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"Sir! Sir! The target is breaking through; we’re completely overwhelmed!"
The voice is a blare of static through his headset, barely audible over the sound of gunfire and explosions.
"We won't hold it much longer! Advise immediately!"
There is only time for a moment's hesitation before he makes a decision.
"Fall back! Let it think it has a clear path; we'll engage from behind the walls. Follow behind and provide fire from the rear."
"Roger that! Be careful, sir! The bastard's stronger than we thought!"
When the transmission dies, he slumps back with a long exhalation of breath. Nothing had gone the way it was meant to.
Ho-oh, the Rainbow Pokémon. Master of the skies, it had only deigned to show itself after its servants had been defeated. The plan had been simple. Subdue one of their leaders and show the others that humanity was far from defeat. Ho-oh itself was considered a lesser threat in comparison to some of its fellows, with a crippling weakness to a common resource and a general aversion to conflict. With any luck, they might even convince it to come around without a fuss. After all, it had been fond of their city once.
And after all, it knew the price that war demanded from those who would engage in its games.
Six months had passed since the sinking of the Sevii Islands. Known survivors of the disaster could be counted on one hand, and the situation hadn’t much improved for humanity since then. Many called it the outrage that had ignited the Insurging War, but in truth, the flames had been simmering long before then. Across every land, the legendary masters of their long-abused allies had arisen out of the mists of fable and story to become all too real, resolving age-old disputes with unceremonious surety. He had been skeptical himself, once.
It is hard to be skeptical when a bird the size of a small whale has been flopping and shrieking outside your window for days.
"Sir?"
A sharp knock on the door rouses him from his thoughts. The voice is carefully composed; it belongs to a woman he vaguely recognizes as a former assistant at the Poké Mart. He frowns.
"Where’s Jordan?"
"Infirmary. ...A portion of the wall collapsed earlier. He was struck."
Better than the mortuary.
"Fine. Status on the inner defenses?"
"No, sir."
He is fairly certain he had not asked a yes-or-no question. He clears his throat and tries again.
"Status?"
"No, sir."
He notices her bloodless lips for the first time as they quiver with emotion, attempting to form some further response.
"...They've all fled, sir. The militia doesn’t dare to attack their – to attack it. We have no inner defenses."
He stares uncomprehendingly for only a moment before he swings back around and takes a few brisk strides back to his window.
He was wrong. It is the size of a large whale. A very, very large whale.
-----
"Fuck."
"What?"
"Fuck."
He stares wearily at his companion. By default they are best friends now. Everyone else he likes is smoldering gently thirty feet away from their position behind an enormous slab of granite fallen from the walls. There isn't, he thinks, enough time left to find a different best friend before he joins them, but he can't help being impatient regardless.
"Stop fucking saying that and tell me what’s fucking wrong."
His companion stares mutely at the ground. After a few more moments of terse silence, he gives up and joins him.
"Fuck."
He stares at the rainbows shimmering in the mud and concludes there definitely isn’t enough time. Silently, he raises a flask to his lips before offering it to his best friend.
-----
"Sir!"
She pulls him away from the window two seconds before it cracks and shatters violently. He has no idea why it did that even as he feels the wave of heat rush into the room.
"Sir. We need to go."
He tenses. Nothing in the world would keep him from protecting his city, regardless of the threat – not storm, not foreign invasion, not even their patron deity returning to exact retribution for who knows what insult. ...That was what he had said in his speech on Tuesday, as he recalled. He had meant it on Tuesday.
What day is it today?
"This isn’t a ship, sir. No one wants you to go down with your office."
Impertinence seems to have a linear relationship with fear, he observes, as she tugs on his arm in a less than respectful manner.
"It’s a very nice office. We can build you a new one."
The heat is so intense now that his sweat is soaking through his clothing. She pulls away in surprise and examines her slick palms with a vaguely disgusted expression before deciding there were more important things to worry about than sweat. He is very conscious that his mind has stopped running.
"Please, sir."
He has still only half-formed a response when an explosion rocks the building, and he is thrown to the ground.
-----
"Sir?"
No answer. He hadn’t expected one – the radio had been outputting nothing but static since his last transmission. He quietly replaces it while exhaling slowly.
"Bastard’s sitting right on top of us."
His companion seems to be frightened into paralysis. This might be preferable.
"What d'ya think we should do?"
'Silently retch' is not an answer he had been considering, but he pats his stricken friend very quietly, anyway, before inching forward to peer up around the lower lip of the rock slab. From here, its talons are clearly visible, the nails alone each the size of his head. A little further out, and he can make out its legs and belly, the plumage as radiant and colorful as he had always been told.
It is meant to be majestic, he thinks. He is reminded instead of the fat birds that sit around waiting for crumbs in the park.
A drop of something viscous splatters in his face as he gapes, and he quickly retreats back under the slab.
"Looks like it’s wounded."
Deities still bleed red. This is comforting, for some odd reason.
"It’s resting. Probably regenerates if it sits around a few minutes."
Because why shouldn’t a god carry Leftovers if it wanted to?
"We can wait until it flaps off and crawl away. We’d probably survive."
The rock slab rumbles above them as the giant bird adjusts its perch; simultaneously, the other man’s eyes roll back in his head as he faints.
"Well."
He’d survive, anyway.
He finds what he is looking for after a few moments rummaging around the prone body. The poor guy had never had a throwing arm worth speaking of – still stupid as hell to just hang on to them like souvenirs, though. He’d be more irritated if he hadn’t wholly expected it.
They’d each only been issued two. As for launchers... there were only four in total to go around the entire city.
Good thing he had raided the armory early on.
When all is set, he casts an expression of faint guilt at the unconscious man before he slowly begins to edge out once more. There isn't any sense delaying it. At any moment, the great bird could flap off, and he'd lose his chance entirely.
It still takes him five minutes, anyway.
When he slides out beyond the shadow of the rock, it's too surprised to do anything but stare blankly at the ant that's appeared underneath its feet.
"ROCK WRECKER!"
He fires straight into its massive chest.
-----
There is an almighty cry.
He cannot be sure he’s still alive until he feels a tugging on his arm once again, and he sees the lips of the young woman mouthing silently from the corner of his eye. He can’t hear her, though. He can hear nothing but that scream, and he struggles to his feet, ignoring her as she attempts to pull him away.
From the hole where his glass windows used to be, he can see it die.
It burns fervidly, the flames flickering through a multitude of colors, each more brilliant than the last. He isn't sure whether the flames are spreading throughout the city or if it's simply an illusion caused by the lights shining and reflecting every which way. The fate of the city doesn't seem as important now, somehow. There is nothing else to see but the lights, and he feels sure that if the whole of his attention isn't focused on them, he will regret it for the rest of his life.
The great bird stretches out its wings and shrieks again, its eyes directed to the heavens. It cries, on and on, the sound reverberating across the city, and he feels as if it is trying to speak. To leave a message, to communicate to something, anything that might be listening. ...He wonders what it could be saying.
'Avenge my death'? 'I will not be stopped here'? 'Oh foolish humans, see what you have wrought'?
He does not feel it is any of those things.
It is a lament. A cry of tragedy, a cry of sorrow at what has been and what must be and what is yet to come.
It burns for what seems like hours, the flames vividly flickering every color known to man and several he has never known.
It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
The voice is a blare of static through his headset, barely audible over the sound of gunfire and explosions.
"We won't hold it much longer! Advise immediately!"
There is only time for a moment's hesitation before he makes a decision.
"Fall back! Let it think it has a clear path; we'll engage from behind the walls. Follow behind and provide fire from the rear."
"Roger that! Be careful, sir! The bastard's stronger than we thought!"
When the transmission dies, he slumps back with a long exhalation of breath. Nothing had gone the way it was meant to.
Ho-oh, the Rainbow Pokémon. Master of the skies, it had only deigned to show itself after its servants had been defeated. The plan had been simple. Subdue one of their leaders and show the others that humanity was far from defeat. Ho-oh itself was considered a lesser threat in comparison to some of its fellows, with a crippling weakness to a common resource and a general aversion to conflict. With any luck, they might even convince it to come around without a fuss. After all, it had been fond of their city once.
And after all, it knew the price that war demanded from those who would engage in its games.
Six months had passed since the sinking of the Sevii Islands. Known survivors of the disaster could be counted on one hand, and the situation hadn’t much improved for humanity since then. Many called it the outrage that had ignited the Insurging War, but in truth, the flames had been simmering long before then. Across every land, the legendary masters of their long-abused allies had arisen out of the mists of fable and story to become all too real, resolving age-old disputes with unceremonious surety. He had been skeptical himself, once.
It is hard to be skeptical when a bird the size of a small whale has been flopping and shrieking outside your window for days.
"Sir?"
A sharp knock on the door rouses him from his thoughts. The voice is carefully composed; it belongs to a woman he vaguely recognizes as a former assistant at the Poké Mart. He frowns.
"Where’s Jordan?"
"Infirmary. ...A portion of the wall collapsed earlier. He was struck."
Better than the mortuary.
"Fine. Status on the inner defenses?"
"No, sir."
He is fairly certain he had not asked a yes-or-no question. He clears his throat and tries again.
"Status?"
"No, sir."
He notices her bloodless lips for the first time as they quiver with emotion, attempting to form some further response.
"...They've all fled, sir. The militia doesn’t dare to attack their – to attack it. We have no inner defenses."
He stares uncomprehendingly for only a moment before he swings back around and takes a few brisk strides back to his window.
He was wrong. It is the size of a large whale. A very, very large whale.
"Fuck."
"What?"
"Fuck."
He stares wearily at his companion. By default they are best friends now. Everyone else he likes is smoldering gently thirty feet away from their position behind an enormous slab of granite fallen from the walls. There isn't, he thinks, enough time left to find a different best friend before he joins them, but he can't help being impatient regardless.
"Stop fucking saying that and tell me what’s fucking wrong."
His companion stares mutely at the ground. After a few more moments of terse silence, he gives up and joins him.
"Fuck."
He stares at the rainbows shimmering in the mud and concludes there definitely isn’t enough time. Silently, he raises a flask to his lips before offering it to his best friend.
"Sir!"
She pulls him away from the window two seconds before it cracks and shatters violently. He has no idea why it did that even as he feels the wave of heat rush into the room.
"Sir. We need to go."
He tenses. Nothing in the world would keep him from protecting his city, regardless of the threat – not storm, not foreign invasion, not even their patron deity returning to exact retribution for who knows what insult. ...That was what he had said in his speech on Tuesday, as he recalled. He had meant it on Tuesday.
What day is it today?
"This isn’t a ship, sir. No one wants you to go down with your office."
Impertinence seems to have a linear relationship with fear, he observes, as she tugs on his arm in a less than respectful manner.
"It’s a very nice office. We can build you a new one."
The heat is so intense now that his sweat is soaking through his clothing. She pulls away in surprise and examines her slick palms with a vaguely disgusted expression before deciding there were more important things to worry about than sweat. He is very conscious that his mind has stopped running.
"Please, sir."
He has still only half-formed a response when an explosion rocks the building, and he is thrown to the ground.
"Sir?"
No answer. He hadn’t expected one – the radio had been outputting nothing but static since his last transmission. He quietly replaces it while exhaling slowly.
"Bastard’s sitting right on top of us."
His companion seems to be frightened into paralysis. This might be preferable.
"What d'ya think we should do?"
'Silently retch' is not an answer he had been considering, but he pats his stricken friend very quietly, anyway, before inching forward to peer up around the lower lip of the rock slab. From here, its talons are clearly visible, the nails alone each the size of his head. A little further out, and he can make out its legs and belly, the plumage as radiant and colorful as he had always been told.
It is meant to be majestic, he thinks. He is reminded instead of the fat birds that sit around waiting for crumbs in the park.
A drop of something viscous splatters in his face as he gapes, and he quickly retreats back under the slab.
"Looks like it’s wounded."
Deities still bleed red. This is comforting, for some odd reason.
"It’s resting. Probably regenerates if it sits around a few minutes."
Because why shouldn’t a god carry Leftovers if it wanted to?
"We can wait until it flaps off and crawl away. We’d probably survive."
The rock slab rumbles above them as the giant bird adjusts its perch; simultaneously, the other man’s eyes roll back in his head as he faints.
"Well."
He’d survive, anyway.
He finds what he is looking for after a few moments rummaging around the prone body. The poor guy had never had a throwing arm worth speaking of – still stupid as hell to just hang on to them like souvenirs, though. He’d be more irritated if he hadn’t wholly expected it.
They’d each only been issued two. As for launchers... there were only four in total to go around the entire city.
Good thing he had raided the armory early on.
When all is set, he casts an expression of faint guilt at the unconscious man before he slowly begins to edge out once more. There isn't any sense delaying it. At any moment, the great bird could flap off, and he'd lose his chance entirely.
It still takes him five minutes, anyway.
When he slides out beyond the shadow of the rock, it's too surprised to do anything but stare blankly at the ant that's appeared underneath its feet.
"ROCK WRECKER!"
He fires straight into its massive chest.
There is an almighty cry.
He cannot be sure he’s still alive until he feels a tugging on his arm once again, and he sees the lips of the young woman mouthing silently from the corner of his eye. He can’t hear her, though. He can hear nothing but that scream, and he struggles to his feet, ignoring her as she attempts to pull him away.
From the hole where his glass windows used to be, he can see it die.
It burns fervidly, the flames flickering through a multitude of colors, each more brilliant than the last. He isn't sure whether the flames are spreading throughout the city or if it's simply an illusion caused by the lights shining and reflecting every which way. The fate of the city doesn't seem as important now, somehow. There is nothing else to see but the lights, and he feels sure that if the whole of his attention isn't focused on them, he will regret it for the rest of his life.
The great bird stretches out its wings and shrieks again, its eyes directed to the heavens. It cries, on and on, the sound reverberating across the city, and he feels as if it is trying to speak. To leave a message, to communicate to something, anything that might be listening. ...He wonders what it could be saying.
'Avenge my death'? 'I will not be stopped here'? 'Oh foolish humans, see what you have wrought'?
He does not feel it is any of those things.
It is a lament. A cry of tragedy, a cry of sorrow at what has been and what must be and what is yet to come.
It burns for what seems like hours, the flames vividly flickering every color known to man and several he has never known.
It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
