[Snippet] The Ghost King (Pokemon): Chapter 2

A/N

I wanted to get a couple more parts of this Snippet out to round off the first chapter because I realized if I waited too long the first chapter might confuse people as to what I was going for. Iā€™m not doing some angst fest, shitty villain MC. MC has his very obvious flaws, heā€™s an almost unrepentant thief, heā€™s had a hard life and falls back on certain things that are familiar. But heā€™s also slowly opening up to the new world.

@***@

The guy he was following wasnā€™t very good at this.

Kept looking over his shoulder. Walked too fast when he shouldā€™ve played it cool.
Amateur.

Not that Edmund was some kind of expert either. Most of what he knew about shady business came from sleeping rough and living in crap neighborhoods. But he knew enough to clock when someone was doing a bad job covering their tracks or they were very obviously suspicious. It was mostly for when to turn around and go the other way, but right now, that kind of experience served him well.

He kept his distance, ducking between a garbage bin and a low fence behind the PokƩMart.

Nothing fancy. Just enough to stay out of the guyā€™s sight.

It wasnā€™t hard. The guy was practically advertising that he was up to something.

Still, Edmund wasnā€™t feeling great about tailing him out here.

Cities? Sure. Plenty of cover.

Out here? Not so much.

He didnā€™t immediately follow the guy as he head out of the proverbial city ā€˜gatesā€™. Instead, Edmund ducked away to a little special spot he found. Behind a bunch of thorny bushes, he pulled up his hood, pulled his long sleeves tight, and pushed himself behind it, rubbing against the wall until he found a small opening he could crawl through to the other side.

It was uncomfortable, painful even as the thorns pricked at him a bit, but it was well worth it.

Itā€™s not like there was a dedicated, large wall between the city and the outside world, but likewise, you couldnā€™t just duck behind some houses and end up in the forests. Essentially, you had to enter and leave by the designated areas to get into or out of the city.

It made sense to Edmund. They probably just didnā€™t want the random PokĆ©mon wandering it unintentionally. On the flip side, they probably also didnā€™t want the random human wandering into the Forests without a second thought.

Who knew if it was to keep the PokƩmon out, or the Humans inside, when it was designed this way.

Regardless, for his time here, Edmund hadnā€™t heard much chatter about a wild PokĆ©mon wandering into the city and accidentally causing some problems, like with traffic or such.

And most importantly, he didnā€™t want to be seen exiting the city and entering. At the very least, he assumed that the was some sort of recordings of who came and left in such a big city.

Call him paranoid, but he didnā€™t like others knowing about his business, even if what he was doing wasnā€™t technically illegal.

He had to take time to catch back up, taking a bit of detour until he found the main road again, but luckily the Pokemart guy had stuck to the road at this point still with Edmund hiding at the edge of the forest.

As the buildings disappeared into the distance, he slowly pulled out his battered map and glanced down. The guy was heading northwestā€”close to a part of Viridian Forest he hadnā€™t really touched yet.

Edmund's stomach tightened when he traced the path with his finger.

Right near Scyther territory.

He knew because he almost got his head taken off there a couple of weeks ago, stumbling too close to the wrong patch of trees like an idiot.

He hadn't planned to go back anytime soon.

And yet, here he was, creeping after some shady PokƩMart worker, headed straight into it with no plan and no backup.

Stupid. Risky. Right on brand.

He pocketed the map and kept moving, doing his best to stay low without tripping over the roots and rocks sticking out of the trail. This wasnā€™t a cityscapeā€”there was no easy way to hide, and the bushes out here were all scratchy enough to rip up your clothes if you werenā€™t careful.

At one point, he lost sight of the guy completely. A dip in the ground, too many treesā€”for a second, he thought about just turning around and saying screw it.

But he pushed on. Part stubbornness, part habit.

Eventually, he thought he heard a commotion ahead and continued onwards towards the sound.

Through a break in the trees, he spotted a small clearingā€”and his jaw almost dropped.

Berries. Hundreds of them.

Bushes heavy with fruit. Some he recognized, if vaguely, but not recalling their specific abilities. But it was the kind of stuff that could sell for a ridiculous price if you had the right buyer.

He crouched low in the underbrush, eyes narrowed.

The worker was moving fast between the bushes, picking berries and stuffing them into metal boxes. Three of them, all with some basic locks. Edmund still had his lock picking kit on him from before, it was small enough to shove into his pocket as he started trailing the guy.

However, he clicked his tongue and forced those thoughts out. He told himself that he didnā€™t need to be a little rat, there were plenty of berries still on the bushes, no need to turn it into an actual crime.

Just because he was ā€˜stealingā€™ didnā€™t mean he had to steal. Once they were picked and in his boxes, those technically belonged to the guy, rather than just being ā€˜wildā€™ berries.

Edmund wasnā€™t a Kleptomaniac. He unashamedly stole when he needed to, but he also didnā€™t like stealing fromā€¦.random people. He had no problem pocketing something from a mega corporation, but deep down, he didnā€™t like stealing from people in a personal manner.

Jaded as he was about his previous life, he didnā€™t steal from people who very obviously he felt would miss whatever he stole. In a different situation, he wouldnā€™t have had such sticky fingers the past couple months.

Edmund watched him work, noting how careful he wasā€”only picking a handful from each bush.

Smart, he noted. If you stripped a wild berry bush clean, it might not regrow next seasonā€”or ever. Even an idiot like him knew you didnā€™t kill the golden goose. Edmund wasnā€™t uninformed about the matter, after hearing about a possible score, he did do his research into  Wild Berries and what that actually meant.

The guy wasnā€™t dumb, just nervous.

Kept glancing around. Kept shifting his weight like he was expecting something.

Edmund frowned. His gut twisted again.

Somethingā€™s not right.

Years of living in bad spots, watching drug deals go down from the comfort of his living room. Having literal bullets fly through his bedroom window, he maybe had a sort of danger instinct.

He was about to back off, cut his losses, when he felt itā€”that prickling sensation, like someone was breathing down his neck.

He turned his head slowly and saw it.

A Weedle, clinging to a nearby tree, staring right at him.

It didnā€™t look angry exactly. Not like the Meowth at home, all teeth and hate.

But it sure as hell didnā€™t like him being here.

Shit.

No time to think. Edmund ducked behind one of the berry bushes that hadnā€™t been touched yet and yanked out the small container heā€™d broughtā€”a battered lunchbox heā€™d rigged up to keep things from getting squashed.

He started shoving berries into it, fast and messy.

Thatā€™s when he heard it.

A faint buzzing. Soft at first. Hard to tell if it was real or just his imagination.

Then louder. Higher.

And then it clicked.

Beedrill.

He didnā€™t even need to see them yetā€”the sound was burned into the brain of anyone who spent more than five minutes in the wild. It was one of the most warned about PokĆ©mon for potential Trainers venturing into the forests.

In hindsight, Edmund should have realized when he saw the Weedle. Memories flooded back, as he realized that Weedle werenā€™t ever alone.

Next thing he knew, the PokƩMart guy was scrambling, fumbling with a PokƩball.

A Poliwag popped out, spinning in place, ready but confused.

Edmund was about to turn around and run, his brain screamed at him to get the fuck out of dodge as fast as possible. However, he cursed under his breath, hesitated a beat too long, and hated himself for it.

Then he popped up from his hiding spot.

"Beedrill swarm!" he yelled.

There was an obvious beat of confusion at Edmundā€™s appearance to the guy. For the tiniest fraction of a moment, it was clear he was about to shout in Edmundā€™s direction. Maybe he was even going to throw out an order to his PokĆ©mon, but then guyā€™s face turned white as realization of Edmunā€™s words set in.

A second later, the trees exploded.

Hundreds of Beedrill poured out of the forest like a living wall, the buzzing so loud it rattled Edmundā€™s teeth.

The first Poison Sting zipped through the air, stabbing into the dirt near the workerā€™s feet.

Edmund didnā€™t wait for a second shot.

He ran.

He bolted through the trees, tearing past branches that slapped at his face and arms.

Something sharp punched into his shoulderā€”a Poison Sting catching him just enough to send a bolt of pain through his arm. He stumbled, nearly going down, but forced himself to keep moving.

Shouldā€™ve stayed hidden. Shouldā€™ve left the guy. Shouldā€™ve brought Repel.

Stupid, Stupid, stupid.

Every angry thought hit him as hard as the branches did.

He could hear a few of the Beedrill still behind him, their wings buzzing loud enough to shake the leaves.

A stinger punched into a tree next to himā€”hard enough to nearly split the trunkā€”and he tripped, crashing to the ground.

Scraped knees. Splinters in his palms. A mouthful of dirt.

Strangely, he felt like dying the second time was worse than the first time.

But when he pushed himself up, he realized the buzzing was getting quieter.

He turnedā€”and there they were.

A handful of Beedrill, hovering about ten feet away.

They werenā€™t attacking.

They just floated there.

Watching.

Edmund froze, heart hammering in his chest.

He noticed it thenā€”the air felt wrong.

Colder.

The forest around him was darker, like a heavy curtain had been pulled over the sun.

Middle of the day, but it felt like nightfall.

The Beedrill shifted, their long stingers twitching, but none of them crossed whatever invisible line separated them from Edmund.

Then, as if spooked by something even worse than him, they turned and zipped away into the trees.

Edmund barely dared to breathe.

He sagged against a tree, knife half-drawn without him even realizing it.

And thatā€™s when he saw the eyes.

Glowing in the shadows, just a few feet away.

Whatever it was, it was watching him.

And thenā€”it moved.

The mist curled around the form, and a low, lilting giggle filled the air.

A Gastly.

Grinning at him like it knew every stupid decision heā€™d made in his entire life.

Edmund gritted his teeth, heart pounding.

It didnā€™t attack.

Didnā€™t curse him.

Didnā€™t hiss or screech.

It just floated there, bobbing slightly, as if waiting for him to make the next move.

Edmund edged back warily, still holding his knife up.

He knew better than to let his guard down, no matter how harmless it looked. Ghost-types werenā€™t just mischievous tricksters; they were literal spirits, and more often than not, they were bad news.

Beyond a singular Trainer ā€“ albeit an Elite Four, Edmund had never heard of a Ghost Specialist. In fact, in the many forums he had visited, trying to get a better grasp of the world, no one talked about their Ghost PokĆ©mon. It was as if everyone strayed far away from the type almost universally.

The common belief with Dragons is that theyā€™re dangerous, but in a majestic sort of war. A force of nature, one could look at it.

For Ghosts, they were dangerous in an indescribable and unknowable way.

It was like the fear of the dark compared to the fear of getting burned. The former being almost instinctual compared to the latter being more logical.

The Gastly spun in a lazy circle around him, giggling softly.

It wasnā€™t attacking, but it wasn't leaving either.

Every few seconds, it would float closer, flickering in and out of the mist, clearly trying to mess with him.

Edmund backed up another step, every muscle in his body tense.

Still, he didnā€™t run.

Mostly because he couldnā€™t.

Where was he supposed to run to? Back into the Beedrill swarm? Or maybe further into the clearly Darker-than-it-should-be forest ahead?

If it wanted to curse him, it wouldā€™ve done it already.

Slowly, keeping a cautious eye on the Gastly, Edmund dropped to one knee and opened his container.

The berries he had grabbed earlier spilled out onto the ground, rolling in the dirt.

He cursed under his breath. His shoulder burned like hell now, and he could feel the sluggish trickle of blood from the sting wound.

He had to do something.

He didnā€™t recognize all the berries, but he didnā€™t have time to be picky. He separated them quickly, taking one of each color.

The Gastly floated closer, watching him with wide, curious eyes.

Edmund ignored it, focusing on the task at hand.

He popped a yellow berry into his mouth firstā€”nothing. Then a purple oneā€”and almost instantly, he felt the burning in his veins ease up, not caring about their specifics tastes.

The poison was fading.

The bleeding from his wound slowed too, though the pain still throbbed with every heartbeat.

He figured one of the berries must have stopped the bleeding for now, but it wasnā€™t a real fix. Heā€™d need that Potion he had hidden back homeā€”and soon.

While he was working, the Gastly hovered closer, occasionally sticking out its ghostly tongue to flick at his ear or ruffle his hair.

Edmund flinched the first few times but eventually just shot it a tired glare.

It didnā€™t seem malicious.

Just... annoying.

It spun in a wide arc above his head, giggling like a kid who found a new toy.

And weirdly, Edmund realizedā€”it wasnā€™t glaring at him. Wasnā€™t treating him like trash.

He recognized a few of the berries now. Some of the shapes and colors clicked into place.

Without really thinking about it, he picked up a deep yellow berry and offered it out.

The Gastly zoomed over immediately and gobbled it up in one big bite.

For a second, it froze midair.

Then its face contorted dramatically, eyes watering, mouth twisting as if it had just eaten the worst thing on the planet.

It was probably the sourest berry of the bunch, looking like a small lemon almost.

Edmund blinked.

And before he knew it, he barked out a short, broken laugh.

The Gastly opened one watery eye at him, looking both betrayed and amusedā€”and then it started laughing too, its misty voice warbling in the cold air.

The Gastly twirled and cackled, spinning lazy circles around him.

Edmund didnā€™t know why he was laughing, but maybe it was the incredulousness of it all that it finally broke him.

"Idiot," Edmund muttered, not sure if he meant the ghostā€”or himself.

Maybe both.