ID: 13
Username: [Redacted]
Title: The Sword Saint

‘I saw a dream once, when I was young.’

“We have a visual, Chairwoman. It’s alone like usual. We have a shot.” DELVE Captain Robert Deguerrez reported, opening an encrypted channel on his Rotom phone. Beside him, Venator shifted, the fiery distortion dripping off the ceruledge’s swords.

The rest of his team, the DELVE squadron, and the array of their pokemon under his command were tense, all their eyes trained on a single point in the distance. A black dot that slowly grew larger, into a silhouette partially distorted by the blistering Paldean winds.

“Take it, then. This will be our best chance to eliminate it. Our analysts predict that it's going to cut straight through Montenevera otherwise. Who knows how many lives will be lost?”

Robert sucked in a breath, despite expecting such an order. “Ma’am, are you sure this is wise? Previous DELVE teams have all–”

“I know.” The champion on the other side of the call exhaled shakily. “I know what I am asking ofyou. And if you make it through, I will happily grant you the Arroyo Medal of Valor, and the honourable discharge you deserve. But it has always been mercurial. Until we figure out why it’s going north, we have to at least try to change its path so it doesn’t force its way through the city.”

‘It was a dream more beautiful than anything else I ever saw. A dream more vivid than real life. A dream that never faded. A dream that never could fade.’

Robert nods in understanding. “Roger that. 5th DELVE Squadron moving out. We will intercept the target and engage it in battle.”

“May His Shell shield you.” The connection ends.

Robert turns to his squad and surveys them.

Ten humans and sixty pokemon, all professionally trained to capitalize on the weaknesses of the creature approaching them. Fire, fighting, ground types, each of them experts at elemental manipulation, terrain control, and power output capable of demolishing the majority of a conference participant's team on their own. He could only hope that would be enough.

Their target is getting closer.

Its silhouette becomes more defined. Its great jet-black horn emerges first, a blade shining with a tera crystal harder than any material known on the periodic table. Its large frame is covered in impenetrable armor far tougher than the steel it's typing was named for. And even the black cloud most of its kind used as a throne, but it carried on its back like a shield, was soon seen clearly.

And those terrible eyes. Such brilliant gold that it made the metal of treasured gholdengo look like a dull yellow. They stared straight forward, their gaze passing through, no, cutting through, the forces arrayed before it as if they were nothing.

The Sword Saint

‘A dream to seek the peak of swordsmanship. A desire to reach the beautiful apotheosis. To understand the essence of the blade, to grasp the pinnacle of it with my own strength, and then–’

It was indeed alone, unlike the others of its kind. Not flanked by lieutenants and an army of foot soldiers like the Commander to the South, nor charging forwards with bestial acolytes by its side like the Raider King of the North. It simply strode forward, slowly, inexorably advancing.

Its very existence demanded attention, even as it gave them none. No, more than that. It was as if it didn’t even register their existence, its gaze looking past them, towards the north, where the peak of Glaseado rose in the hazy distance.

‘–to cut it down, and move ever forward.’

***

‘I do not lose.’

The attackers surge forward with professional teamwork and immense speed. They strike with full strength from the beginning. Fire, Earth, and Aura are unleashed. Elements and techniques synchronize and become combos. Sequences, signature moves, and constant super effective attacks rain down in the hundreds in seconds. In quick succession, the air and the earth are filled with deadly aim.

Venator struck with his Bitter Blade, glowing white hot with pure plasma and moving so quickly he was as a streak of light. Eager to join the battle and end it in a decisive blow.

‘I know it will be a long way, and I haven’t reached its end yet. I am not even close. I knew that there would be many obstacles on the road when I started on it. But still. This–’

The kingambit doesn’t move. It doesn’t take even a single step, but simply inclines its head. Without the slightest bit of strain, it catches the combined assault on the edge of its horn, stopping it completely. With barely any movement, it utterly nullifies not only the very elements marshalled against it, but the kinetic energies as well.

Robert feels ice pool in his stomach as the DELVE around him widen their eyes. They don’t get the time to react again.

‘–This isn’t a battle. This doesn’t even reach the minimum requirement of a battle.’

The Kingambit strikes. It doesn’t form anything that could be even vaguely described as a “move.” It simply cleaves. His partner pokemon’s plasma swords shatter into pieces, turning into broken obsidian chunks on the ground and leaving Venator armless. The other pokemon aren’t even able to move before the cleave reaches them as well. An attack on the head, the midsection, the chest, the spines, the ribs, the limbs, at speeds none of them could see, let alone respond to.

The assault collapses with cries of agony

‘This doesn’t require understanding. This doesn’t require skill. It requires nothing at all. Overcoming this will not get me closer to my goal. This cannot obstruct me from my path.’

“Don’t let up,” Robert snaps. Already releasing his second pokemon, as Venator jumps back, ready to be healed. “We can’t give up immediately. Keep up the pressure!”

‘I have no quarrel with them. I have no reason to quarrel with them. I don’t mind if they are human or beast. Man or woman. Young or old. None of that matters to me. Excuses like that don’t exist on my path.’

The Kingambit's eyes flicker, and for the first time, focus on them. The next moment Pressure bears down on them like a palpable tidal wave. Some of their pokemon collapse then and there, eyes rolling up and foaming at the mouth as their trainers let out hoarse screams of fright and return them to stasis. Others go ashen-faced as the sheer weight of its presence hits them.

They are but apes cowering in the dark of their caves as predators stalk in the primordial night. They are on death row, awaiting the end as the executioner sharpens his axe, staring at them.

The sheer magnitude of its blood-soaked will slams into them, forcing understanding of their situation. An overwhelming feeling of death, so encompassing and distilled, that it seems to be simply a state of being. As natural to it as breathing.

They aren’t opponents. They aren’t obstacles. They aren’t even prey to the creature before them.

It glares down upon them, and in those brilliant golden orbs is not the gaze of a living thing.

‘But if they mean to stand in my way, then I will acknowledge that they stand on this path regardless.’

It was the cold steel of a sword. And their bare necks were on the edge of its blade.

“O-oh god, it's going to kill me.” Someone whimpers. Robert doesn’t say anything, but he realizes it too. It had recognized them now. Not as enemies, but as existences on the same pathway as it.

And seeing such a hyper-controlled psyche, such utter monomania, he realized that there was only one way it could greet others on that path.

‘I’ll cut them down.’

It moves, just as he actualizes that thought. And then it's amongst them.

***

‘I want to be able to cut anything.’

A spear of flame, engulfed in aura to distill and concentrate it further is shot my way, designed to pierce through the shell of my armor and immolate me from within.

Flames. Aura.

I can cut those things. I bring down my arm in a slicing motion. Why endure and overpower when you can just slash through it instead? The flames collapse into a messy inferno, and I move forward.

Flesh, bone, and sinew are life. So is aura and fire, right? So if you can cut the former, you therefore must be able to cut the latter. It’s simple, isn’t it?

If you don’t want to lose, cut down their will
If you don’t want to burn, cut down the fire.

You just need to be strong enough to do so. It only requires a few steps on my path. The end is still nowhere close. If I want to reach it, I have to cut everything before me. There is no other option. Doing anything else would be admitting loss.

‘I do not lose.’

Superheated water is sent at me.

I cut the water. The stream separates into two gases which float away into the sky as those connections holding them together are severed by my sword.

‘I will be able to cut everything.’

Even as I do, the very earth around me erupts into sharp spires caging me, and the centre turns to soft mud, seeking to immobilize me.

If you don’t want to drown, cut down the water.
If you don’t want to get stuck on your path, then cut your way through the ground

I do so.

Thunder strikes down from the sky, looking to turn me to ash while I am slowed. A ray of heat and a band of light from behind and in front of me seek to disrupt and impale me.

Nonsense. None of it is even close. None of it is worth effort.

It cannot match the dream I was shown. It cannot match the hunger in my heart.

I grab hold of the lightning with my hands, and cut down the band of light with it, redirecting the lightning into the heat ray where they detonate against each other, the blastwave spreading outwards and disintegrating the earth spires.

I slice through this wave with my sword-horn, and continue onwards. Ahead, I see my slash cutting through the ranks of the masses, causing them to fall apart and lose themselves. Distance means nothing if you want to cut something.

You want to reach your target? Cut down the space between you.

You either do it, or you don’t.
You either lose, or you keep moving forward.

It’s simple, isn’t it? You either win or you lose.

‘And I do not lose.’

***

The battle had not turned against them. Not because they were always at a disadvantage, Robert thought to himself, or because the battle was already over. No, there had never been a battle. A battle implied that both sides had a win condition. But from the moment the Sword Saint moved, it was clear as day this was not the case. This was not a battle.

This was a massacre.

“Box it in,” he roars, even as the Sword Saint tears open the trap field, the swing of its horn carving a trench through the earth, and then erupting, sending stone flying like shrapnel. One of his men releases his Salazzle, and the Alolan predator hisses, before sending a wave of corrosive venom at the Sword Saint.

A moment before it hits, the wave parts into two, perforated with horrifying pristineness.

It is met with missiles of earth, lava, and stone shot at supersonic speeds, obstructed behind the toxic tide. The Kingambit’s eyes sharpen. It does not attempt to dodge or to bring up its shield, but rather shoots forward. Its horn shimmers, its head seemingly tilting back and forth ever so slightly as if bobbing to a melody only it can hear, and the missiles are sliced in two.

A Steelix erupts from beneath, binding it, and then goes to bite down, its fangs turning to flame and magma. The next moment, it falls apart into rubble. Its trainer releases two more pokemon, a Golurk and an Emboar.

To give her time to make her commands, flamethrowers, thunderbolts, ice beams, and other attacks are leveled at the Sword Saint, aiming to glass the very locale it is present on.

It shifts its stance slightly and changes the trajectory of its slice. Winds erupt, and the metallic boulders comprising the fainted Steelix are sent at its opponents, propelled by the sudden gale wind gouged into existence, intercepting the assault, and using the steel serpent and the localized hurricane itself as a shield.

The Golurk puts up a Protect, enduring the violent winds before rocketing upwards, flames shooting out of its soles. In the sky, its body morphs, becoming a great cannon, and then with the deafening roar of artillery bombardment, it releases a Ground Tera Blast.

The Sword Saint slices the beam in half, and the slice travels upwards, cutting into the Golurk. The ancient mechanisms within it break, and it collapses with a groan, unable to sustain itself in the skies any longer. Even as it falls, it begins to glow, indicating its impending detonation. It was determined to take down the enemy before it.

It is a sacrifice made in vain. Even as the shockwave of the explosion spreads out, another merciless cut parts it like flesh under a scalpel.

Continuing his swing, the Sword Saint whirls around and meets the Emboar released behind it, catching its charged-up fist with its own. The Unovan pokemon’s eyes widen, its Focus Punch trivialized with ease, and then it squeals as the Sword Saint swings it into the air.

There is a moment of realization as Robert realizes what will happen next, his eyes widening in horror.

The Sword Saint brings down his blade.

If you don’t want them to breathe, cut down the air.

There is a deafening crack, and then sudden overwhelming silence. Robert registers a ringing sound, so loud that he stumbles back. He brings up his hands to his ears. He feels something hot and liquid stain them.

He goes to suck in a breath but realizes he cannot. There isn’t anything to breathe in. There isn’t anything at all. Beside him, pokemon and trainers collapse, choking on the nothingness, tripping over the absence of that which has always been there.

Flames over their many fire types go out, sputtering as the fuel which sustains them vanishes. Flying types fall out of the what-used-to-be-air, their balance lost, since the air-that-used-to-be there simply isn’t.

A charizard collapses onto the ground, the flame on its tail sputtering, turning to nothing but gas. The fires of the Emboar go out, and its body turns gray, its orange fur dulling. His partner’s blades, just barely restored, wink out of existence, leaving only the cold metal of the armor behind.

The sword Saint turns around, glancing at him with those cold, golden eyes.

Robert’s lips open to bark out a command, a response of some kind, anything. But the words do not spring forward. There is nothing for the sound waves to travel through.

If you don’t want them to hear you, cut down the noise.

Grunting, he takes out another pokeball and sends a sign language signal to the remaining trainers.

His Armarouge, Bellator, is released onto the field. Other psychic types manifest, and a communication network is established. Pokemon and trainer eyes sharpen, communication at the speed of thought linking the entire force together.

At the same time, air returns, teleported in from other areas of Paldea to fill in the missing voi–

A slicing sound is heard.

If you don’t want them to think, cut down their psyche.

Silence reigns once more. The psychic network is violently shredded as the Sword Saint swings its horn once more, Night erupting off it. Disoriented, the psychic types groan and flinch for the barest fraction of a second as their links to each other and their trainers are bisected.

And then they’re all downed as the sword Saint dashes amongst them, its sword dancing like a flower at the apex of heaven. Most fall then and there. Venator, Vellator and Robert barely react in time as it bears down on them. Robert screams silently as his pokemon fling him out of the way, and then–

If you don’t want them to stand in your way, cut them down entirely.

–Nothingness.

***

‘I saw a dream once, when I was young. It was a dream more beautiful than anything else I had ever seen. A dream more vivid than real life. A dream that never faded. A dream that never could fade.’

‘A dream of the Crowned Sword. A being which could cut anything in its way, and so clear a path towards whatever it wanted, and for whomever it wanted.

It could cut the air and the sea. It could cut down forests and storms. It could cut the very darkness encroaching on the land.

I was powerless before the strong of the world back then, and so it showed me strength. A predator had chased me into its home. I don’t remember it anymore, but it was stronger than I was, and that was all there was to it.

I lost to it and could only run.

So the dream took up its sword and cut down the thing to which I could do nothing. It was an effortless, casual and singular slice.

My memories cannot do it justice. My thoughts and descriptions are a pale shadow of even that. It was the apotheosis of swordsmanship. The very concept of severance applied to the singular point at the edge of the blade. Despite my ignorance and inexperience, I understood profoundly that anything that attack would cut, it would bisect without question.

It was the most vibrant, the most beautiful thing I had ever and will ever see. It opened a path forward. With its own strength, it made that path by cutting away anything that obstructed it.

I wanted it. I hungered for it.

I still do.

I will strive for that singular, perfect cut with all I have. I took the first step on the path to reach it that day, and I still travel on it, because I must reach it someday. I must achieve the Crowned Sword.

I have cut down everyone who stands in the way of that goal. I have done it over and over again, and I have done so once more now. It was trivial, and their faces and forms are already fading away, soon to be lost completely as I pass them by and keep moving.

I couldn’t lose my goal, so I cut away my heart.

I have long since forgotten most of my life aside from this path I walk. There were others I walked alongside once. But no longer.

I couldn’t sheathe my blade, so I cut away my comrades.

They had their own walks of life. At least, I think so. I have long since forgotten them. I do not remember their faces or their words. They have faded away from memory. But that doesn’t matter.

Memories are heavy. Thinking of them. Reminiscing on them. Remembering them. They slowed me down, and so I–

If you don’t want to be tied down, cut away your attachments.
If you don’t want to be slowed down, cut away your burden.

–Cut them away.

Thoughts of other things are unnecessary. If I have a clear path ahead of me, why would I wonder about alternate ways? Why meander when I can forge straight ahead? Why slow myself down with probabilities and possibilities? Wondering and debating on them will only waste the time I have to forge onwards. Thoughts will only slow me down.

I couldn’t lose my focus, then cut away my feelings.

I couldn’t lose my discipline, so I cut away my thoughts.

If you don’t want to lose sight of your goal, cut away anything else you can see.
If you don’t want to forget your desire, cut away all that distracts you from it.

I will discard everything else. I will not be afraid to do so. I will not let cowardice defeat me. I do not lose.

I will cut down everything in my path. Every new thing I encounter on this road, I will learn to cut, and carve my way forward, just as it had back then.

Flesh. Sinew. Bone. Stone. Steel. Diamond. Tera. Aura. Distortion. Earth. Water. Air. Fire. Ice. Lightning. Wind. Distance. Justice. Ideals. Truth. Victory.

One by one. Step by step. It is the path shown to me. The path carved out by the Crowned Sword. To cut anything. To cut everything. Beyond what I can see in front of me. Beyond what anyone can. That is the mountain that I must climb, the challenge I must overcome.

I couldn’t lose my everything, so I cut away my life

So wait for me.

Let my sword reach you. Let me clash blades with you at the end of my path. Let me reach you so you can hear me. I must reach you, because you deigned to show me the way to do so. With my very feet, I will tread the road towards you. I will scale the cliffs towards you.

I’ll journey across the world. I’ll challenge and cut down the justice that aspires to be a sword. I’ll clip the wings of ice, fire, and lightning, and cut through the elements themselves. On the precipice, I will clash my sword against the earth. In the origin, I will cleave the seas. In time, I will pierce space itself to reach you.

I will pierce Desire, and reject wishes to reach you with my own toil. I will decapitate Authority like the monarchies of old. If a Nightmare tries to frighten me, I will gouge it into wakefulness. If Delusion tries to entrap me, I will lacerate its falsehoods.

I will slice through Entropy and Death. They will not claim me until I see you again. I will cut through Life and Possibility, if it tries to show me any other way to you.

I will trample over the Truth of others. I will overwhelm the Ideals of others. I will deny the remnants of the failed Nothingness. I will cut through the Inspiration and Probability of all who stand in my way.

Because my journey isn’t over yet. My starving soul still yearns for more. I still see that impossible dream before me, and I want to witness it once more.

I will not lose until I stand before you again.

So just wait, Concept Cutter. I will reach you. I will surmount you, and I will slice you wide open, as I carve my path with the edge of my sword.

Just wait.