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Back to the content 'Picture not OC, see description'
**User deleted account**
I loved that, do you write about pokemon all the time,or thid time ur first??
First time writing Pokemon, though been thinking for a while about writing a fiction about a kid who'd been trapped in a virtual reality world in which Pokemon was the game-- imagine Pokemon in the .hack world.
Here's the opening few paragraphs from another story of mine...
"From atop the high church steeple, the pale-haired young man crouched between twin stone gargoyles. He leaned over the parapet, his palms resting comfortably between the static wings protruding from their backs. He had no fear of the height at all; he'd been higher before, and the air about him was still. The full moon shone on his face, its own visage grisly and macabre. Tonight, blood dripped from the corner of its mouth, though where it came from and where it went, or even why it was bleeding in the first place, not a single, solitary soul knew.
Not a man, woman, or child could be seen on the streets below. For a few weeks now, every few days, people had gone… well, not missing, not in the traditional sense. Large patches of blood and bits of flesh would be found in solitary dark alleys, spread about in sickening patterns that would make even the most hardened gut roil. He'd seen some of the more recent ones, still blocked by police tape. Photographs of the rest hadn't been any better; the bright colors a stark contrast to the grim setting.
The—not quite a boy, not quite a man, one still young enough to be stuck in between such phases—pushed himself to his feet, his innate sense of balance keeping him from plunging to the unforgiving ground below. He kept his ears pricked for the barest, softest sound, but put his arms above his head and stretched. He had been in that spot for a few hours now, ever since the sun had gone down and the grisly moon had begun its rise.
He hated that moon, always had. When he'd been a youngster, barely able to know what was what, it had given him the occasional nightmare. It'd been years since then, but still, it gave him the creeps.
It shouldn't be too much longer, he thought to himself. If whoever's up to this keeps to his schedule, we should be seeing fireworks any minute now. With the curfew in place… the streets should be ours. No sooner had he thought those words when a piercing shriek blared from a road, seven or eight blocks away. The scream was filled with primal fear and terror, the sound reverberating off of the stone buildings that made up a large part of Rome.
Rome, the city that, ironically, spawned more eggs of Kishin than damned near any one other city in the world. Let's see… there was that "Sonson J" character, he was kinda pathetic, didn't put up much of a fight at all. Seriously, a paper bag? Not cool. A year later, a corrupted priest, then a heretic who had a thing for digging up kid's bodies. His soul tasted rotten. Hell, even that nun… He realized for the first time that the nun, Sister "Vicious" as she called herself after giving her soul to the madness wavelength, had come from this very cathedral. And those were only the targets on Shinigami's hit list that they'd personally gone after. Damn. Not cool at all. This city is sick.
Another shriek cut through the air. What remaining lights in the general area flickered to darkness. Cowards, he thought. Cowards and fools. He knew that he couldn't really blame them, as sour the taste in his mouth the thought of them gave him. They, the normal, powerless people, had no way to really fight back against the things that went bump in the night. This world of monsters and demons, witches and gods, it was none too kind to the average mortal. He knew that they had the right—no, no, the responsibility to be afraid of these monsters. Despite that, it didn't mean that, in the grand scheme of things, they weren't pretty much useless by themselves.
Yet another scream rang out, this one a bit more blood-curdling than the previous two. Geez, ham it up, why don't you? He grinned, though, his pointed teeth gleaming white in the evening light. At last, he saw the girl from his high position.
She was a little tall for a woman, skinny, but in shape. Ash-blond hair trailed loosely behind her as she hurdled down the street in high heels, or "******* shoes" as he'd heard them called once or twice. A tight pink tank-top and black leather mini-skirt clung to her body, enhancing her curves to a point a bit more than nature thought fit to gift her with. Her purse flapped in the air behind her as she ran, wobbling in her heels dangerously as she blundered past a small fountain. Her breathing was labored, panicked, desperate. Waaaay to ham it up.
He leapt straight off of the ridge with a mighty thrust. For a split second, he let himself enjoy the sensation of weightlessness, neither going up nor down, simply out. This was the ultimate freedom, the ultimate risk, the ultimate rush. Up and down, neither mattered, the only thing that mattered was that single instant. At that instant, he alone owned the ancient, holy city of Rome and all it contained.
Instants, by their very nature, could not last forever. Gravity took notice of him after looking the other way, and immediately imparted its will. From nearly two hundred feet above the cobblestone road below he plunged, his arms tight to his side, his hair whistling behind him as his head pointed directly down. For a few seconds, he held this position, building up speed until he hit a personal checkpoint. He scrunched up his body, then stuck out a booted foot to clip a jutting ledge outside of a stained-glass mosaic. There was enough tension in his knee and hip to send him into a manageable front flip, sending him tumbling down at high velocity down and a little bit away from the church.
The girl was running toward the church still, the look of panic yet on her face. Her pursuer slithered out of the shadow of a building, seemingly melting in and out of the surrounding darkness. Its skin was dark, its clothing seemingly melting into it, tight and without embellish. A dark mask concealed its face, save for its mouth, which was wide and long, containing twin rows of two-inch long teeth and a prehensile tongue two feet long, at least. Its chest was monumentally broad, a white splotchy pattern like a mass of scars scattered erratically. It skittered along on feet and hands like a beast, a low growl, or snarl, coming from its throat. A hiss combined with the guttural sounds, essentially turning it into a demonic representative of the shadows. The sounds were unintelligible and rough, as hideous-sounding as its appearance.
With what could only be described as an effort of will, the young man tucked in his legs close to his torso and held onto them tightly, increasing his rate of rotation and speed, cannon-balling heavy to the ground.
The girl ran as quickly as she could in the heels, abandoning the purse. She pumped her arms beside her to keep her balance and speed. She was almost to the church, barely twenty feet from the holy walls that contained consecrated ground. Sanctuary would not be her fate, however; the monster, the demon, the beast, put on a massive spurt of speed, closing the distance with nearly blinding agility.
The diving young man, fifty feet in the air, ten feet from the wall itself, grinned to himself. Gotta love physics. Terminal velocity, you kick ass. The instant the girl reached the point where he would land, she leapt into the air, kicking off her shoes in mid-leap, planted her feet resolutely on the wall, and fired back at him.
Simultaneously, the kid burst into a blaze of white-blue light, nearly as bright as a sun of the same color. The light coalesced into a gigantic weapon, much too large for any reasonable man to expect to be able to lift. It spun in the air, rotating all the more with his added spins before transformation. A whirling circle of red and black, dull in color, but kinetic and alive, broke the night's darkness.
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