(ACE) The STARK Team

"Oh, you don't know? I'm a friend of Sahara, here – a colleague, per se. We exterminate pests..." So ... Carl and Vale had been right - Sahara had been in alliance with the dragon all this time. To say that Smith was surprised would've been an overstatement - the truth of it all was that he was saddened. Saddened and disappointed that the female he had initially trusted had been taking them all for a bunch of idiots all this time; helped Gaear to fake his death; had played a role in Vale's death.

It took the Aggron every last ounce of his strength not to charge at the Arcanine and break her neck on the spot. He would deal with her later - right now that monster of a dragon was his biggest priority. "One Bayleef down; only some scrap-metal and a mangy feline to go..."

"I wonder if yer arsehole is as big as yer mouth?" Smith mockingly pondered, raising a hand up to his chin in thought. "Don't answer that, lad. The truth is yer should take a look at yer opponents before yer start talkin' big." The snide grin that had occupied Smith's face was replaced by an enraged snarl. The Aggron slammed his fists together. "Yer killed Vale. I can't let yer get away with that."

Smith was somewhat surprised that Sahara jumped to his defense; maybe the little bitch had half a soul after all. He relished in the idea of teaching her a lesson or two after he'd cleaned up the trail of shit that Gaear was fond of leaving behind. A Razor Wind flew in his direction, and Smith barely flinched as it collided with his hard armour, leaving nothing but a small indentation on the right knee.

"So what? Yer tickle yer victims to death? Give me a fuckin' break," Smith roared with laughter, smacking a hand on the other knee. The Haxorus was upon him in almost an instant, his body glowing as a Dragon Pulse flickered in the back of his throat. "As I said before, it’s nothing personal." "Yer talk too much. Shut up and get on with it," Smith growled, bracing himself and holding up both of his hands. In his last battle with a Haxorus, he had managed to win after grabbing the dragon's tusks and wrestling it to the ground. If one looked carefully, one could still see the faint, linear scars on his palms where he had grasped the blades. If Gaear just took another step closer, maybe he could reach...

"SMITH!"
"Hello Carl."

As predicted, Carl took one look at the monstrous dragon and fled as quickly as his legs could carry him. Smith was glad that the poor thing was out of harm's reach for now. With a gruff growl, the Steel-type turned back to his opponent. "Come on then. I'm waiting, yer shit-faced bastard." His raised hands began to give off a red glow as he prepared a Dragon Claw. "Or shall I go first?"

Oh, for Arceus sakes...

Were all males either psycho, annoying, or downright stubborn?
Sahara felt a vein throb on her forehead, unable to get a word in between the Aggron and Haxorus. A purple began to glow on Gaear, preparing for another attack. It was getting out of hand fast.

“SMITH!” Of course... It was just a great big party with the addition of Carl now. “Hello Carl,” Utter stillness following that 'greeting'. After a brief moment, the cat simply ran. "Come on then. I'm waiting, yer shit-faced bastard." There they go again...

"Or shall I go first?"

"Enough, my god!" Sahara growled, leaping between the two, "Look, this is my fight, Smith! I'm the one who has to do this!" She knew she was probably barking in vain, but she had to try. She couldn't blame him, though. Gaear had killed Vale, and revenge was something the Arcanine understood all too well.

Wait, what was that?

Sahara whirled around to see five figures making themselves known. They were Rhyhorns. Freakin' Rhyhorns. Looked like they'd have to be taken down first. Crap.

(OoC - Sorry~ I didn't have a lot for Sahara to do. I got a little confused with this post, so let me know if I need to edit. :3)

The Aggron had a mouth on him, that was for sure, but was it all bark and no bite? Gaear had stopped listening, the scent of the dead growing stronger in the air as his attention constantly volleyed across to the fleeing feline. As much as he wanted to ceremoniously wipe out each and every one of Carl’s friends before putting the cat out of his misery, Gaear was beginning to find the situation dangerous. He didn’t doubt his abilities but with the two tanks before him and the thundering of approaching undead, the dragon’s priorities were soon switched. Forget theatrics, he would deal with Carl first.

"Come on then. I'm waiting, yer shit-faced bastard. Or shall I go first?"

The Haxorus merely snorted in response, his claws glowing in mimicry of Smith with his own Dragon Claw until Sahara leapt into the fray. Foolish girl. A flicker of grin touched his features at the hound’s bloodlust as he gave a nonchalant shrug.
“I don’t intend to ‘take turns’,” Almost as soon as he’d spoken, the Rhyhorns appeared in all their macabre glory – armour peeling, the stench of decay hanging over them like flies as they brayed in monstrous demand of blood. Gaear only just had time to launch his attack at Sahara before leaping out of the way, keen to avoid the stampede that was suddenly descending upon the group. In that moment of chaos, the dragon was moving, his eyes locked onto the Meowth.

Carl’s body was acting purely on adrenaline; his mind controlled by a primal fear as he sprinted through the foliage. His heart was pounding violently in his chest, rationality and sanity fast-depleting as he stumbled onwards in his frantic efforts of escape. The voices weren’t getting any quieter, the bellowing of the undead now intertwined with the calls of traitors as he risked a glimpse over his scruffy shoulder.

Big mistake.

Gaear caught one of the cat’s hind legs with outstretched, bloody claws – the victim tripping with a surprised yowl. Fuelled by instinct, a blind and unwavering desire for survival, Carl turned to greet his estranged companion with a Faint Attack. The dragon barely moved, seemingly unable to register the pitiful damage, but it was enough for Carl – he slipped past during its execution, escaping the Haxorus’ claws once more.
“Carl,” Gaear growled, half-exasperated. “Carl, enough of these games,”
“Fuck you,” The cat hissed bounding away as Gaear turned to pursue once more; but this time he was greeted with something else, namely, a charging Rhyhorn. The creature collided with his chest; the force only marginally weakened by the dragon’s last-minute movement to grab its rotting head in powerful claws. Gaear was pushed back on contact, winded a moment as he proceeded to sling the creature to one side for the interference. His temper beginning to show the first signs of its true hideous capacity, the dragon’s nostrils flared as he went stealthily after the cat – winding his way through his undead brethren, intent on finishing this once and for all.

(( I was thinking it’s just a full-blown, chaotic brawl, lol. Everyone’s fighting everyone else! But our plan still stands, Nightdaze. As soon as Gaear hits his 25th post, we can tie everything up. :3 ))

"Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!" The moment that the Rhyhorn had crashed out of the undergrowth, Smith lost his temper. Bellowing in fury, the Aggron charged at the nearest Rhyhorn. The undead creature lowered its horn to ram him, but with seconds to spare, Smith stopped and held out his hands. The force of the attack was greater than he had expected, and he fought to stay on his feet as his hands took a hold of the Rhyhorn's head. Thanking Arceus above for building his species like a tank, he held the thrashing creature in a headlock with one arm, and repeatedly pummeled it in the skull with his free hand. The Rhyhorn's snarls transformed into screams of pain as the top of its skull caved into its brain, spraying blood all over Smith's armour as it was pierced.

Smith continued to punch until his attacker's head had been reduced to a gory mess of shattered bone, squashed brain and crushed armour. Letting the nearly dead Ground-type fall to the floor, Smith roared again. The blood boldly stood out on his steel armour as he scanned the area, searching for Gaear. He found him chasing Carl away from the scene, and something in his head snapped.

"OH NO YOU FUCKING DON'T!" Smith roared as bright blue rings began to surround his body, spinning in unison with one another. In a flash the rings had formed large, jagged chunks of rock, which he hurled in Gaear's direction. "GET BACK HERE, YOU FUCKER! I'M YOUR OPPONENT!"

The sick screeching of Undead out for blood filled Sahara's ears, almost deviating her attention from the dragon in front of her. “I don’t intend to ‘take turns’,”
"What's that supposed to--" Her snappy question was cut off by a Dragon Claw aimed at her. Sharp claws raked and tore her flesh over her left eye, quickly she slammed it shut and bared her fangs. With her good eye she saw Gaear bound out of the way. Uh-oh...!

The ground behind her shook as the Rhyhorns approached rapidly -- She was only able to turn around before a horn caught her ribcage and flung the bulky canine into the air. She landed on her paws, falling into a quadrupedal crouch in front of one Rhyhorn. It was that one that threw her. "You should have ran when you had the chance!"

Her fire summoned into a Flame Wheel, Sahara struck the Rhyhorn, her claws digging into the soft soil as they struggled to gain the upper hand on each other. She could smell the scent of it's Undead eyeballs melting under her heat, an amusing yet disgusting reaction. The fire dispersed in an outward burst, Sahara distancing herself from the Rhyhorn and taking a glance at her work. She loved the fact it's eye sockets were now empty and leaking a foul brown liquid, some equivalent to blood.

It thrashed about, slamming into trees and dealing damage to it's own self. Sahara's chuckle sent it charging in her direction based on hearing. Oops, now it had to die. She shot a flamethrower at the Rhyhorn, engulfing it in flames until it reached such a degree that it's brain fried in it's skull and it fell dead right in front of her.

"OH NO YOU FUCKING DON'T! GET BACK HERE, YOU FUCKER! I'M YOUR OPPONENT!"

Gaear heard Smith’s infuriated bellow, glancing back to the steel-type to find jagged rocks hurtling towards him. Unwilling to retreat and instead choosing to risk collision, the dragon increased his speed until his claws had snaked around the fleeing Meowth’s leg. By then, the Stone Edge had hit them both. The Haxorus was knocked back, emitting a grunt as the rock barrelled into his side, blood trickling over his cracked armour as he desperately tried to catch his breath.

For a moment, the pain rendered him numb until Carl sought to escape Gaear’s vice-like grip; the sharpened claws tearing mercilessly and maniacally at the vulnerable skin to bring Gaear back to reality. Growling, in one mighty movement, the dragon had launched the cat towards Smith – his scrawny form bloodied with cuts from being caught within the powerful attack. Content that both the feline and the metal behemoth were distracted for the moment, Gaear swallowed the pain and rose to his feet once more, steadying himself on a tree to examine the damage.

He had felt this attack and that was a rarity on its own. Yet as he looked down at the gory mess now slicked down his side, Gaear could only feel a small fraction of the agony. Smith must’ve broken a couple of ribs at the very least, the armour cracked and dislodged in some place as thick, especially dark blood continued to flow from the wound.

Carl, meanwhile, found himself propelled towards the enraged Aggron. Terror grasping his throat, the feline was already led to believe that he too had become an enemy in this equation. Smith had roared that he not flee, that he must remain to fight and postpone his escape. The Stone Edge attack he thought intended for Gaear and himself, had only solidified the Meowth’s opinions on the matter. No one could be trusted. They all wanted his blood.

Sucking up his fear, Carl claws were bared in prepration– ready to dig into and latch onto the fast-approaching obstacle of Smith’s form. The moment he made contact, he would be ready to run, although in the face of such betrayal it would be a bonus if he could hurt the bastard in the process.

(( Carl’s really losing it and is going to end up attacking just about anyone who gets too close. Nightfall, you’re welcome to have Smith catch him or take the attack – it doesn’t matter to me. :3 ))

A wide, almost cruel grin spread across Smith's face at the sight of Gaear falling to his Stone Edge attack. That bastard was going to bleed for what he had done, and Smith was not about to stop until he lay at his feet, begging for his life. Relishing the thought of crushing the Haxorus's head in his hands like a grape, Smith charged again, determined to lay his claws into the dragon, but skid to a halt at the sight of Carl flying towards him.

Reaching out both of his hands, Smith safely caught the hysterical feline and held him up in front of his face. With a pang of guilt, he noticed that the Meowth's fur was lightly stained with blood - a possible sign that he had hurled one stone too many. "Pull yerself together, lad," he urged, lightly shaking the cat and looking him right in the eye. "I got this. Just leave it ter me." Placing Carl back on the ground, he pointed to the trees. "Get in there, and don't come out till I tell yer. Got it?"

Not waiting for a reply, Smith barreled his way towards the weakended Haxorus, rings spinning around his body as he prepared another Stone Edge. "GAEAR!" he thundered, hurtling the stones in the dragon's direction, leveling several small trees along the way. "GET OVER HERE AND FIGHT ME, YER COWARD!"

(OoC - Skip. She's fighting those Rhyhorns currently.)

 
“Pull yerself together, lad.”
 
Carl had barley registered that he’d been caught, rigid in the Aggron’s grasp with his claws extended defensively before him. He was terrified, fear totally overwhelming his senses as the steel-type began talking at him, shaking him. The Meowth simply couldn’t register what was happening, instinct kicking in as he desperately clawed at his captor’s hands in a bid for freedom. When Smith’s eyes were staring directly into his own, only then did the feline freeze in his frantic movements.
 
“I got this. Just leave it ter me. Get in there, and don't come out till I tell yer. Got it?"
 
Whilst any rational-minded individual would have accepted the Aggron’s commands with little argument, Carl’s mind was far from rational. He sprung away the moment he paws touched the ground, already cursing at Smith’s confidence in controlling the situation – the bastard was part of it!
“Fuck you! I’m getting the fuck out of here!”The Meowth hissed dangerously, shouting as he ran. He wasn’t going to hide, sit it out and wait for the best – he was gone. These people were complete maniacs and he was not going to wait for one of them to kill him – accidentally or otherwise.
 
"GAEAR! GET OVER HERE AND FIGHT ME, YER COWARD!"
 
The Haxorus emitted a tired growl when Smith’s signature bellowing met his ears, the rocks approaching shortly after. The Dragon avoided the bulk of them, moving quickly despite his substantial injury and returning fire with a Dragon Pulse. One of the rocks tripped him, hindering his escape as he found two giants fast-approaching; Smith and now a plucky Rhyhorn. Gaear lunged for the undead, claws digging deep in the thrashing creature’s throat as he proceeded to use the creature as a living shield. The Rhyhorn would suffer the brunt of Smith’s attack whilst Gaear edged his way closer to the unhinged Meowth.

A string of curses rolled off the youth canine's tongue, directed at the annoying Rhyhorns. That's exactly what they were and nothing more; A nuisance Sahara was better off ignoring. She bounded over them and raced in the direction of the others, leaving the zombies in her dust.

She stalked around them like a wolf after prey, watching their attacks fire back and forth. She crept closer to Gaear from behind, silently observing her foe. His claws dug into an Undead throat, the Rhyhorn fulfilling it's job as a shield.
"Oh, come on Gaear..." Sahara voiced her distaste, "At least take those attacks like a man!"

She leapt from hiding in front of the Dragon-Type with a sly smirk, confident in her own indestructibility. Perhaps that cockiness would get her hurt... It had before, but she never learned. Her expression slid back into her usual threatening demeanor, her teeth sparking with electricity.
"Did you forget about me?" She lunged at the Haxorus with a Thunder Fang she intended for him.

((OoC - Sahara's heeeeeere! Lolz again, feel free to attack her as long as it's nothing too serious. :3))

 
“At least take those attacks like a man!"
 
Gaear had almost forgotten Sahara was still on the scene when her taunt broke through to his damaged psyche. It was as if his mind had temporarily gone blank, memory fractured to leave the dragon quietly concerned with his weakening mindset. To make things worse, things were quickly calming down. The Rhyhorn herd were now limited to the sole survivor that the Haxorus still held before him. With the Arcanine’s current state of invisbility, Gaear realized he would have to change target once more and get the sly bitch out of the picture first.
 
"Did you forget about me?"
 
He heard movement from somewhere above, the Haxorus responding by slinging the still-writhing undead at Smith before turning to face Sahara – the canine appearing out of nowhere with electricity sparking at her jaws. Gaear had no time to react. The canine’s attack hit, her fangs digging deep into his shoulder as the electricity heightened the agony. Weren’t his body already significantly numbed by the virus, it would’ve felled him altogether.
 
Reaching for the canine’s head with the little energy he had left, Gaear brutally shook her away from his form – giving a gasp of relief as her fangs exited the slow-rotting flesh. She’d pierced through the armour, blood from the new wound flowing down to merge with the existing damage, courtesy of her partner in crime. The Haxorus snarled furiously, tired of running in circles as his blood red glare fell to Sahara. This ended now.
 
His rare temper awakened by the virus, making him reckless and thirsty for blood – Gaear lunged carelessly at the canine. She had been a thorn in his side for too long and he wanted her out of the picture now. He was reaching for the canine’s face, claws glowing with Dragon Claw as the image of a pure maniac was etched across his features.
 
(( Skipping Carl. Sahara can go ahead and kill Gaear now – perhaps slit his throat or something? ))

With a harsh shake given by Gaear, Sahara let go of the dragon and skidded to a halt through the morning dew stained grass. She had been able to break through Gaear's armor, doing some damage luckily.
They exchanged glares, her crystal orbs meeting his blood red ones. Had a lesser Pokémon appeared during this, surely it would've ran back to it's den crying.

Sahara could feel the malice from her foe, she couldn't think how to react as he came at her with a Dragon Claw. It seemed it was happening in slow motion, the look on Gaear's face giving Sahara a rare feeling of intimidation.
Evasion was impossible. He was too fast for the huge canine to escape. She couldn't suffer another blow to the face, he could've easily killed her with it.

Her paws pushed her just quickly enough to clear her face from the attack, but his claws hit her side. Down her entire body, the Dragon move tore flesh so deeply, the white of her ribs peeked through the wound. She screeched from the intense pain, adrenaline taking over her body as she realized how seriously she had been injured.

If she died, Gaear was going with her.

She howled mightily, leaping for Gaear's throat. They collided and her teeth met his throat. Sahara bit down, bringing her jaws together until her mouth trembled from the force she put into the attack. She wasn't all bark and no Bite.
Her and Gaear hit the ground, but she didn't let up until blood exploded from his throat following the most sickening pop she had ever heard.

"Gaear..." Sahara stepped away from him, unsure if he were alive or not, "I was never on your side. Never."
Sahara panted heavily, her injury catching up to her quickly. She tried to walk away, but ended up collapsing only feet away. Blood pooled around her, she breathed erratically.

Will I die here? Surely no one will help me...

((OoC - If anything needs edited, let me know! ^^ Hope I did this justice, I'm gonna miss Gaear.))

((Since I never posted last cycle due to my Safehouse visit and there's not much for Smith to be doing, I guess I'll skip again and hop back in when time regains its normal flow.))

With a harsh shake given by Gaear, Sahara let go of the dragon and skidded to a halt through the morning dew stained grass. She had been able to break through Gaear's armor, doing some damage luckily.
They exchanged glares, her crystal orbs meeting his blood red ones. Had a lesser Pokémon appeared during this, surely it would've ran back to it's den crying.

She paused for a minute. Why was this all so familiar? She snapped back into the current scenario, dismissing the feeling as just that - A feeling.

Sahara could feel the malice from her foe, she couldn't think how to react as he came at her with a Dragon Claw. It seemed it was happening in slow motion, the look on Gaear's face giving Sahara a rare feeling of intimidation. She cringed, eerily able to predict what was about to happen.
Evasion was impossible. He was too fast for the huge canine to escape. She couldn't suffer another blow to the face, he could've easily killed her with it. But she didn't think he'd hit her face. No...

Her paws pushed her just quickly enough to clear her face from the attack, but his claws hit her side. Down her entire body, the Dragon move tore flesh so deeply, the white of her ribs peeked through the wound.  That was it. She somehow knew that was about to happen. She screeched from the intense pain, adrenaline taking over her body as she realized how seriously she had been injured.

If she died, Gaear was going with her.

She howled mightily, leaping for Gaear's throat. The feeling of deja vu still clung to her, but she ignored it. They collided and her teeth met his throat. Sahara bit down, bringing her jaws together until her mouth trembled from the force she put into the attack. She wasn't all bark and no Bite.
Her and Gaear hit the ground, but she didn't let up until blood exploded from his throat following the most sickening pop she had ever heard. A sound she recalled hearing before.

"Gaear..." Sahara stepped away from him, unsure if he were alive or not, "I was never on your side. Never."
Sahara panted heavily, her injury catching up to her quickly. She tried to walk away, but ended up collapsing only feet away. Blood pooled around her, she breathed erratically.

Will I die here? Surely no one will help me...

This immense pain was so... nostalgic? Was that the right word? Perhaps she had began to lose too much blood...

((OoC - Edited for Snitch! ^^))

Dragon Pulse ... Smith hated that move. The torrent of rippling energy was sent zooming towards him at a speed that Smith could barely avoid. The Aggron swerved to the side as he ran, and gritted his teeth in agony as the attack hit his left arm. Stabbing pains shot up from his hand to his shoulder and it hurt like hell to try and move. Growling in fury, Smith held his injured arm up against his chest as he charged again at Gaear, snorting with laughter as he noticed the dragon using a nearby Rhyhorn as a shield.

"Yer giant, stinkin' shit stain," he growled, his smirk quickly morphing back into a hateful scowl. "Yer a pathetic excuse fer a Pokemon."

"Did you forget about me?" Sahara. Just the sight of that bitch; the sound of her name in his head ... Smith felt just about ready to explode. She had betrayed them all; she was partially responsible for Vale's death and now she was helping them? Just what was she trying to do to them? She successfully attacked Gaear with a Thunder Fang and Smith felt himself snap again. With a furious bellow he charged once more. "FUCK OFF!" he roared. "YOU FUCKING BITCH! HE IS MY KILL!"

The wiggling Rhyhorn that had become Gaear's shield had been carelessly flung in his direction as the two of them battled. Smith was so angry that he didn't care who his fists targeted - all he knew was that he just needed to hit something soon or else he might have a heart attack. Stamping his foot on the squealing creature's neck, he repeatedly pummeled his good fist into its skull, screaming obscenities at it.

It was almost a minute until the Rhyhorn had stopped screeching, its skull now resembling a mushy pulp of brain matter and shattered skull. Blood covered Smith's right arm and belly as he paused for breath. "Gaear... I was never on your side. Never." With a low growl, the Aggron turned to see a bloodied Sahara standing over Gaear's motionless body. She ... did it? Although he truly didn't give a shit whether that bitch survived or not, he had to admit that he hadn't expected her to win so quickly. But then, he had missed witnessing the fight while he'd been taking his rage out on that poor Rhyhorn, and by the looks of her the battle had not been as easy as he'd thought.

Gaear was dead. Vale was dead. Carl was gone. There was only one thing left to do.

As Sahara collapsed, Smith dragged himself over to her, still cradling his injured arm. Standing over her form, the Steel-type's face mirrored hatred and scorn that he had not felt for many years - a hatred so powerful that he genuinely wanted to put the limp canine in front of him out of her misery with as much pain as he could possibly inflicted. Forget the undead - it was types like her, Gaear and Team Galactic that were truly the vermin of this world.

"He was my kill." Smith's voice alarmingly calm despite the venomous look on his face. But then, quick as a flash, his good arm lurched forward and tightly clutched the thick patch of fur between Sahara's ear. Almost effortlessly, he lifted her entire front half off the ground by the hair, stopping when her face was level with his own. "I think yer've got some explainin' to do ... lass."

Opening his wings again, the swoobat starts to down stroke, at first it appears as if he will not lift from the ground, but when he finally removes his head from that of his prey, with a large chunk situated between his fangs, and he beats his wings more powerfully than before the bat becomes airborne with the head still in his clutches.

Though the head is quite a bit large for him to carry as one piece, the bat gains a respectable height as he continues to beat his wings to compensate for the added weight. If only the forest were not being consumed by flames he could have hid it away there until it could join his stash, but that is not so and the swoobat is content to hold his catch.

Time stops and rewinds, working like an undetected current to the flow of existence. Zephyr pauses and finds himself once again taking off. However, the bat is so focused on gaining altitude that he does not notice how his flight pattern is repeating nor does he notice as his form is encompassed by light and teleported through the ripples created from time distortion to a place very different than what he has come to know.

Once released to reality once more the swoobat continues to flap his wings, attempting to gain height in fear of attack. In his mind there is still smoke filling his nostrils, the heat of battle and a wildfire below him. The bat falters in flight and it is not until several minutes later when the swoobat breaks through the cover of the trees to survey the ground below that he finds that there is no longer the battle he had been fighting below. Confusion causes the bat to scrunch up his face, the gears in his mind turning trying to comprehend what has occurred. Carefully, the swoobat glides down to the nearest tree, needing time to gather his bearings once more.

Keeping one foot securely within the eye socket of the head that had had been transported with him, he reaches with the other to grip the branch he lowers onto. Zephyr takes several moments to survey the area around, taking small bites from his catch as he does. There are some figures in the distance and the strong scent of blood on the wind. Curiosity and a strong gnarling hunger drives Zephyr to spread his scarred wings once more to lift into the air. A chance of an easy meal was certainly worth investigating.

Sahara grimaced.

She heard the Steel behemoth making his way to the broken down canine, surely he wasn't pleased with this turn of events. She refused eye contact, but still felt his angry eyes boring into her.
The pain was getting worse. She started feeling more and more mind numbing pain as the moments went by.

"He was my kill." Sahara's mind begged to snap back at Smith, but common sense forbad it. She was defenseless as she laid pitifully at his feet.

Her body began to tremble, though not of fear. She was slipping into shock from the wound dealt by the Haxorus. Sahara remained motionless until she was lifted from the ground by her fur.
"I think yer've got some explainin' to do ... lass."
A soft, inaudible mumble was her first response. Sahara urged her voice to cooperate, 'til finally words left her lips. "I don't have to explain anything."

Her ears flattened against her head slowly, her chronic feeling of sadness washing over the fire dog. "I..." she began quietly, "It wasn't my intention to betray anyone but Gaear..." She didn't know if Smith would believe her, but she spoke truthfully. "I didn't mean for Vale to die..."

"I wanted to defeat Gaear... But I couldn't at the time. I... I made a deal with him, so that I could have a chance." Tears finally began brimming in her crystal blue eyes, a mixture of pain and memories flooding her mind, "I guess everyone around me is destined to be hurt..."

"I don't have to explain anything."

That's where the Arcanine was wrong. Very wrong. Smith's lip curled upwards into a malicious snarl as he yanked Sahara up closer to his face. "Yer should have somethin' to say if yer want to keep yer life," he growled, his face just an inch away from his own.

Sahara's face then changed, and her ears flattened themselves against her head on either side of the huge hand that held her upright. Was that the look of guilt on her face? Good. "I... It wasn't my intention to betray anyone but Gaear..." Smith simply scoffed at her words, not convinced. Of course she was going to try and weasel her way out of it. She'd betrayed them, and now she was lying about it. If Smith's other arm hadn't been hurt, he would've broken her neck with his bare hands by now.

"I didn't mean for Vale to die..." the bitch continued. Smith's hand squeezed her hair tighter, his fingertips gripping the base close to the roots. "I wanted to defeat Gaear... But I couldn't at the time. I... I made a deal with him, so that I could have a chance." Her eyes were swimming with tears, but the Aggron felt not a morsel of sympathy. He merely continued to stare fixedly at her, his own eyes narrowed into a hate-filled glare. "I guess everyone around me is destined to be hurt..."

Smith said nothing for a few moments, the scene standing still as he continued to glower at her. Then, without warning, he let go of her hair and let her drop back to the ground. "And I'm supposed to believe that? How stupid do you think I am? Give me a fuckin' break." Smith's massive chest heaved as his anger began to boil once more. "Yer only sayin' all this to save yer own filthy hide. Yer lies ain't gonna fool me." Clenching his fist, Smith leaned down until he was at Sahara's level. "Yer a selfish, scheming waste of flesh. 'Didn't mean for Vale to die' - then why the hell did yer even think that making a deal with someone like Gaear was going to go down well, eh? Think we were gonna skip around with rainbows spouting from our asses? Bullshit. I trusted yer, I actually admired yer-- I FUCKIN' HELPED YER!" he bellowed into her face.

Realising how frighteningly close he was to killing her on the spot, Smith stood up and took a deep breath to calm himself. "Yer disgust me." Hawking and spitting out a glop of thick saliva just inches from her face, Smith turned to walk away. "Yer do. Yer disgust me."

Large ear swivel and twitch as voices start to reach the undead bat's ears. As Zephyr flies closer and closer to the source of the intoxicating smell of blood the sounds start to form recognizable words. The swoobat drinks them in. Words, information, can be almost as sweet as the meals they inevitably lead to...Though the 'leftovers' that Zephyr carries weighs him down as he dodges swiftly around trees and branches, he cannot allow himself to leave the precious prize to be left. Back in Pallet, the bat had several places to stash his catches with at least twice as many places for temporary holding, but in this new forest...where could he leave something that he could assure it will be safe?

However, lingering thoughts of the distortion of time and place quickly leave the mind of the undead pokemon. What was important, what truly mattered, was securing yet another meal. The thought of running out of food hit the courting pokemon's nerves hard causing his muscle to tense and flex uncomfortably at the mere thought and not to mention the intense hunger it creates within his gullet...Finally, figures start to come into view.

Most of them are not moving. It appears there was quite the battle before Zephyr had flown through this area. Undead rhyhorn litter the ground, enough to be a herd! Bah, but when dead they were nothing to the bat but a sub-par meal. A cheap, rotten banquet of sickly decay and maggots. No, what put a gleam in his undead's blood red eye was the living. Two figures remained with beating hearts amongst the fallen. Both much too large for the swoobat to feel comfortable confronting alone. However, it would seem fortune smiles upon the undead this day. Both are battered, bloody, scarred...and increasingly apart. Choosing between the two now was like the decision between candy and a rock.

Carefully, the swoobat comes to hover quietly over where Sahara is though he stays close to the leafs and branches of the tree to hide himself for the moment as he observes a moment longer. A large gash along the arcanine's side catches the bat's eye and the bright color of bone against quivering flesh...the rising hunger in Zephyr's gullet caused drool to begin to form on his mouth and drip down, mixing with the dried blood that was already present to further stain his tattered mane. He cared none about that, but in his carelessness the courting pokemon's hold on his prize faltered. Talons slipped and grasped at the bloodied head, however he had noticed his mistake too late--the blood soaked leftovers were too slick to grasp once they had fallen that far from his grasp.

It falls like a rock from where the undead in hovering and comes to connect with the earth in a sickening thud that no doubt leaves behind blood and pieces of brain matter. With the energy gained from the fall the head bounces from where it hits over to the swoobat's current target, Sahara. Red eyes watch from his cover, though there are some leaves and such it is not sufficient enough to hide him once somebody is actually looking for him! With no option of quickly darting for any suitable cover, the swoobat remains in place. His red eyes seeming to glow in the minimal shadows created by the trees as he readies his back-up plan. He had not wanted to fight the downed creature without a sure element of surprise, but this will have to do. Readying his attract, the bat releases an hypnotic light from its eyes, looking closely the light would almost appear to dance with small heart-shaped figures, but by the time someone would take the needed time to notice this they would probably already be under his spell.

((ooc: I envision his attract attack as creating somewhat of an illusion to those it affects. For example, they would see Zephyr as somebody they love instead of seeing him as the cutest little dead pokemon ever. Feel free to attack my boy or be stalled by his attack, I just want him to keep his undead life.))

"And I'm supposed to believe that? How stupid do you think I am? Give me a fuckin' break." Did he really want Sahara to answer that? With the amount of emotions swirling inside her, she couldn't resist the curt response; "Frankly, I don't care if you believe me or not."
"Yer only sayin' all this to save yer own filthy hide. Yer lies ain't gonna fool me."

Sahara listened to his harsh lecture with despondent eyes. Honestly, she liked Smith. She didn't want him to react like this. But there was surely nothing she could say to change anything. So she just remained characteristically silent.
"Yer do. Yer disgust me." And with that, the Aggron turned away.

Wait, what the...?

Something caught the female's eye. It was a mystic light that she couldn't stop watching. Soon after, she noticed... A Pokémon. But this was an oddly good looking Pokémon. Sahara snapped her mind away and stood shakily on four paws. "Who are you?" She growled, forming a Flamethrower in her maw.

"I said, who are you?!" She shot poorly aimed fire towards the bat, pain overtaking her rational mind.

She was hurt. And something had to pay for it.

((OoC - Rushed post. D: Lemme know if something needs changed. And, Sahara's Flamethrower has bad aim right now, so feel free to have it miss.))

((Sorry, skip me for now. I'll get everything sorted next post.))

The swoobat didn't miss it, icy eyes that stare up into his own too long to not have noticed their hypnotic glow. It brings a smirk to the undead's maw, his discolored lips curling upward and revealing more of his bloodied teeth in the process. Zephyr then watches as the arcanine struggles to her paws on shaky legs. It seems the blow from before had very much affected her, but how could it not? Were he not already one taken by the virus he might have retched from the mere site of her wounds. Even before the infection he has killed for food, but to witness it on a larger scale and have the image burn into your mind and root itself down as a possibly for one's self for injury...though, of course, this was not the case. It did not revolt the swoobat, it fueled his rotting mind. All his thought focused in on how much meat this kill could bring...how delicious it would taste and how satisfying it would be.

Sahara's flamethrower blazes past the bat, missing his right wing by perhaps a foot or so. The heat from the powerful attack burns through his form causing an uncomfortable, sharp change in temperature and a sizeable hole through the leafy cover, but he remains in place. Zephyr has played this game before. Carefully, he begins to lessen his wing beats which causes his form to lower from his hiding place within the leaves. The bat is confident his ability has taken effect, though he remains tense, there is always a possibly of something not going according to plan...

"You know who I am.." The bat replies, though he does not know who those affected by his attraction spell will see him as, sometimes, it is not needed information. He lowers himself to be hovering at eye level with the tiger-striped canine.

"It has been a while, hasn't it?" The bat continues in his raspy voice, ah, but love is a blinding and deaf force. Almost as destructive as nature, the bat muses to himself as he continues to watch the pokemon before him carefully with his beady red eyes.

 
Mathilda knew she was making a mistake.
 
When most rational individuals would flee at the very first sign of danger, the curious feline was drawn towards the unmistakable sound of battle. It went against everything she had been taught. Leon – her guardian, her mentor, her love – would be so disappointed. But she was desperate. The youth had lost him almost two weeks ago now and was struggling to live in such suffocating isolation. She knew how to hunt and she was usually street-smart enough to see herself through the worst, but loneliness ate away at her mind. Boredom was troublesome, but the quiet fear that perhaps she would stay alone forever was truly dangerous. It made her reckless, impulsive, and now the feline was looking across as a battlefield.
 
Huge corpses of a species she did not recognise littered the ground, an undead graveyard as the two responsible were left arguing in the midst. The Purrloin instinctively stuck to the shadows, petite form easily disguised from the towering survivors. They were bloodied up, perhaps injured, but as far as she could tell they were alive. Mathilda usually had no problem with approaching strangers, but Leon had taught her this new world was dangerous. She couldn’t trust anyone. She couldn’t take chances, for everyone had ulterior motives; and as a small, young feline Mathilda was highly aware of her identity as a meal to both undead and hungry survivors.
 
So she hesitated, wanting to know more of this burly duo before officially celebrating the end of her isolation. But there was little opportunity when a shadow passed overhead. Mathilda went rigid, fur spiking as her wide eyes followed the bat as it approached the strangers, something bloody hanging from its claws. Fear was scratching at her throat, the urge to run becoming near-overwhelming as she hurriedly searched for the nearest escape route. She was a good distance away from the group and was confident that she could flee unnoticed, but something stopped her. It was a misplaced sense of courage.
 
"I said, who are you?!"
 
Why aren’t they running? Why don’t they attack?! Mathilda couldn’t understand the hound’s reaction. Her fire attack missed by miles and yet she preserved to make conversation with an undead Swoobat! The Aggron seemed equally as oblivious. Her stomach already in knots, the Purrloin tiptoed forward, frown hanging over expressive eyes as she watched on in utter disbelief. Couldn’t they see it?! It was right there and obviously not hanging around to have a pleasant chat – the undead wanted one thing and one thing only, blood.
 
“HEY!”
 
Mathilda cried loudly, leaping out of her hiding place in a sudden rustle of leaves as she stood out in the open. She stood tall, almost proud, despite the crippling terror rapidly constricting her organs. What am I doing?! This was suicide. She didn’t know these creatures and yet here she was, providing a life-saving distraction at the expense of her own young life. But this time, Leon wasn’t around to save her. Yet this internal panic remained expertly disguised, the Purrloin instead staring hard at the demented bat in a bid to break the creature’s spell over its victims.
“Oh I see you, you bastard,” She hissed, substituting her fear for anger. Mathilda was weak. Were that thing to set its sights on her, she would stand little chance of survival. Silently praying that the Aggron and canine would intervene, snap out of their confusion to take action against this lurking evil, Mathilda played the role of bait. Leon was her hero, but without him the cat needed somebody new to fill in the role.