Thanks for all the support on my Patreo-n so far! 3 advanced chapters at /xlucqs.

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  Despite what William was saying to Dave, taking control of Orre wasn't as simple as strolling in and declaring himself leader. If it came down to raw strength, the region was probably on par with any other. The real difference lay in its circumstances.

  Rather than a unified government composed of Champions and Gym Leaders and Elite Four, Orre was fractured—split into countless factions. Some pledged allegiance to Team Cipher, others to Team Snagem. Many were neutral, content to live their lives without getting involved, while a smaller number burned with defiance and rebellion, determined to fight back against the villainous grip choking their home.

  It was the perfect breeding ground for someone strong, ambitious, and charismatic to seize power. Team Cipher was now just beginning to do that and put their plans into action. They were a strong team; if William were its leader, he would have made use of the team's strength and taken the region by force.

  If he were to be objective, he would say Team Cipher was stronger of the two between them and his team.

  Speaking of his team, William had told his men he'd be gone only a few days. Naturally, he couldn't conquer an entire region in that period. It would be a long, drawn-out process—one that required dismantling every barrier in his way using a subtle mix of force and manipulation combined with the passage of time.

  And once those barriers were broken, he would use the very pieces of them to build the stairs to climb to the top. When he reached that peak, Orre would be his.

  Another reason he picked Orre was because of the region's fractured state and absence of law. There were no rules set in stone—meaning he could write his own, shaping the code and order of the land to fit his vision. This was a place where the old foundations had already crumbled…and where he could build his own from the ground up.

  William had already done his research on the region. From all the information he'd gathered, he estimated that Orre was currently in a period shortly before the events of Colosseum.

  Even better.

  He leapt off the boat, landing on the jagged rocks and climbing upward. Without anyone to watch over it, the vessel would most likely be capsized or smashed to pieces by the end of the night.

  It didn't matter. Before he returned, William could easily acquire another. Another boat and another person to pilot it.

  William decided to stretch his legs after sitting on the boat for so long, and decided to walk through the rocky and rough terrain. Even long after the sun had disappeared, the place still radiated an intense heat he had scarcely seen in Hoenn.

  The chirps of Vibrava filled the night air. He glanced upward, gazing at the clear night sky dotted with shining stars. It was moments like these—moments of reprieved silent calm that he tried to cherish as much as he could.

  William's life had been a roller coaster recently, he needed the silence from time to time.

  As he approached the region, he reminded himself to be careful. He was no longer William or Poseidon—he was Shade. That meant being cautious with his Pokemon choices. He couldn't simply use the same ones Poseidon had—doing so would practically give away his identity.

  Although the regions were disconnected, all it would take was someone who knew Shade and someone who knew Poseidon comparing notes before the similarities in their Pokemon became too obvious.

  His starter was non-negotiable—it was his strongest asset. He could also use his Gyarados; it was common enough to avoid suspicion. Adding Starmie would make it too suspicious. Although he was not an uncommon line, having three of the same Pokemon would give him away.

  On the opposite hand, Juggernaut, Raiden, Toxapex, and Valkyrie were out of the question—they were too uncommon to go unnoticed.

  No one had yet seen Bond or Kirby. Kirby wasn't much use in one-on-one battles, but this region thrived on double battles, and she could make all the difference. Bond—although primarily used for assassinations—was one of Williams' strongest Pokemon and needed to be used.

  That gave him four Pokemon, two short of a full party of six. However, he had a solution for that. There were Pokemon—strong Pokemon collected from the spoils of war and battle by Team Aqua.

  These Pokemon were put in what they called The Bank. It was Team Aqua's vault which was filled to the brim with Pokemon collected that way. Some of them were given out to the more loyal and stronger crew members, but others were kept—kept for situations like these.

  William had grabbed two of them on his way out. Despite the lack of law in Orre, there were unwritten rules, engraved in stone like they were Commandments. One of them was that two trainers must fight in double battles, unless both trainers explicitly agree to a single battle. The next one was that these battles must be a 6v6.

  So his current roster—although not his strongest—was enough. Although William also planned to catch a few Pokemon of his own to expand his overall team diversity and open up more strategies.

  Another thing he had to keep in mind was names. If he started calling his Swampert "Lochness," it would completely defeat the purpose of trying to stay inconspicuous. He would just call them by their Pokemon names.

  It didn't take long before the ache in his legs from inactivity turned into one caused by overexertion. The ground was rough and rocky, constantly zigzagging up and down, demanding careful, deliberate steps. The desert area seemed to stretch on for miles in all directions. If he made the entirety of this trip during the day, it would be considered a form of torture.

  But it wasn't day—and he wasn't going to subject himself to the struggle any longer. William took a seat on the back of his Valkyrie. As his trusted bird took flight, William pulled a small folded piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it to reveal a large map of the region, filled with circles and arrows and dotted lines which painted a picture of his plan in Orre

  He pointed near a spot close to the coast.

  "Pyrite Town must be up ahead. Let's go, girl." He gave the metal a light smack.

  "Skarm!" she cried, quickening her pace.

  Pyrite Town was like a place he had never seen before. The bright moonlight cast a luminous glow over the sunken piece of land. It was a sign that people would be asleep. Not here. From the entrance of the town William could hear the obvious sounds of partying and music. The town acted as a massive speaker, blasting noise throughout the otherwise silent desert.

  BOOM

  A firework lit up the sky, exploding into a star.

  The town was carved into a narrow canyon, giving it a natural layer of protection and secrecy. There was only one entrance: a single muddy path—it was a gateway to trouble.

  There was no sneaking around or hoping to be left alone here—in this region, every person who set foot on the land was either a potential ally or an enemy or someone to take note of. If you were born here, you were already hardened by Orre's unforgiving environment and culture. And if you came willingly, you had to be either stupid or brave—both of which were deadly here.

  Orre was like the runt of the litter. While other regions advanced, traded, and connected, Orre seemed stuck in time—almost forgotten by progress. It had sneak peeks of the future with some of its technology and creations, but most of the region was starving and stuck, and left to feed on the scraps.

  The smell of the town was intoxicating—a clash of ancient earth and rusty metal, the very foundation of its houses, trailers, and businesses. Somewhere beneath it all lingered the more discreet scents—a puddle of piss, the sharp tang of a smashed beer bottle, and finally, cigarette smoke from just up ahead.

  William passed two men leaning against the muddy wall, smoking cigarettes.

  "Hey!" one of them called out.

  The man called out, but William didn't bother turning around. Don't do it. William thought. Leave it alone.

  "Hey! I'm talking to you!" A hand clamped down on his shoulder. In one sharp motion, William spun around and drove his fist straight into the man's face. Even with powerful Pokemon, a trainer needed to know how to defend themselves. Matt's boxing lessons had come in handy.

  "Remember, punch from the legs, twist your hips—and when you punch someone, picture punching straight through them—not at them," William recalled Matt's words.

  The man crumpled to the ground, clutching his bloody nose.

  "Get your filthy hands off me," William spat, straightening out his coat. His voice was as sharp as shattered glass.

  "You—!" Both the men—eager enough already to start a fight even before William had punched one of them—made to withdraw their pokeballs.

  But just before they could—

  BAM!

  BAM!

  Two gunshots echoed throughout the town's entrance. The space which had been filled with bone and brain was replaced with a small hole the size of a fingertip

  Both of the men dropped to the floor, pokeballs still in hand.

  Up above, standing on the hill, was Bond. Based on the geography of the town, he now had a bird's-eye view of absolutely everything and could shoot to his heart's content.

  One would think going to a place like this would be difficult and scary—not for William. Now he could finally let loose. Most of these people were an evil undercurrent in the world and deserved to be eliminated.

  They were simply a product of their environment. This place had hardened them and forced them to become people like this just to survive. They needed to put down others so they could stay where they were and not drown among the chaos of Orre.

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  That's what they tried to do just then. At best, they would have stripped him of all his belongings. At worst, they would have killed him.

  Although these people may have ended up different if they were given better circumstances, he held no form of pity for them. The government that William planned to make had no place for people like this. It had no place for criminals and evildoers.

  William was made to turn around, but just before he could, there was a bright flash that illuminated the surroundings.

  One of the Pokemon had left its Poké Ball. William prepared for anything. Maybe the Pokemon would fight him to avenge its trainer, maybe it would run away in fear, but instead, it paid absolutely no attention to William and began looting the bodies.

  It was a Sneasel. It slashed and swiped through clothing, pickpocketing bits of cash and coins. It made a makeshift bag for his belongings using the torn clothing of its trainer.

  It didn't even seem bothered that its trainer was dead.

  William strode over. His form towered over the Sneasel, yet the Pokemon seemed undeterred and unbothered, continuing with its scavenging.

  There was a sense of déjà vu as he watched it. William smiled. This Pokemon was a survivor—just like him.

  "Scrounging for pennies now?" William's voice cut through the air.

  Sneasel turned to look up at him. It was a look of shock—like he hadn't expected anyone to pay attention to him—because they rarely did. William knew that look.

  He knelt next to the Sneasel. "This your ball?" He pointed towards one of the pokeballs. It was a disgustingly kept pokeball with bits of blood and dirt.

  Sneasel nodded.

  William picked it up. "What do you wanna do? You could destroy this Poké Ball and run away with the cash. How far do you think that would get you before you're snatched up by someone else, and they use your cash on booze and hookers while your kept in your pokeball? Or maybe you stay here, waiting for some chump to pick you up?

  "You could do that…or you could come with me."

  William handed the Pokeball back to it. "You can either destroy it, or you can hand it back to me. The choice is yours." The choice was his.

  Sneasel stared at the dirty, unkept Poké Ball between its equally unsanitary claws. It glanced back at William, then over its shoulder toward the harsh desert that stretched ahead for miles.

  It handed the Poké Ball to William, nodding.

  "Good choice," William said. "I'll teach you not just to survive, but to thrive." He withdrew Sneasel back into the ball.

  Well, if there's one good thing that came from this, William thought, glancing at the two dead bodies.

  He walked into the town. A man nearby spotted him, then glanced at the corpses behind him. He didn't say a word—just kept walking, going about his day.

  "Looks like another job for the sheriff," the man mumbled to himself, kicking sand.

  Pyrite Town resembled less a town and more a junkyard. Scrap of car parts and metal sheets were welded together with heat and nails to make most of the buildings. The poles of the street lamps were crooked, shaped like W's. Below one of the night lights, a group of people were drinking and cracking jokes, while across the other side, a small crowd had formed—watching two Pokemon fight.

  "~Hey handsome, what ya hiding under there? Maybe I could show you a good time~"

  William didn't even spare her a glance. His focus was on a building. It was surprisingly made of stone— although it had a metal door— with a sign reading Fortune Telling across the top.

  William was never one to believe in mystics or mediums, but he had to admit he was curious. According to his intel, the woman running the shop was a well-respected figure in town, and many people came to her in times of distress.

  He remembered there was someone like that in the games—someone who could read the future. She was a gym leader in Kalos if he recalled correctly. If it existed over there, then it could exist in Orre. Though he would be the judge of that.

  William gripped the rusted copper handle. The flakes of withered metal stuck to his hand like glue. Hand after hand over decades had slowly eroded the handle of its colour. The door slid open. The metal scraped the floor, crying.

  The room was a stark contrast to the outside. The smell of iron and death was replaced with the burning fragrance of lavender and vanilla from scented candles scattered throughout the room. William took a sharp inhale—the smell was like taking a massive gulp of water when your throat was dry.

  Bookshelves lined the walls. The compressed paper effectively dampened the sounds of shouting and cheering from outside. The music did that too. It was a soft, hypnotic melody of a piano playing that fit perfectly with the backdrop of handcrafted paintings of golden stars.

  William's eyes flickered for a moment.

  In the center of the room, sitting in her throne made of wood and bamboo, was the person they called Fateen—the fortune teller. She was an old, wrinkled woman with strands of grey hair clinging to her head like a lifeline.

  Her weak, bony wrists could almost be mistaken for twigs. They rested on the edge of the armrest, slumping downwards as if the muscles to bring them up no longer worked. Her posture sagged, her back bent like a question mark, and the loose skin of her neck drooped slightly.

  One could almost mistake her for being deceased if her eyes weren't open, staring into William's soul with a fire and ferocity he had never seen.

  "Welcome, traveller," a crinkly old voice said.

  "Traveller? You know me?" William asked, a creeping suspicion in his voice.

  "I know you are not from around here. I know everyone that is. Men and women travel across the region to come to me, seeking a glimpse of their future. Parents bring newborn children to see what fate awaits them. Everyone comes here—every path in this region leads to me."

  William nodded. "You are right, I am not from around here. But I would like to have my fortune read nonetheless."

  "Very well…come close, my child!" Fateen snapped. A strange feeling overtook him—it was like a planted suggestion in his mind, compelling him to complete it.

  William walked over and sat opposite her. His hands rested on the glass table. She grabbed them and closed her eyes, concentrating.

  The air grew thicker. He remembered to breathe.

  "Yes, yes, I see it…plans within plans, and within those plans, even more plans. Too many to count. Some will succeed—others will fail. Others are open to interpretation."

  William felt a growing sense of unease.

  "Now, which of those plans will succeed for Shade? Which will succeed for Poseidon—"

  "Stop it!" he snapped as he tried to withdraw his hand. How did she know that name!?

  The old woman croaked, "Do not remove contact with my hand, William! It will break the whole process." His true name sounded like nails on a chalkboard coming from her mouth.

  The old woman maintained a steady, firm grip despite her age. It was as though an external source was fueling it. Her eyes closed tighter, her body tense, and her vanilla-smelling fingernails dug into his gloved hand. William wanted to pull away—he knew he could pull away, but a feeling ingrained deep within his bones prevented him from doing so.

  If she knew my name, what more could she know? What more could I find out?

  He had to know—he needed to know.

  "It is tough to see specifics…it's like I am in the middle of the ocean, drowning. However, in the sea of darkness, there is one thing I can see. A choice. At some point in your future, you will be presented with it. It'll be the most difficult choice you have ever made. You will know when that choice appears." The woman said. Her sentences became staggered with long periods of silence between each of them. Sweat formed on her brow.

  How was she doing this?

  Deep down, he knew she was right. If Fateen knew all of his identities and names, then it confirmed that her powers were legit. There was no other way for an old woman in a distant region to know what he had worked so hard to protect.

  What will that choice be? William thought. He knew no amount of thinking would give him an answer, but he did so anyway. It tortured his mind.

  Fateen withdrew her hand from his in a sharp swipe. In the moment she slumped back on her chair, her entire being seemed to deteriorate and shrink. She seemed so drained, and her body looked that much smaller in her chair. The piece of furniture seemed to swallow her.

  She wiped the sweat from her forehead, "It's been a while since I've read someone like you."

  "What is the fee?" William asked, steadying his breathing.

  "No money," Fateen croaked. "That choice that I read was so bright—even through the fog of the sea. The brighter the choice is, the bigger the consequences. The payment is this: when you make that choice, come to me and look me in the eyes. Your actual eyes—your blue eyes. It will be…an interesting sight."

  Her words were like a lullaby for herself. Her eyes flickered like butterfly wings before exhaustion moved her tiny nodding head to rest.

  "Is she ok?" William asked her assistant, who had watched the whole process from the corner of the room."

  "She is fine," the assistant replied, moving her body into a comfortable position on the chair. "Challenging reads typically make her tired—but she has never gone straight to sleep right after a telling."

  "I don't know whether that's a good or bad thing," he muttered. The rusted door slid shut behind him, and the sounds of the outside rushed back all at once—good, it drowned out the scramble of thoughts in his head.

  "Come on, William!" he whispered, inaudible to everyone but himself. "Focus! You have a task to do!"

  The questions that plagued his mind could wait for later—much later.

  The next stop was the Chief's office. From the information William gathered—which came from the combination of intel from black market information dealers, former Orre citizens, and Dave—Chief Sherles was one of the better people in the region.

  He had a strong moral compass and a sense for doing what was just instead of what was easy. How ideals like this formed in a region like Orre—as these ideals would quickly get you killed—was beyond William, but he respected them.

  A man who didn't change himself based on his surroundings, but instead tries to change his surroundings based on himself. When he was a child, William's environment seemed to feed into his goals and ideals. This man had the opposite, yet despite this, he hung onto them. That was why he was the police chief of Pyrite.

  It was a respectable trait.

  William knocked on the door.

  "Who is it?" a sharp voice grumbled from inside. "Is that you, Cail? Don't tell me there's more dead bodies—we just got done cleaning the other ones up."

  William opened the door.

  "Cai—wait, who are you?" Sherles asked.

  "Call me Shade," William replied.

  "Well…Shade. What can I do for you? Are you here to report a crime? We're kind of busy right now. You probably heard me—there were two bodies at the entrance of town. They were killed." He pointed toward a chalkboard.

  Days without incident: 0

  "We were going strong, too. Hit four days—our record. Someone just had to go ruin it."

  William chuckled. "So you're trying to catch the killer? Maybe I could help with that."

  "Oh? You know who did it?"

  "Of course I do," William said. "It's me."

  "What!?" Sherles shot up from his seat. His eyes narrowed. "So you've come to surrender? Cail, I need your help here!" He shouted in a panic.

  He wasn't here. William saw the person he believed to be Cail—a man in a police officer uniform—dealing with some drunken customers at the local tavern.

  "Not exactly." William smiled. "Let me explain myself. Those men tried to attack me first—I killed them in self-defense," he explained.

  "Oh, really?" the chief questioned. His posture was tight—tense. One of his legs leaned forward, while one of his hands slowly made its way to his pokeball belt. "A hole in the head is a bit excessive for self-defense."

  "Oh come on, Chief." William scoffed. "This region—it deals in absolutes. The only way to respond is in kind. I understand you're trying to protect the town and bring some form of law and order to it. The very reason you haven't been able to do that is because of your lack of absolutes. Let me ask you something, Chief—do you really want to save this town, do you really want to save this region?"

  "Of course I do—but two wrongs do not make a right. Killing should only be a last resort. From the way it looked, killing was your first choice. People deserve second chances, not to die like some animals."

  William sighed. He couldn't get through to him. But he had to give it to Sherles—the man had a strong conviction. He would be a good asset in the future.

  "Chief, the way you run things right now, you have the right idea. In other regions, they adopt similar policies. Leniency, redemption, and fair judgment—all of them are upheld in those civilizations. However, in a place where civilization scarcely exists and most of the people are criminals, different actions must be taken—for the time being, at least." He paused. "What if I told you I could change this region? What if I told you we could have a unified government, where the very same ideals you uphold could fit within this region, like a key fitting into a lock, rather than you forcing it to fit?"

  "You're talking about a fairytale," he scoffed. "Plenty of people like you have had the same idea, and all of them ended up the same way. Buried in the desert."

  "There are no people like me," William said. "I'm calibers above those people. And unlike most of them, I have the means to carry it through. I plan to unify the region under one banner—under one single government, with one set of laws. No more villain teams, no more criminals, no more crime. A safe region. However, to do that, drastic measures must be taken. To get rid of the absolute, I must deal in absolutes. I need to fight fire with fire—that is how we win."

  "We? So you have added me to your little rebellion? You seem to be forgetting that you admitted to murder in front of the police chief. I'm going to need to take you in. Save the speech for your trial."

  William chuckled. "You seem to be forgetting one thing."

  "And what's that?"

  "How easily those men were killed." William formed a gun-like shape with his hands and fingers. He pointed it straight at Sherles—then moved his hand towards the pokebelt strapped to the Chiefs' belt.

  It happened in an instant. The window shattered, and the belt that had once been secured around the chief's waist was suddenly severed—falling to the floor in two clean pieces.

  The cuts were precise, the timing perfect—done with bullets.

  "What!?"

  "I told you, Chief. There are no people like me. But if you're still not on board, then I'll show you—show you my true strength and caliber."

  William turned, walking toward the door.

  "Wait!"

  He stopped.

  "What are you going to do?" Sherles asked.

  A pause. Then William turned back, locking eyes with him.

  "I'm going to do something you have never done. I'm going to drown Team Snagem in a tsunami of justice. I will end them all."