Ash Ascendant: Chapter 1

Hi all, 

Here’s a new Pokemon story for you to chew over. It won’t be a gamer story, but it will have cultivation elements. A second chapter will be out later today.

Chapter 1

The acrid stench of decay and corrosion assaulted Ash's nostrils as he meticulously picked his way through the towering mountains of refuse. His keen eyes, sharpened by years of scavenging, darted from object to object, assessing each item's potential value with the practised efficiency of a seasoned scrapper. The Slums' most recent bounty from the upper floors had just been dumped, creating a treacherous landscape of jagged metal, broken electronics, and unidentifiable sludge. Ash knew that time was of the essence; soon, other scrappers would descend upon this toxic cornucopia, leaving nothing but scraps for latecomers.

Ash's calloused hands moved with purpose, shoving aside rusted metal sheets that creaked ominously and cracked plastics that threatened to slice through his worn gloves. The eerie glow of bioluminescent fungi, which had adapted to thrive in this wasteland, cast an otherworldly light over the scene. A half-eaten protein bar, miraculously unspoiled, found its way into his pocket, wrapped carefully in a scrap of relatively clean fabric. Every morsel counted in the unforgiving world of the Slums, where the next meal was never guaranteed.

As he dug deeper into the mound, his fingers brushed against a leather binding. Hope flared in his chest. Knowledge in the Slums was an expensive commodity. Even if he couldn't use it, he could sell it for a decent amount of pokedollars.

A sound froze him in his tracks. It was a noise that haunted his nightmares, a grating, metallic scrape that seemed to resonate through the very ground beneath his feet. The sound was accompanied by a tremor that sent smaller pieces of debris skittering down the refuse piles. Ash's breath caught in his throat as realisation dawned: Steelix.

With the fluid grace of one who had long since learned that hesitation meant death, Ash submerged himself into the mound of garbage. His heart pounded in his ears, its rhythm matching the ominous rumble drawing ever closer. He burrowed deeper, ignoring the sharp edges that bit into his skin and the unknown substances that squelched beneath him. Through a small gap in his makeshift refuge, Ash watched with wide eyes as the massive form of the Steelix came into view.

The Pokémon was a behemoth, its segmented body a fusion of living metal and crystalline growths. Each segment was the size of a small vehicle, covered in scratches and dents that spoke of countless battles. Its eyes, set deep in its armoured head, glowed with an intelligence that belied its monstrous appearance.

Ash's mind raced back to his last encounter with one of these titans—a memory etched in pain and terror. He had been younger then, more reckless, still believing in his invincibility despite the harsh realities of slum life. The Steelix had emerged from the ground without warning, its roar causing him to freeze momentarily. Ash had run, of course, but in the labyrinthine waste piles, there was no clear escape. The Steelix's Iron Tail had caught him, sending him flying into a pile of old furniture. He landed on an old, broken sofa, sparing him from further injury. Still, it had taken him out of the game for weeks as his injuries slowly recovered.

Now, older and wiser, Ash remained perfectly still as the Steelix slithered past his hiding spot. He held his breath, knowing that the slightest movement could attract the Pokemon's attention. The air grew heavy with the scent of metal and ozone, a sure sign of the Steelix's presence. Seconds stretched into minutes as the Pokémon's massive form blocked out what little light was left in the fading late afternoon.

Finally, mercifully, the Steelix moved on, its segmented body disappearing into the haze of toxic fumes that perpetually shrouded the slums. The ground continued to tremble for several moments after it had passed from view. Ash waited several more minutes, his ears straining for any sign of the Pokémon's return before he dared to move.

As he extricated himself from the garbage pile, Ash let out a shaky breath. "Too bloody close," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow with a grimy hand. His heart was still racing, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He noticed something clutched tightly in his left hand—the object he had been reaching for when the Steelix appeared.

Curious, despite his lingering fear, Ash opened his hand to reveal a book. Its cover was worn and stained, and the once-vibrant colours faded to muted hues. Flecks of an unidentifiable substance clung to its edges, but the title was still legible: "The Path of the Trainer: An Introduction to Cultivation."

Ash's heart skipped a beat. Cultivation—the mystical art that allowed humans to bond with Pokémon and get stronger together. It was a closely guarded secret, with most Slum dwellers knowing little more than rumours and legends about the practice. And yet, here in his hands, was a book that promised to unveil those secrets.

With trembling fingers, Ash opened the book, his eyes devouring the words on the first page:

"To cultivate is to nurture the spark of energy within oneself, to fan it into a roaring flame that can reshape reality itself. This journey begins with the opening of one's mind palace—a sanctuary of the spirit where humans and Pokémon can truly become one."

Excitement surged through Ash, momentarily eclipsing the lingering fear from his close encounter with the Steelix. This book could be his ticket out of the slums, a chance to finally bond with a Pokémon partner and challenge the first-floor Gym. He could almost taste the clean air of the upper floors, and the variety of abundant food.

The book detailed meditation techniques, breathing exercises, and mental visualisations—all designed to help the reader tap into their inner energy and create a mind palace. Intricate diagrams depicted the flow of energy through the human body, while others showed the theoretical structure of a mind palace. It was complex stuff, filled with terms and concepts Ash had never encountered before, but he was determined to unravel its mysteries.

Ash tucked the book securely into his tattered jacket. He would study it, away from the prying eyes of other scrappers who might try to steal such a valuable find. The book's weight against his chest felt like a promise, a secret shared between him and the universe.

As Ash resumed his scavenging, his movements were energised by a new sense of hope. The slums hadn’t broken him; they had prepared him. And now, with this book in his possession, he had a real chance at ascending the Tower. He imagined himself standing before the first-floor Gym Leader, a Pokémon partner by his side, ready to prove his worth and take the first step towards a better life.

The toxic air seemed a little less oppressive, and the looming shadow of the Tower a little less daunting. For the first time in years, Ash allowed himself to dream of a future beyond mere survival. 

As Ash picked up a promising-looking piece of scrap metal, its surface glinting with the telltale sheen of rare earth elements, a determined smile played across his lips. He had always been a quick learner, adapting to the ever-changing dangers of the slums. This would be no different.

"Watch out, Tower," Ash whispered to himself, his voice barely audible above the ambient noise of the slums. "I'm coming for you."

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

In the aftermath of the catastrophe that nearly obliterated the Pokémon world, Arceus, the supreme deity, took drastic measures to preserve what remained of life and civilisation. Using its immense power, Arceus gathered the fragments of the shattered world—landmasses, oceans, and the fabric of reality itself—and recombined them into a colossal tower.

This process was far from perfect. In its haste to save what it could, Arceus created a haphazard structure where different areas, towns, landmarks, and biomes were fused together on each floor. The result was a vertical world of startling diversity and stark contrasts, where a tropical jungle might exist alongside an arctic tundra, or ancient ruins could border a futuristic cityscape.

The Tower was the shape of an inverted pyramid, with each ascending floor larger than the one below it. This peculiar structure was not by design, but rather a consequence of the chaotic recombination process. The first floor, being closest to the ground, was constructed from the most readily available fragments, resulting in the smallest land area and the scarcest resources.

Initially, the implications of this structure weren’t apparent to the survivors. People were simply grateful to have been saved from total annihilation. However, as time passed and generations lived and died within the Tower, the harsh realities of this new world order became increasingly clear.

Those whose ancestors were placed on the first floor, like Ash and his mother, found themselves at a severe disadvantage. Resources were scarce, competition fierce, and the environment hostile. The limited space meant overcrowding was a constant issue, exacerbating social tensions and making survival a daily struggle.

In contrast, the upper floors of the Tower offered progressively more space, resources, and opportunities. The highest floors were rumoured to be paradises of abundance, with vast landscapes and thriving ecosystems that harkened back to the world that was lost.

This disparity created a society stratified not just by wealth or ability, but by literal elevation. The drive to ascend the Tower became the primary motivator for many, especially those born on the lower floors. The Gym system, established to maintain order and provide a means of advancement, became both a beacon of hope and a source of bitter frustration for those unable to progress.

Ash’s house was located on the outskirts of a massive landfill, in what used to be known as Oldale Town in the Hoenn region before the fall. Now, it was barely recognisable as a town, a sprawling shantytown of cobbled-together shelters and makeshift structures.

The remnants of Oldale Town's past glory were few and far between. A crumbling Pokémon Centre, its iconic red roof long since faded to a dull rust colour, served as a grim reminder of a time when Pokémon and humans lived in harmony. The once-bustling town square was now a marketplace of desperation, where residents traded whatever meagre possessions they could spare for the bare necessities of survival.

Ash's neighbours were cut from the same cloth as him—survivors, scrappers, and dreamers, all doing whatever they could to eke out an existence in this unforgiving environment. Adults moved with the wary efficiency of those accustomed to constant struggle, always on the lookout for the next opportunity or threat.

Yet, amidst this sea of hardship, there were islands of relative comfort. A handful of residents lived in dwellings that seemed almost luxurious by comparison—structures with intact roofs, walls free from patches, and even the occasional glimpse of technology that functioned. These were the lucky few with connections to the second floor, individuals who had managed to establish trading relationships with those above.

It was through these second-floor connections that Ash earned the bulk of his income. His skill at salvaging and repairing discarded items from the upper floors hadn’t gone unnoticed. Broken gadgets, outdated technology, and even the occasional rare artefact passed through his hands, each one meticulously restored before being resold to the floors above.

However, the severe disadvantages of the first floor in terms of trading power meant that even Ash's considerable skills couldn't earn him more than a modest income. The pokedollars he managed to scrape together were enough to keep him and his mother fed and sheltered, but dreams of true comfort or luxury remained frustratingly out of reach.

Still, as Ash approached his home—a patchwork shelter of corrugated metal, salvaged wood, and reinforced plastic sheeting—he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride. Their lives were far from easy, but they were better off than most in town. The small generator humming outside, powered by a jury-rigged array of discarded solar cells, was a testament to Ash's ingenuity. It provided them with a luxury few on the first floor enjoyed: a few hours of electricity each day.

Inside, Ash's mother, Delia, was busy at their small stove, coaxing a meal out of their meagre supplies. The scent of cooking food was a comfort that never failed to lift Ash's spirits. As he entered, Delia looked up, her worn face brightening at the sight of her son.

"Welcome home, Ash," she said. "Any luck today?"

Ash's hand instinctively went to the pocket where he'd hidden the cultivation book. For a moment, he considered sharing his incredible find with his mother. But caution won out. Until he understood more about what he'd discovered, it was safer to keep it secret.

"Just the usual, Mum," he replied, forcing a casual tone. "I found a few things that might fetch a decent price upstairs."

Delia nodded, a knowing look in her eyes. She had an uncanny ability to sense when Ash was holding something back, but she never pushed. It was one of the many things Ash loved about her—her ability to offer support without prying.

"Well, then," she said, turning back to the stove, "you're just in time. Dinner's almost ready. Why don't you wash up and tell me about your day?"

As Ash moved to the small basin they used for washing, he watched his mother out of the corner of his eye. Delia hummed softly as she worked, an old tune that Ash vaguely remembered from his childhood. It was a habit of hers, one that brought a sense of normalcy to their often chaotic lives.

Delia's role in their survival was just as crucial as Ash's, though often less visible. While Ash scavenged for tradeable goods, Delia carved out her niche in the harsh economy of the first floor. She was an expert in urban agriculture, coaxing life from the most unlikely places. The mushrooms sizzling in the pan were her cultivation, grown in a carefully maintained environment in what used to be a storage closet.

But Delia's true talent lay in her ability to create networks. She knew everyone in their section of the first floor, and most people knew her. Through careful cultivation of relationships—a kind word here, a small favour there—she had built a web of allies that often meant the difference between going hungry and having just enough.

As they sat down to eat, Delia regaled Ash with the day's news and gossip. Her keen ear and sharp mind missed nothing, and Ash had learnt long ago that his mother's seemingly innocuous chatter often contained vital information.

"Mrs. Abernathy down the street is looking for someone to repair her water filtration system," Delia mentioned casually, spooning out the stew. "I told her you might be able to help."

Ash nodded, making a mental note. Mrs. Abernathy was old and didn't have much, but she was well-connected to some of the traders who dealt with the second floor. A favour for her could open up valuable opportunities.

"Oh, and I heard a rumour today," Delia continued, her voice dropping slightly. "There's been some unusual activity around the town ruins, but people are too scared to investigate."

Ash's ears perked up at this. The ruins were on the outskirts of town and had some unusual etchings on the walls on the inside, but they had been explored thoroughly and nothing else had been found. Was someone exploring them again or was there something else going on? He would check it out if he managed to bond with a Pokemon.

As they ate and talked, Ash was struck once again by his mother's resilience. Despite everything they'd been through, despite the daily struggle for survival, Delia had never lost her compassion or hope for a better future. She could find joy in the smallest things—a successfully grown mushroom, a neighbour's kind gesture, or simply a moment of peace with her son.

It was for her, more than anything, that Ash was determined to master cultivation and ascend the Tower. He wanted to give her the life she deserved, where she didn't have to scrape and struggle for every small comfort.

As the meal wound down, Delia reached across the table and squeezed Ash's hand. "I'm proud of you, you know," she said softly. "Every day, you go out there and you fight to make our lives better. Your father would be proud too."

Ash felt a lump form in his throat. They rarely spoke of his father, who had disappeared on a scavenging run when Ash was just a toddler. The pain of his loss was an old wound, but one that never fully healed.

"Thanks, Mum," he managed, squeezing her hand back. "I couldn't do any of it without you."

As they cleared the table together, Ash felt the weight of the cultivation book in his pocket more keenly than ever. He was keeping a secret from his mother for the first time in his life, and it didn't sit well with him. But as he watched Delia move about their small home, humming her tune and planning for tomorrow, he renewed his silent vow.

He would master cultivation. He would ascend the Tower. And he would give his mother the life she deserved, no matter what it took.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Ash made his way over to his workshop. The 'garage', as he optimistically called it, was little more than a cobbled-together lean-to attached to their modest dwelling. Still, it was his space, a sanctuary where he could tinker and dream of a life beyond the oppressive confines of the first floor.

As Ash pushed open the door, its rusted hinges screeched, the familiar scent of metal, and oil enveloped him. His eyes, accustomed to the dim light, darted around the cluttered room, taking in the organised chaos of his workshop. Shelves lined the walls, bowing slightly under the weight of an eclectic assortment of salvaged parts and half-finished projects. Coils of wire hung like metallic vines, while stacks of circuit boards created miniature cityscapes in the corners.

A workbench dominated the centre of the space, its scratched and burned surface a testament to countless hours of meticulous repair work. Tools of various sizes and origins were scattered across it, some recognisable, others modified beyond recognition to suit Ash's specific needs. A soldering iron, still warm from his morning's work, sat next to a half-disassembled data pad.

With practised efficiency, Ash began to sort through the day's haul. A cracked data pad here, its screen a spider web of fissures but its memory banks potentially intact. There was a bundle of frayed optical cables there, their ends corroded but the core still salvageable. Each piece was carefully examined, its potential assessed and then stored away for future use or trade.

But even as his hands worked, Ash's mind wasn't on the task at hand. Instead, it kept drifting to the weight of the book hidden beneath his jacket. The cultivation manual seemed to burn against his skin, a constant reminder of the potential future it represented.

As soon as the last piece of salvage was put away—a peculiar crystalline object that hummed faintly when touched—Ash retreated to the far corner of the workshop. Here, tucked away behind a towering pile of discarded machine casings, was a small cot. The thin mattress was lumpy and the frame creaked ominously, but it offered a modicum of privacy.

With trembling hands, Ash withdrew the cultivation manual from its hiding place. He settled onto the cot, wincing as a loose spring poked his back, and began to read.

The first few pages were filled with flowery prose about the nature of energy and the balance of the universe. Ash skimmed these impatiently, his eyes hungrily searching for something more concrete. His heart raced with each turn of the page, a mix of excitement and anxiety coursing through his veins. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a series of exercises designed to help beginners sense and manipulate the energy around them.

"The first step in cultivation," the book read, its archaic language a challenge to decipher, "is to become aware of the energy that surrounds us at all times. Close thine eyes and focus on thy breathing. Imagine each breath drawing in not just air, but the very essence of the world around thee."

Ash glanced around nervously, suddenly acutely aware of his vulnerability. Seeing no one, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and closed his eyes.

At first, nothing happened. Ash sat there, feeling increasingly foolish as the minutes ticked by. His mind wandered traitorously, flitting from thought to thought like a restless Butterfree. He found himself thinking about the stack of repairs waiting for him, each one representing precious pokedollars. The constant growling of his stomach reminded him of the meagre rations that passed for dinner in their household. The background noise of the Slums filtered through the thin walls—distant shouts, the clanging of metal, the occasional roar of a feral Pokémon.

"Focus, you numpty," he muttered to himself, gritting his teeth in frustration. He forced his attention back to his breathing, trying to imagine each inhalation drawing in more than just the stale, polluted air of the first floor. In, out. In, out. The rhythm became a mantra, drowning out the distractions of the outside world.

As the hours crept by, marked only by the steady drip of a leaky pipe in the corner, Ash began to notice... something. It was faint at first, barely perceptible. A tingling sensation that seemed to dance just at the edge of his awareness, like static electricity prickling along his skin. He focused on it, straining to grasp this elusive feeling, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Suddenly, it was as if a veil had been lifted from his senses. The energy was there, all around him. It was faint, like the last echoes of a dying song, but unmistakably present. Ash gasped, his eyes flying open in shock, his heart pounding as if he'd run a marathon.

The workshop looked different now, transformed by his newly awakened senses. Faint currents of energy swirled through the air, barely visible to his enhanced perception. They pooled around certain objects – a piece of quartz he'd found on a scavenging run, its crystalline structure seeming to pulse with inner light. A strange metal alloy he'd never been able to identify glowed faintly, its surface rippling like water. Even his own body seemed to emit a soft radiance, with energy flowing through him like blood through veins.

Elated, Ash turned back to the book, eager to learn more. His eyes devoured the pages, drinking in the knowledge hidden from him his entire life. However, his excitement quickly turned to confusion, then dismay, as he read the next passage:

"The density of energy in one's environment plays a crucial role in cultivation. Areas rich in natural or spiritual energy will greatly accelerate a cultivator's progress, while areas with sparse energy will hinder growth. One must be mindful of this, lest they strive fruitlessly against the very nature of their surroundings."

Ash frowned, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He reached out with his newly awakened senses, trying to gauge the energy around him. It was there, but it was thin, barely a trickle compared to the rushing rivers described in the book. The realisation hit him like a physical blow, driving the air from his lungs.

"Bloody hell," Ash muttered bitterly, his shoulders sagging. "The first floor has to be at a disadvantage."

He read on, his heart growing heavier with each word. The book spoke of cultivation techniques that required vast amounts of energy, of breakthroughs that could shake the heavens. But it also warned, in no uncertain terms, of the dangers of attempting such feats in energy-poor environments.

"A cultivator must be keenly aware of their limitations," the text cautioned, its words seeming to burn themselves into Ash's mind. "Attempting to progress too quickly in an area with insufficient energy can lead to severe physical and spiritual damage. Many an ambitious soul has been lost to the folly of overreaching."

Ash's mind raced, trying to process this new information. The scarcity of energy on the first floor explained so much—why so few people here ever managed to bond with Pokemon, why the Gym challenge seemed like an insurmountable obstacle. It was like trying to grow a forest in a desert, with only droplets of water to sustain it.

But even as despair threatened to overwhelm him, Ash felt a spark of defiance ignite in his chest. He refused to let this deter him. If anything, it only strengthened his resolve. He would find a way to overcome this obstacle, just as he had overcome every other challenge the Slums had thrown at him. If he had to wring every last drop of energy from this barren environment, so be it.

With renewed determination, Ash dove back into the exercises. He focused on drawing in what little energy was available, visualising it as tendrils of light that he pulled into himself with each breath. Following the book's instructions, he attempted to refine this energy within his body, to purify and strengthen it. It was slow, painstaking work, like trying to fill an ocean with a teaspoon. Each small success was hard-won, leaving him drained and gasping.

As the hours wore on, Ash began to feel the strain of his efforts. His head pounded as if a Machamp were using it for punching practice. A bone-deep weariness settled over him, making even the simple act of turning a page felt like lifting a boulder. The book had warned of this too—the physical toll of cultivation, especially in the early stages. But knowing about it didn't make the experience any less gruelling.

Finally, as the last light of day faded from the grimy windows of his workshop, Ash was forced to admit defeat—for now. He could barely keep his eyes open, the words on the page blurring into an indecipherable mess. His entire body felt like it was made of lead, heavy and unresponsive.

With great effort, Ash tucked the cultivation manual back into its hiding place, his movements clumsy with exhaustion. He stumbled over to his cot, barely managing to kick off his shoes before collapsing onto the thin mattress. The springs creaked in protest, but Ash was beyond caring. He was asleep a moment later.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The wan light of dawn had barely begun to filter through the grimy plastic sheets that served as windows when Ash awoke. His body ached from yesterday's efforts, but a fire burned in his chest, driving him to continue. 

Once again, Ash settled onto his rickety cot, the cultivation manual open before him. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing as he had the day before. This time, the energy came more easily.

Hours slipped by, marked only by the grumbling of Ash's neglected stomach and the ever-present hum of the Slums. He pushed through the discomfort, driven by an instinct that told him he was on the cusp of something monumental.

As the afternoon wore on, Ash felt a shift. The trickle of energy he'd been coaxing into himself suddenly surged, as if a dam had broken. His eyes flew open, his gasp of shock turning into a yelp of pain as a searing sensation bloomed on his forehead.

For a terrifying moment, Ash thought he'd made a catastrophic mistake. Then, as quickly as it had come, the pain vanished. In its wake, Ash found himself in a vast, space. He floated in a void that somehow felt both infinite and intimate.

"I've done it," Ash whispered, his voice echoing strangely in this mental realm. "This must be my mind palace."

As if in response to his realisation, the void began to take shape. Steel girders materialised, forming the skeleton of a structure that resembled the Tower itself. Platforms of various sizes hung suspended in the space, ready to house... something.

Instinctively, Ash knew he had reached the first level of cultivation: Foundational Resonance.

With excitement bubbling in his chest, Ash opened his eyes, returning to the physical world. He fumbled for the cultivation manual, eager to confirm his achievement and understand its implications.

"Foundational Resonance," he read aloud, his voice trembling with excitement. "The first step on the path of cultivation. At this level, the cultivator establishes their mind palace and gains the ability to form a rudimentary bond with a low-level Pokémon."

Foundational Resonance allowed for the storage of a bonded Pokémon within the mind palace, keeping it safe and allowing for a deeper connection between trainer and Pokémon. It also provided a slight boost to physical attributes—increased stamina, sharper senses, and faster reflexes.

But what truly caught Ash's attention was the mention of a Pokémon-type affinity. Each cultivator, upon reaching Foundational Resonance, developed a natural affinity for a specific type of Pokémon. This affinity made it easier to bond with and train Pokémon of that type.

Ash closed his eyes, reaching inward to his newly formed mind palace. As he did, he felt a resonance, a pull towards something. In his mind's eye, he saw flashes of metal and heard the clang of steel on steel.

"Steel," Ash breathed, a grin spreading across his face. "My affinity is with Steel-type Pokémon."

The irony wasn't lost on him. In this world of scrap and salvage, where he'd spent his life piecing together a living from discarded metal, he'd have an affinity for Steel types.

As the reality of his achievement sank in, a new determination filled Ash. He had taken the first step, but it was just the beginning. Now, he needed to find a Pokémon to bond with.

The slums were home to various Steel-type Pokémon—Magnemite drawn to the abundant scrap metal, Aron feeding on rusted girders, and even the occasional Beldum floating through the polluted air.

His hands clenched into fists, a fierce grin on his face. "Watch out, Pokémon of the Slums," Ash declared to his empty workshop. "I'm coming for you. And together, we're going to climb this Tower, all the way to the top!"

With that, Ash began to plan. He would need to be careful, and strategic. Capturing a Pokémon in the slums was no easy feat, especially without any Pokémon of his own. But Ash had spent his life overcoming impossible odds. This would be no different.

So, what do you think? In the next chapter, Ash is going to capture a Pokemon and explore some ruins. 

Thanks for reading.