Soul Sacrifice

It started off as a nice enough day. The sky was clear, the sun shined, and there was a pleasantly cooling breeze. There had been a good haul the previous night, and everyone had plenty to eat. Quality stuff, too, not the barely sanitary scraps that they usually had.

Zeta was busy cleaning her sword. The repetition helped to soothe her, helped her to relax and enjoy one of the few days of leisure and peace. Apply oil. Take cloth. Slowly slide down the length of the blade. Repeat. The familiar task rolled on for quite some time; It could've been minutes, it could've been hours. It didn't matter to her. She slowly became aware of a presence, nearby. It was watching her, waiting, ready to strike. Yet it wasn't hostile. With only a hint of a smile showing on her lips, Zeta slowly, carefully, and subtly shifted her weight.

At last, the presence pounced. It leaped at her head, trying to bring her down flat to the ground. Zeta, expecting the attack, swung her head down and slightly to the left, causing her assailant to miss by a hairsbreadth. Landing on all fours, her opponent spun to face her.

"So, Gramps," Zeta said, now grinning openly, "finally decided to bump me off?" Her grandfather abruptly straightened up, assuming a non-combative stance. "Not at all, Zee. Just testing you." Zeta laughed at the patently outrageous falsehood.

Sylvester Bismarck, at first glance, appeared to be the very figure of a patriarch: a warm, yet stern face, knowing eyes that twinkled with delight, dignified gray hair. But look more closely, and a very different man stood before you. Battle-wary and weary, the man was an obvious veteran of long, hard warfare.

As she observed the lines on her grandfather's face, Zeta could feel the light, relaxed sensation fading from her mind. She scowled, angry that her peaceful day had been interrupted, and by her own thoughts no less.

Just as she began to say something, one of the sentries burst into the hideout. "They're coming!" he managed to wheeze out, panting for breath. "WHAT? Who, and how many?" Sylvester thundered, furious. "20 Peons... 2 Commanders... one shadow each..."

Immediately, everyone started speaking, in hushed, low voices. "This is it!" "Where done for now!" "Arceus protect us." The murmur rose to a fevered pitch, as the collective families of the Extras began to panic.

"SILENCE!" Sylvester roared, cutting through the terrified cries of the crowd. "This is not helping us in any way, shape, or form. Now, everyone, listen up: evacuate the hideout, just like we practiced. Non-combatants first, followed by the rear guard. MOVE IT PEOPLE."

As the crowd dispersed, he slipped away unnoticed. Almost unnoticed. A hand reached out and latched onto his arm, halting him. "And where are you going, Gramps?" Zeta gave him an accusatory stare.

Sylvester sighed, "Zeta, they're too close. We'll never make it in time, unless someone holds them off." "Well then I'll stand with you," she replied in turn, eyes daring him to deny her.

"No, Zee, you can't. Someone's gotta lead these people," he told her, bringing her close to gently embrace her. "And it's gonna have to be you. Now go."

Unable to argue with his logic, Zeta ran down the tunnel. The tears running down her face left tracks in the grime covering her cheeks. She was followed by a Gallade and a Bisharp - Vahagn and Hadur.

"You've served me well, boys, over the years. Go with my granddaughter, and serve her in my stead." Sylvester whispered. He turned, acknowledging the presence of the Lucario beside him for the first time. "Well, my lady? One last dance, before the curtain drops?" he chuckles wryly.

***

The Shadow Pokemon had made quick work of the door, and now the entire assault team had entered the cavern. The cave was dark, only dimly lit by the sunlight streaming in from the open entryway. There were a few scattered objects, lost in the scramble to evacuate, littered across the floor.

"Where are they? I know that this is their hideout," the taller commander hissed, perturbed by the lack of resistance.

"Oh, this was our hideout." A voice lazily drifted out to them from farther back in the cave. "But we saw you coming from a mile away."

The entire team tensed up. "Who the fuck are you?" the shorter Commander yelled, growing ever more nervous.

"Oh? You don't recognize me? Here, let me turn on the lights." There was a sound of snapping fingers, and powerful flood lights turned on, illuminating the cavern and blinding the team for a short time.

As the Cipher members blinked, trying to clear the spots, an impressive sight formed in front of them. A pile of explosives, of all sorts, maybe 10 feet high, sat at the center of the cavern. The walls as well were lined with charges, all primed and ready to fire.

Atop the pile was perched a throne, of aged Orren Wood, carved in intricate patterns. On it sat an old man, regal in bearing and steely willed. Next to the throne, on the pile, sat a female Lucario, glaring with tranquil fury at the invaders.

"I'm sure you recognize me now. Yes? Sylvester Bismarck, leader of the Extras?" the old man asked the team. His voice was almost kindly, like an old grandfather inquiring how his grandchildren's schooling was going.

"Yeah, we know you, you sad old fuck," one of the Peons yelled out.

"Now, now, is that any way to speak to your host?" Sylvester replied in turn. "In any case, boys, I think we've talked long enough."

And now his kindly, grandfatherly smile turned sinister, cruel, bloodthirsty: wolfish.

"It's time for the fireworks."

He pushed down on the detonator in his hand.

Click