It’s all coming down to the wire.
Bill’s paws roughly scrape the scorched earth beneath after a successful hit-and-run against his worn-down opponent. As traction slows his trajectory, a trail of dirt billows from his feet and temporarily shrouds his figure.
"…did I do it…?!”
Behind the Clover Guild’s base, comically placed amidst the clean grassland, lies what some people would call ground zero. An increasing multitude of creatures an hour prior had huddled around an imaginary square in order to see their improvised little tournament unfold. Maybe the turnover for the guild had been particularly generous that week. Maybe their incident with the Federation had left them on edge, even a month after the fact. But whatever it was, Orans and Reviver Seeds were more than aplenty and most groups wanted a particularly creative R&R session for the day. It was time to see some serious sparring now that most were proficient enough in combat.
What did competitive spirit do to a pokemon? The former humans were far from ready to experience the answer.
Scorch marks, melted ice, chunks of the earth missing, even bits of crimson dot the battleground. An acrid smell coming from the odd patches of destroyed grass permeates the environment. Sweat, blood, residual amounts of gunk… all product of the several brutal bouts that would have been otherwise deadly to any living being from the humans’ world. Each resulting spectacle outperformed the previous fight without fail and the grounds were obliterated even more as a result.
Who knows what could’ve happened if the likes of Lliam or, God forbid, KFC had been thrown into the fray.
From the sidelines, many observe raptly as the dust clears… revealing a panting growlithe and a flickering, twitchy porygon. They lock their glares from several feet away.
Bill is a complete and utter mess. Large portions of his fur are mussed and disheveled. His dirty orange is slightly darker in some areas, leaving little room to the imagination as to what kind of wounds are hiding underneath. His teeth gnash as he tries to ignore the cripplingly unbearable aftermath of having several bursts of electricity course through his body as the path of least resistance.
And on the other side is a hovering, bobbing Porygon. The red Conversion 2 coating his flatly colored body blinks constantly between several states, as though his being finds it hard to keep existing. Despite needing no oxygen, it almost looks as if the living low-poly model is panting as well—perhaps an obstinate remnant of the human residing within the vessel. A glowing Link Box floats above him, imitating his pitiful motions.
Porygon was NOT a foe to be undermined. Human stubbornness had somehow led him to this moment, having realized the potential of his newfound abilities upon reaching this world. He had amassed experience at an alarming rate, surely impressing any bystander witnessing his might...
And yet, it plops to the ground with a noiseless fall. With its colors dulled, it lies inert.
Cyndaquil waits in the middle of the arena with his trusty improvised flag.
…
“...a-and that’s the end of that!”, he raises the banner, about to swing it downward. “The not-as-sexy twin is the win—”
NO.
The artificial being's eyes flare. The simplistic texture that acted as his eyebrows point down as he weakly levitates in the air.
"Don't fucking tell me this guy is not down for the count?", Bill rants in his mind, trying to keep his shivering posture together. His opponent already looked like it was wasted, if they keep going like this—
HEH... WORRY NOT, BILL, Porygon's disembodied voice declares. The growlithe's expression had been far too easy to read. I AM CERTAIN THAT THIS WON'T KILL ME. I'LL JUST NEED A BIT MORE TIME TO RECUPERATE.
Is Bill truly that preoccupied over winning a silly game? Are his instincts clouding his usual judgement that much?
"...
...Bring it on! I'm waiting!"
Bill knows every trick in Porygon's book at this point.
The growlithe's tactics bore fruit. Not without several compromises, but he had his opponent down to a T.
He is about to win.
...
BELAY ENERGY RESERVE ROUTINE!
Porygon's eyes glow an ominous white.
Bill's own eyes widen as several meshes of light manifest from the ether, expanding and covering Porygon's surroundings as if scouting the nearby environment. A mechanical thrumming rings out as the Link Box above the living 3D model begins to spin.
Electricity crackles from the renewed body. Sinister whooshing sounds are accompanied by the glowing meshes shifting in front of Porygon, locking in place like a weapon cocking.
"...I-I'll DODGE IT!", an anxious Bill repeats to himself, glowering at the abominable nightmare scenario he had in front of him. Pure instinct prevents his body from running away. "If he's about to fire more bullshit at me I'll dodge it! HE HAS LEARNED NOTHING!"
The foreboding noises reach a fever pitch. The meshes are reminiscent of a cannon poised to annihilate.
Two loud monotone commands are issued from Porygon's mouthless being:
ml.use(lock-on)!!
ml.use(hyper-beam)!!
Among the aghast spectators, Bill's brother stands up in abject horror:
"BILLY! YOU CAN'T DODGE THAT! HE'S BYPASSING ACCURACY CHECKS!"
Bill's eyes widen further.
Having listened to Gill's game lingo countless times and having been at the receiving end of an unavoidable attack before, he knows what's coming.
It's all over.
The meshes spin and mold into concentric circles.
The Link Box's surface spiderwebs with a crack.
“No… I CAN’T CAVE IN! I NEED TO SURVIVE!”
From within, the pained growlithe’s body rises its temperature up to an unbearable degree. He can even feel his four paws letting out excess energy and heating the ground below. The spent, burnt muzzle starts to concentrate every ounce of his inner fountain of power as the tongue in his mouth sizzles…
Porygon’s ethereal cannon glows brightly and resoundingly.
A flare glimmers at its core.
…
...and BURSTS!
The warm-colored dazzle is bright enough to darken the day.
It hums doom.
Fractions of a second give the illusion of whole minutes.
At that very instant, Bill blasts out the biggest pillar of fire he has ever conjured from his mouth.
Beams collide.
Somehow, the fire bends the death ray by a precious half-second. The endless scythe of light, wide enough to consume half a man cuts along the field with a menacing shriek into one of the walls of the guild, leaving destruction in its wake.
And it's all for naught.
It was foolish to think that a mere growlithe's fire could deter such an attack for long.
The fire dies.
Light engulfs Bill.
...
...
Porygon's cannon unravels. As its ghostly components vanish, the 3D duck model falls down to the ground like a lifeless puppet once again.
Bill's blackened, smoking body lies several feet away. Even from this distance, anyone can tell that he's not conscious anymore.
No one is there to help pick up everyone's jaws from the ground.
Even inside the guild, beyond the vertical wooden hole that used to be a wall, a paralyzed munchlax holding an empty sizzling pan in his hand remains fixed in place like a statue. The beam had narrowly avoided him.
Gill is the first to break out of the trance and run with an audino in tow.
...
Cyndaquil's shaky voice interrupts the silence. His flag is left abandoned on the ground.
"...did... did anyone see who fainted first...?"