he realized what Clemont intended to do. The device blinked once. “Clemont, no! I won’t let you do this!”

Clemont only smiled sadly and turned to face Lysandre. The device blinked again.

Lysandre fumbled with the contraption in his hand. The contraption that was so like the one Professor Sycamore now held. The leader of Team Flare activated the ultimate weapon. And Clemont’s device blinked for a third time.

The last sounds Professor Sycamore heard were Lysandre’s wail of frustration as he was faced with Clemont, and a distant rumbling that he was certain meant the ultimate weapon was beginning to fire.

Flicker.

*

Ryan burst out of the milling mass of Team Flare Grunts near the castle. Ani and Roc weaved through the last of them shortly afterward, the three of them seeking shelter behind the Elite Four’s last line of defense against Team Flare’s battalions.

Although he had found Ani and Roc quickly when he went looking, they did not have any clearer idea of what to do than Ryan did. As they passed the Elite Four, one of them––Ryan thought his name was Wikstrom; the grizzly-haired man wearing age-battered armor––looked at them suspiciously, but when he saw that they did not wear the bright red of Team Flare, he turned his attention back to the battle. Ryan thought he heard Wikstrom mutter “Sycamore” under his breath as they passed.

The gates of the castle were not open, but as Ryan approached, they began to swing forward, the stone door in the castle wall grinding open like a giant stone maw. He was not sure if they somehow sensed that someone wanted entry, or if someone was still in the castle, watching for those who wished to find their way out of the battle.

The walls and floor inside the castle were so reflective they were dizzying. Ryan very nearly collapsed when the door closed again. After a moment he got his bearings and walked with Ani through the narrow corridor to the room beyond.

What he found was so strange he thought for a moment he really had collapsed in the entry corridor, and now he was dreaming. A Team Flare Grunt was lying unconscious on a couch, with three other Grunts surrounding and tending to her. A fifth person––a woman perhaps thirty years old, with dark blonde, almost brown hair––stood somewhat awkwardly off to the side.

The woman looked over at Ryan and Ani and Roc as the door to the entry corridor closed behind them. Her look was one of such relief that Ryan wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Plainly she had not liked being alone with these Grunts.

For that matter, what were these Grunts doing here? This was the castle of the Pokémon League! Surely Team Flare couldn’t have broken through already. No, the Elite Four still held outside, and one of these Grunts was unconscious.

“Who are you three?” the woman asked. “Some of Sycamore’s? Very well, very well. Just sit down on this chair over here until you’re feeling better. Are you in need of bandages or medicine?” She spoke very fast, such that Ryan was left for a few moments trying to piece together what she had said.

“No, no,” Ani said. Evidently she had worked out what the woman had said sooner than Ryan. “Are you Alexa? You look like pictures I’ve seen in books.”

The woman looked surprised. “Books? I’m not in any books.”

“Maybe news articles, then?” Ani asked. “I know you look familiar.”

After a moment she nodded. “I was an editor for The Lumiose Times once. That was many months ago.”

The Lumiose Times?” Ani said. “You must have been the contact Professor Sycamore went to see that first day in Lumiose City!”

Alexa nodded slowly. Ryan was still trying to figure everything out.

“Oh, right,” Ani said, as if remembering Ryan and Roc were there for the first time. “Do you mind if we …?”

“Oh, of course not!” Alexa said quickly, as if only just remembering her duties. “Please, take a seat.”

Ryan gratefully sat down in the wide chair Alexa indicated. There were several others around the room. Ani took one, and Roc took another, but Ryan noticed that they both tried to sit as far as possible from the four Team Flare Grunts.

“I’ll go, um, get some water for you children. You must be tired,” Alexa said, and hurried from the room. Ryan understood. The presence of the Grunts unnerved him, too. He did not even bother trying to correct Alexa on the point of them being children.

A few minutes passed in silence. To Ryan, they could have been only seconds, or many long years. They tried to ignore the Grunts, and the Grunts ignored them. Finally, Ryan could stand it no longer.

“Who are you?” he asked to no one in particular. The three conscious Grunts flinched, and eventually one of them stood up. He walked over to where Ryan sat. Without realizing it, Ryan was on his feet, too, prepared for an attack.

Instead, the man held out his hand. “Eldan,” he said.

Hesitantly Ryan shook it. “Ryan,” he said cautiously.

Eldan frowned for a second, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You’re one of the ones here with the professor?” he asked. “One of the young Pokémon Trainers?”

“Yes,” Ryan said. “Part of the Elemental Spectrum.” He heard a sharp intake of breath from Ani and Roc, and realized that perhaps he shouldn’t have said that to a Team Flare Grunt.

“An Elemental Spectrum?” Eldan said in surprise. “So that’s what he was planning.” Abruptly he seemed to notice Ryan’s expression, and he laughed. “No, don’t fear; I’m not Team Flare. Not anymore.”

Ryan gestured wordlessly at the man’s uniform. Perplexed, Eldan looked at his own sleeve, and then shook his head. “We came here with them. Then they betrayed us.” He turned around and pointed at his companion, still unconscious on the couch. “This is what comes of trusting the leader and the Scientists. Alma paid the cost of our mistakes.”

That phrase rang slightly familiar to Ryan, but he couldn’t place why. He put it out of his mind. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“She’ll be fine,” Eldan said with a confidence his face did not seem to possess. The other two Grunts were on their feet, too, Ryan noticed, but they looked downcast when Eldan said that.

Eldan slowly walked over to a window near the front of the room. He gazed out at the battle still ensuing outside the walls of the castle. “It’s all so pointless,” he said. “I used to think I was doing the world a favor by joining Team Flare. I thought it was the stylish thing to do. Then I learned the truth.” His voice became bitter. “In battles, fools fight other fools for foolish reasons.”

Ryan joined him at the window, followed hesitantly by Roc and Ani. “I wish I could agree with you, Eldan. But Lysandre has to be stopped.”

“Yes,” Eldan said morosely. “Yes, he does. But will the world ever be the same afterward? Lysandre wanted to change the world. To make it a better place, he said, but I think his only true aim was to get revenge on everyone in it. Well, whatever his reasons, he succeeded in changing it. Forever.”

Ryan said nothing. He looked at his friends, and he knew they were thinking the same thing. The world they had known––the world they had left behind when they left Windier Town all those months ago––was gone. Whatever happened, they would never be able to go back.

*

Flicker.

Professor Sycamore opened his eyes again. And very nearly squeezed them shut. Again. Why was he still alive? He had no right to be alive, not when Clemont had to pay the cost of his mistakes. This was all wrong.

In a moment, he got his bearings. He had never been in this place before, though he knew where it must be. The many-colored floor, shimmering in all the colors of the rainbow, faceted with a complex network of faces and edges that only served to refract the light better, marked the room as surely as the woman standing in the center of it. This was the Radiant Chamber, in the highest floor of the castle of the Pokémon League. Home to Diantha, the Champion of Kalos.

“Diantha?” Professor Sycamore said in disbelief. “You’re here?”

The woman standing in the center of the room, berobed in a shimmering white gown that almost seemed to reflect the colors of the floor and cloaked her in rainbows, gave a half-smile at hearing her name. “I have always been here, Augustine,” she said. “I never left.” Her smile spread wider.

“Why?” he said, bemused. “Why would you remove yourself from the world for ten years? Even the Elite Four doesn’t know you’re here!”

“I exiled myself for many of the same reasons as the Four, I suspect,” Diantha said. She showed neither pain nor regret; she was as coolly regal as Professor Sycamore had ever seen her. “The time of Pokémon Trainers is past. Even I do not know where Calem is. If he is even still alive.”

She was silent for a long time. Professor Sycamore abruptly remembered what had happened only minutes before. “Diantha …” he said. “I do not know how to explain this. Five minutes ago, I was under the ultimate weapon at Geosenge Town. Lysandre brought the both of us there with a device from his pocket. Then Clemont appeared, and …”

“I know,” Diantha said, quietly. “The weapon fired. And it exploded.” She gazed serenely up at the ceiling. She did not seem bothered in the least. “All things meet their end in time. Clemont was a brave warrior. It saddens me that he was inside the weapon when Lysandre activated it, but we must not dwell on it now. You, Augustine, have another problem to face.”

Professor Sycamore hurried to the edge of the chamber, where stained glass windows revealed a distorted view of the battle below. Even through the colors, he could easily make out the Spectrum fighting. And losing.

“Why am I here?” he asked Diantha without turning around again. “I should be down there, with them. When Fylon Traveled here with all of us …”

“The devices Lysandre and Clemont had were … interesting, to say the least,” Diantha said. “They harness a human’s own aura––rather than channeling the aura of another living thing, such as a Pokémon. And they allow that person to Travel blindly.”

“Blindly?”

“Without knowing exactly where you will end up,” Diantha said. “When one Travels blindly, one loses oneself along an auric network of sorts. Think of it as a series of lines crisscrossing the world. Traveling blindly allows you to ride this auric network to a given location in the real world. These locations are called Conduits.”

“Then, the weapon and the Radiant Chamber, they are both …”

“They are both Conduits. And so was the World Tree. Before … before what Lysandre and his minions did to it.”

“The Radiant Chamber is like the Tree?” Professor Sycamore said. He thought he might see a way …

“No,” Diantha said sadly. “I know what you are thinking. Auric energy flows through Conduits, but it is not created by them. All living things have auras––and the World Tree was the largest living thing in all of Kalos. Queen Valerie and King Azoth were able to draw on a nearly infinite supply of auric energy from the Tree. But I fear they cannot do the same with the Radiant Chamber.”

Professor Sycamore turned morosely back to the window. Below, he saw a flying Pokémon struck down. He wished he could be certain it was not Fylon or Arin.

“Is there any hope?” he said quietly. He did not really mean it as a question, but Diantha answered it anyway.

“Yes,” she said. “I believe there is a way. But it is for you to find. You are, after all, why that way exists.”

Professor Sycamore turned back to Diantha in confusion. As he did, his gaze caught the complex pattern lying on the floor of the Radiant Chamber. A number of symbols surrounding a many-pointed star; faceted and refracting light in many colors around the room. One symbol showed a leaf. Another, a feather. A third showed a lightning bolt. Without counting, Professor Sycamore know there would be eighteen in all.

“A circle of eighteen …” he breathed.

“Yes,” Diantha said, smiling her half-smile. “The Elemental Spectrum.”

*

Distantly, Ryan heard a voice call out something unintelligible. A very familiar voice.

He exchanged no more than a glance with Ani and Roc––a glance that confirmed that they had heard the same––before all three of them were tearing out the doors of the sitting room with scarcely another word to Eldan or the others. Ryan was too set on his goal even to be distracted by the dazzling reflections of the entry corridor. In seconds, he was out of the castle.

He looked up, toward the highest part of the castle. The stained glass windows of the upper floor of the tallest tower were flung wide open, and Professor Sycamore leaned out, calling, “Spectrum, rally! The circle of eighteen!”

Ryan looked to his friends and knew they had come to the same realization he had. A circle of eighteen can defeat any opponent.

He looked around at the chaos. People fought in twos and threes, and some on their own, but not all together. We need to be a circle.

“We have to split up,” he told Ani and Roc. “We have to unify them. A circle of eighteen.”

They nodded. It was a mark of the situation that neither of them suggested staying together. At once, Ryan turned and lost himself in the battle. He weaved through the Grunts, taking care to avoid any who were not already battling, for fear that they might try to battle him, and slow him down. Soon, he found Rosuke, battling alone against two or three Grunts at once. The bulky man seemed at odds with his Crobat, light as smoke and as easy to catch. But together, they fought as one. The Grunts never stood a chance.

“Rosuke!” Ryan called. “Find the others! Tell them to join by the castle! We have to unite! The circle of eighteen!”

He only got one good look at Rosuke’s face before the man leaped straight into another battle, with five Grunts this time. But that one look was enough to show he understood. He would go looking for the others. As soon as these five were dealt with.

Ryan turned back into the crowd and went searching for the rest.


*


From the Radiant Chamber, Professor Sycamore saw Ryan and Ani and Roc split up and find their ways through the battle, locating each of the Spectrum in turn. In minutes, the full eighteen stood amassed before the castle. The Gym Leaders and the Elite Four held back the legions of Team Flare from reaching the Spectrum’s circle, forming a protective line around the inner circle. Professor Sycamore doubted even Lysandre could get past them.

The auras of eighteen Pokémon flared to life. Roc’s Grass beside Liam’s Bug, beside Nika’s Electric, beside Arin’s Dragon. Deep shades of green fading into yellow, and then to orange; a rainbow all around the circle. Exactly like the pattern on the floor of the Radiant Chamber.

Not a pattern. A diagram!

Lines of what Professor Sycamore could only describe as auric energy shot out from each of the Spectrum, running across the circle to connect to another person and their Pokémon. Within the space of an eyeblink, an eighteen-pointed star blazed brighter than all the Spectrum’s auras combined, blazed until Professor Sycamore could no longer distinguish the individual lines making it up. The light grew brighter still, and he saw shapes beginning to emerge from the center of the circle.

Even this high above, he heard a collective intake of breath from the Spectrum. They saw the shapes, too.

He thought he was able to distinguish what the shapes were, now. There were three of them. One stood on four legs, with several raised horns––antlers––from its head. It stood with its forelegs at opposite angles, making a perfect “X” shape with its antlers. Another, between its widespread wings and sharp-feathered tail, appeared as if a “Y”, in flight. And the third, with no arms or legs, but a long sinuous body from a head crowned with six wide pointed spikes in a frill-like pattern. Its body made an unmistakeable “Z”.

There was no doubt in Professor Sycamore’s mind that these were Pokémon. He even knew them. Ten years ago, the antlered Pokémon and the winged one were summoned by Lysandre from their dormant states, and their auras used to power the weapon. They were the forces of Life and Death. Which made the snakelike one the Breaker.

Atop the head of the force of Life sat Lysandre. He was not laughing maniacally now. His gaze was set on the man sitting atop the Breaker.

Pure white hair whipping in the wind framed a nevertheless young man’s face. Professor Sycamore had never met the man, but the resemblance to his father was unmistakeable. But how had he gotten here?

*

Zavier sat on the head of the Breaker, safely nestled, despite the Breaker seemingly made up of ephemeral smoke, between two ridges on its head. The Breaker was something out of mythology––the great snake that quelled the fighting when Life and Death grew unbalanced, and restored Order to the world. He had told Ryan about the Breaker, what seemed a long time ago. He wondered if Ryan was down there now. Part of the circle of eighteen.

Now Zavier had met the Breaker. Had joined with it, united by a common goal. To bring down Lysandre once and for all.

Having made his escape from the cells under Lumiose City, Zavier found himself without any kind of auric supply. He could not See, could not Travel. He had used his last stores of aura to escape. He was, though he hated to admit it even to himself, defenseless. But he had to get to the Pokémon League somehow. He was not sure what he could do, lacking even an aura, but he had to try. That meant he had to Travel blindly. And for that, he needed a Conduit.

He found his way quickly to Prism Tower. The tallest building in the world, it was said to be the one spot in Kalos anyone could find their way to anytime. He was not sure about that, but it was easy enough to navigate the twists and turns of Lumiose City. Shortly, he stood at the base of the tower.

Reaching out with his mind, the way he did to use his aura normally, he found the spot in space occupied by Prism Tower. Instantly, he felt a small pulling, as if the tower itself were trying to drag him into nothingness. He allowed it to.

Flicker.

Zavier opened his eyes. And saw nothing. He closed his eyes, and opened them again. He was surrounded by … nothing. He had not emerged at a Conduit. He had not emerged at all.

He had never been conscious while in transit before. In all his eighteen years, he had never once experienced what it was like between destinations. With a feeling of certainty, he knew that he did so now. He was somehow in between Prism Tower and the Conduit at the Pokémon League.

Abruptly, though he could still see nothing, he knew that he was not alone. He felt another presence, watching him. He did not know whether it was good or evil. Perhaps it was neither.

He reached out with his mind, the same way as he had done back at Prism Tower. He tried to feel the other thing’s location, to make out anything he could about it. He felt nothing.

Perhaps the mind-reaching trick did not work here. Perhaps here, he truly was powerless. That thought worried him. If the thing was evil …

Suddenly, he felt its presence increase tenfold. He cast out instinctively with his mind again, but he knew he would not find anything this time, either. So he tried casting out with his arms. If this thing was not here physically, and he could not feel it mentally, it must be something the likes of which he had never encountered before. That thought worried him, too.

Then he heard something. Not with his ears, but he felt it resound in his head as clearly as if he had heard someone speaking right next to him. It was a voice. It said,
Who are you?

Zavier tried to speak, but it was if he had forgotten how to make a sound. Perhaps here, he could not speak. So he tried thinking at the thing, instead. I am Zavier.

Yes, the thing said. I have heard of you. You are the son. The son of the Chaotic One.

My father is Azoth, Zavier thought. The Chaotic One? What was this about? The king of Kalos. Or, he was, once.

Your father … the thing said. Yes. Hmm.

Who are you? Zavier thought at the thing.

I … the thing sounded confused. As if it was straining to remember something that was just at the edge of its memory. Men have called me many names. I was called the Breaker. Once.

Zavier would have gasped, if he could make a sound. The Breaker? Something right out of his father’s stories!

Why am I here? he thought. Surely if anyone or anything could give him an answer, the Breaker could.

The Breaker was silent for a long moment. Zavier began to wonder if it had disappeared. When it spoke again, it was not words that flooded Zavier’s mind, but images, one after the other in rapid succession. Two young men, one of them Ryan, and a woman, leaving a small town with Augustine Sycamore. The same young men and woman in Lumiose City, training to become Pokémon Trainers. The World Tree, burning. And his father. With a glowing auric blade through his chest.

Zavier tried to scream, but of course no sound came out. The Breaker apparently heard it anyway, as it said,
Your father died a hero’s death. He saved the Elemental Spectrum from the burning of the World Tree.

The Elemental Spectrum? Zavier thought. Hadn’t Ryan said something about that?

Yes, the Breaker said. That is why you are here. That is where we are going. That is where we must be. Now.

Zavier only had time to wonder, We?

Flicker.


Zavier looked down at Lysandre, riding atop the force of Life, with the force of Death floating on large claw-like wings above. This was the man whose actions had led to his father’s death. This was the man on whom all of Kalos’s troubles rested.

Zavier screamed into the air, “Break you, Lysandre!” And the Breaker flew at the leader of Team Flare.

Flicker.

*

Ryan stood between Peter and Sera in the circle of eighteen. The deep blue of Froakie’s aura was surrounded on one side by the violet of Peter’s Espeon’s, and on the other by the pale color of ice of Sera’s Amaura.

The battle around them had completely stopped. The Elite Four and Gym Leaders had been trying to hold Team Flare’s battalions off from disrupting the circle, but now everyone stood silent, awed by what they saw.

He watched as Zavier, riding atop the great snakelike form in the mists, rushed right at Lysandre, on his antlered beast. Ryan watched as they both vanished. And with them, the auras of all the Pokémon in the circle of eighteen faded.

*

Zavier was, for the second time that day, surrounded by nothing.

No, as he got his bearings, he saw that it was not quite nothing. It was white interlaced with black, all the light colors swirling against all the dark ones. They shifted as he watched, moving slowly toward or away from one another, like clouds of light and darkness.

He was not alone, either. He could still feel the Breaker’s presence, but as he reached out with his mind, he felt two other somethings, too. And a third, less powerful. He looked around, and saw Lysandre lying unconscious. On the … not a floor. He lay suspended in midair. In nothing but the clouds.

Zavier moved closer to Lysandre, and saw as he did that a light moved with him. He had not noticed it before, but there were shadows, some degree of depth to the clouds. He looked down at his arms, and saw that his entire body was surrounded by a nimbus of pure white.

My aura, he thought. A feeling of affirmation came from the Breaker.

But there was no nimbus surrounding Lysandre. So … he has no aura. The Breaker affirmed it again. That’s why he didn’t die at Geosenge Town.

There’s only one way, he thought at the Breaker.

Yes.

Neither of us is supposed to exist. But the only way to rewrite Lysandre’s aura to make him mortal again … is to give up my own.

Yes,
the Breaker said once again. I can undo the damage caused by Xerneas and Yveltal, but I must also right what they did to you.

Zavier was silent. He could sense the Breaker waiting for a reply. He did not have to sacrifice himself. But if he did not, Lysandre would be free to wreak his chaos on the world. He made his decision.

So be it.

FLICKER.


*

Ryan saw Froakie’s aura flare back to life. Around the circle, he saw everyone else’s flare, too. The auric lines shot out again, forming the eighteen-pointed star. The intense white light appeared again. And two figures hung unsupported in the sky.

As the auras faded along with the star and the light, the figures dropped to the ground. Ryan surged forward with the rest of the Spectrum, and all the Gym Leaders, Elite Four, and Team Flare Grunts with them. Everyone strained to catch a glimpse of what lay on the ground in the middle of the now-broken circle.

Ryan could see now that one figure had flame-red hair and beard, wearing a suit of all black. The other had white hair that did not fit the young face it framed. Lysandre and Zavier.

They were both dead.

This is the last chapter of The Elemental Spectrum, so I think I'll let it speak for itself. No annotations.

I'm working on an epilogue that should tie up a few loose ends and give a more satisfying ending, but in the meantime, I'd love to hear any thoughts, comments, or questions you might have. A lot happened in this chapter, and there's about twice as much I didn't explain, so if you want to know something, ask. :p

Thanks for reading, everyone. I'm so glad to have made it this far. :)
 
This is so depressing, but it's so good at the same time. You did a great job on writing this, but
Y U kill Clemont like dis? XP
Spoilered for those who haven't read it yet. ~Jabber
 
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Yeah, it might've turned out a bit more depressing than I intended. Sorry for that. :(

Thanks for reading, though! ^.^

I felt like it was the right time. It's hard to explain, but Clemont was already emotionally unhinged after thinking himself a failure for ten years. I decided he needed to have one last act of heroism before being killed off. :p
 
Yeah, it might've turned out a bit more depressing than I intended. Sorry for that. :(

Thanks for reading, though! ^.^

I felt like it was the right time. It's hard to explain, but Clemont was already emotionally unhinged after thinking himself a failure for ten years. I decided he needed to have one last act of heroism before being killed off. :p
No, it's fine. I like reading depressing stories. Then I realized that Clemont is actually 23, not 13, at the time of this writing.
 
The epilogue is pretty short, but I think it ties everything together nicely. Enjoy the last installment of The Elemental Spectrum. :)

It was raining.

Droplets of water splattered the four stone caskets, arrayed atop the Tower of Mastery. It was a light rain; scarcely more than a sprinkling. The waters below the Tower, in the bay of Shalour City, lapped at the shore, but did not crash. It was a somber moment.

Ryan drew his black coat closer around himself. It was cold this far up, and the chill wind cut right through the coat as though it were nothing, but that had nothing to do with why Ryan shivered.

He stared down at one of the caskets without really seeing it. It still seemed impossible. Zavier and Azoth had been immortal. Nothing could kill them. Even Team Flare only seemed a minor concern, one that would easily be dealt with, next to the sheer power of the king.

Ani and Roc stood beside him, also wearing black coats, staring wordlessly at the same casket. Ryan remembered the short conversation they had had with the Grunts in the castle during the battle. He had been right. Even after the battle, nothing was as it had been. Nor would it ever be again. Team Flare had seen to that.

So much had been sacrificed to stop Lysandre. So much had left the world for good. Who would keep the legacies of the Kalosi kings? Who would remember their stories?

“The last thing the king said to me,” Ani said, “was ‘It is up to you to record our story.’” Ryan realized he had spoken aloud.

“He told me to keep bringing art to the world,” Roc said quietly. “We won’t let his memory die, Ryan. We won’t let anyone’s memory die.”

“A life is priceless,” Ryan whispered. His coat flapped in the wind, but he barely noticed. “Yes, I understand now. Zavier had to give himself up to save Kalos, and everyone in it.” He turned to Ani and Roc. “That was the price of Order.”

“The price of Order must be paid, for the cost of our mistakes,” Ani said softly. “Of course. That’s what the prophecy said.”

“Zavier paid the price,” Roc said. “The world is safe. We’ll remember. We’ll remember his story.”

“Yes,” Ryan said, turning back to stare at the casket. “The world will remember the king.”

*

Eldan looked down at the casket of dark stone. A stylized “F” was etched into it. The emblem of Team Flare said clearly who this casket belonged to.

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if he had won?” Eldan asked no one in particular.

It was Alma who answered. “Yes,” she whispered. “All the time.”

She had only been on her feet for a day or two. Before that, she had spent a week recovering in the castle of the Pokémon League, along with the rest of the injured. Many of them were here now, standing on the top of the Tower of Mastery, honoring those who had fallen to save Kalos.

“The time of Pokémon Trainers is past,” Jarret said. “I don’t think anyone will forget Team Flare in a hurry, though.”

“They’ll try,” Bertram noted. “But wounds like that run deep. It will take time for them to heal.”

Eldan looked at Alma, in her black coat and cloak. Not one of them wore red. Eldan did not think he would ever be able to wear that particular color again. Wounds ran deep. Alma had been wounded by Team Flare. She had paid the cost of their mistakes for joining Team Flare. But wounds healed. Team Flare had blazed like an inferno, but the embers would fade.

*

Xerosic could just make out the soft notes of a funeral dirge being played overhead. He was back in his cell in the Tower of Mastery. Now, he would never leave. It was his punishment, and rightfully so. He had made his decision. His mistake. Now he would pay for it.

The soft, sad melody washed over him. He thought it fitting, for his present mood. He did not feel regret; only sadness. Would he never be free of Team Flare?

The door of his cell opened with a clang of iron bars. Xerosic looked up instantly. A figure stood there. A woman, wearing all black. Whether out of respect for the dead or for another reason, Xerosic did not know. He did not think this woman was capable of respect for the dead, though.

“Malva,” he said.

“Xerosic,” she said, grinning. “You’re back, I see. Team Flare was never good for you.”

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Where have you been for ten years?”

Malva laughed softly, her grin broadening, but did not answer. “I brought someone to see you, Xerosic.” She stepped aside, revealing another figure in the doorway. Cloaked in shadow, Xerosic could not make out who it was.

“You’re a despicable man, Xerosic,” the figure said. That voice sounded familiar, but he could not place it.

“Who are you?” he asked. He tried not to snap. He had to remember he was not in charge anymore.

“No one of importance,” the figure said. “Long ago, Xerosic, you gave me something. An invention of yours. Something you used to wreak havoc across Lumiose City. You encouraged me to use it for good.” Now Xerosic knew who it was. That did nothing to help his bemusement.

“I’m giving it back,” the figure went on. “You disgust me. I want nothing to do with you.”

She tossed a bundle of black cloth at Xerosic. He snatched it out of the air and stared at it, at first uncomprehendingly. Then, he recognized it. He threw back his head and roared with mad laughter. In his mirth, he did not see the figure approach, nor raise an arm. But he felt the blow.

Everything went black.

*

Professor Sycamore came to the ruins of what had once been his laboratory, in Lumiose City. He supposed “ruins” was stretching it. The first floor was mostly intact, after all. But the second …

He went in through the sliding double doors. The sliding system must have been damaged; he had to force them open. Inside, he could not believe what he saw.

Banners lined every wall; blood-red banners emblazoned with a stylized “F”. Team Flare had been busy in his absence from the laboratory. He slowly walked to one of the walls, and ripped down a banner. And let it fall to the floor. Rebuilding would take time.

Walking over to the back doors, he forced them open, and went outside onto what had been his private battlefield. The grate through which the Spectrum had escaped to the sewers all those months ago was still lying ajar. He vaguely recalled Blake being the last one through. He would have to speak to him about that.

Looking up, he saw a gaping hole in the side of the second floor of the building. Right. The battle.

He bent down to pick up a piece of rubble, and sighed. It would be a long time before these embers faded. But it would happen. The world would be healed. Someday.

A wind blew, ruffling his wild black hair. “It is said the wind holds the mysteries of time,” he murmured, looking down at the piece of rubble, turning it over in his hands. “No force can contain the wind, for the wind always seeks to be free.”

He looked up again, at the wind passing through the trees. Letting the piece of rubble fall to the ground, he thought he could almost see a faint violet mist on the wind, like the nimbus of an aura.

Professor Sycamore smiled.
 
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