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Outside Celestic Town | Noon || 21
The battle between Narron and the mad wood gecko had not taken long. Having dodged the Razor Leaves launched by Narron, it had perched upon his back. It switched its stare between him and some other stranger Shaka had not immediately noticed, hidden in the brush nearby. After assessing the danger, the white coat-garbed lizard sprung off of the Bulbasaur’s back and dove into the underbrush of the forest. But the distinct aim of the leap had put Shaka on guard, as he suspected he knew where he was going. He followed along in the trees, doing his best to keep the enemy in sight. His instincts were proven true, as the Grovyle’s steps had been making their way towards the quivering shell of the Squirtle. It had taken only a moment for him to leap out of the tree, only to collide with the springing form of an Undead Floatzel from the forest floor. He tumbled back, snarling at the interrupting corpse as it wasted no time in performing an Aqua Jet. Shaka leaps into the air, levitating momentarily as the weasel launches straight under him. He fires a Thunderbolt straight down into the stream of water, stopping the Undead short and dispersing its move, making it slide and fall onto its stomach. It was paralyzed by the electrical blast, opening itself to attack. Landing right onto the back of the Floatzel, he grabs the back of its head and wraps his tail around its neck, fortifying it with Iron as he keeps his weight on its back with both feet. It hisses and snarls, its fangs pitifully trying to snap at the steeled tail coiled around its throat and its clawless hands unable to reach back and scratch at him. Another electrical charge leaps through his tail, frying the neck of the weasel for a few seconds until it falls off and the body slumps over. He wrenches his nose away from the horrid stench as he immediately refocuses his attention on the Grovyle. His cheeks burst with electrical anger as he sprints off in the direction the lizard went in, as he keeps alert for any other Undead ambushes. Ahead, the screams of the squirtle had come to a horrible end, being dominated by the sounds of a violently shucking shell. Just as he reaches the scene does the squirtle’s murderer spring into the forest.
He hisses in a repressed shout at the gecko as he flees. There is an uncanny blood-thirst in his eyes, disturbed over the fate of the Squirtle. “Get back here you green-scaled bastard!” He clenches his fist and shows it up towards the bushes that it had retreated through. A temporary rage takes over his head, but he withholds himself from taking up pursuit. When the ire subsides, he mutters a scorn to himself and throws down his hand. “Don’t yell, you idiot. That’ll only attract more Undead.”
His ears check the land vigilantly, hearing only the sound of retreating steps. His strong eyes detect no movement, and his nose catches no foul odor. The iron scent of squirtle blood fouls the air, though it does not bother the Raichu. He makes an aggressive turnabout, his cloak whipping as if in offence in the general direction of his enemy.
He puts his hand down upon the bloodstained rim of the gory shell, and sighs bitterly. The scene was disgusting, yet his eyes did not avert from it. The shell had been cracked, with many of its fragments torn off, revealing the soft flesh of the Squirtle’s insides. It left a miserable feeling in his stomach, but not one of revolt. It was one of disappointment, of personal grief; he knew this kid had potential, but the world had other ideas for him. The death left Shaka feeling a bit hollow--actually, it left him quite guilty. He could have kept up with Narron and mauled the lunatic gecko before he got to his victim. A slight pain throbs in his legs as he remains upright, but he ignores its nagging for the time being. While he closes his eyes and lets his mind clear out the frustrations, he overhears the newcomer Luxio addressing Narron in the distance, his sharp ears overhearing everything. Shaka keeps his next words silent to the others, only to be heard by keen and focused ears. “What a poor, scared little child. Born in a time where the weakest are slaughtered. May your soul find peace.”
There was no time for burial, but Shaka felt concern for the forces that would devour and defile the corpse further. He opens his forlorn eyes and turns around to the others as if all of his depressive thoughts were nothing to him. While the squirtle has died, he shall live on, and there is no time for grief in this aggressive world.
The Luxio addresses them both now. While he listens, Shaka picks a stray leaf from a low-hanging branch and wipes the small slick of blood from the paw he used to touch the reddened shell. “You’d do well to run away from it.” Discarding the bloody leaf aside himself, he replies with a grim but respectful calm. “I know, Luxio.”
A curt nod comes shortly after. He looks towards Narron, his posture lowering as he goes onto all fours. His legs were beginning to act up from standing upright again. “Narron,”
he says with a sharp but controlled tongue, “there was nothing we could do for the kid. We should head back to the town before the Undead come upon us.”
As he turns towards the direction of the town and begins walking, he speaks over his shoulder to the Luxio. “You can come with us if you like, but do not try to pull any underhanded moves.”
His cheeks spark a little, but the stern warning is etched with a solemn tone.