The World’s Greatest Fighter

The Quilava looked down with mouth agape, a light bout of fire dancing across his head. 

Andrew was no different. The Marshtomp had been frozen in place on the hard floor of the closet. His heartbeat, each pulse coursing through his body—grew faster each moment he stared at Leo. 

Yet, Andrew could see something almost sympathetic in the Quilava’s blood-red eyes. It was the first time he’d seen him up close, something was striking about him. Maybe Leo would choose to spare him?

Heh. He laughed cynically in his mind. I’m dead.

His fingers dug into the ground. Sweat—he had thought of the moisture on his skin as sweat since becoming a Marshtomp, but in reality had no idea if that truly was the best way to describe it. His eyes were unable to focus on Leo for more than a second. Andrew could feel the walls growing smaller, Leo growing bigger.

Finally, the Quilava broke the silence. “Th-That’s it? You’re Andrew Marshtomp?”

“Yeah, I’m Andrew, can we get this over with?” He murmured, staring at the ground.

“Huh? Whatd’ya say?”

Andrew whipped his head up to face him. His orange eyes were crisscrossed with jagged red, bloodshot veins. “Are you going to kill me now? Isn’t that what you want?”

“You wish,” he said with a devilish grin, before clearing his throat. “Andrew Marshtomp! I charge you with the highest crime in all of Grandeport! Trea—”

Andrew interrupted. “Okay, buddy.”

“Excuse me?! Can’t you see I’m talking?” His smile was replaced with a scowl, his eyes narrowing.

Leo’s smug expression had been stolen by Andrew. A spark, a twinge of hope, a burst of dopamine shot through his head. “Um… I’m b-b-b,” he tried to say as laughter attempted to force itself up through his throat. “Blind.”

He burst out into a fit of giggles. Andrew rocked back and forth, tail fins brushing up against the bristles of a broom beside him.

Bewilderment came over Leo. He raised his brow and stepped back as if believing there was some sort of trick or ploy Andrew had up his flipper.

“Wh-Why are you laughing? That wasn’t even funny.”

Andrew pushed himself up off the ground. Standing on his hind legs, the Quilava was a good half a foot taller, yet Andrew felt himself to be the bigger person in that moment. Leo took another step back.

“C’mon Leo!” Andrew held his flippers out. “You want to kill me right?” He lurched forward, yelling. “Then do it!”

His flames grew. “A-A-Andrew Marshtomp! On behalf of the Resistance, and the popular government of Grandeport, I charge you with treason! You are to come with me at once to be tried for your crimes. An attorney will not be provided.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Andrew sighed.

Leo cocked his head to the side. “It is?”

“Yeah, it’s really a big weight off my chest now that I know I’m getting a rigged trial before being executed,” he sneered, rolling his eyes.

The Quilava crossed his arms, humphing. “Andrew Marshtomp! You’re lucky we’re even being generous enough to give you a trial. Scum like you hardly deserve one.”  

“Scum? May I remind you that this castle is my property?” His fingers began to curl into fists. 

Leo growled, bearing his canines. “This castle doesn’t belong to you! You’re an illegitimate leader! Grandeport Castle, the streets of the city, every tree in this country, it all belongs to the popular government of Grandeport. And you aren’t a part of that.”

“The popular government?” he snorted. “What even is that?”

Leo held up his paws in a defensive position. “You’re coming with me, Andrew Marshtomp, whether you like it or not. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” His flames flared up, extending nearly half his height and turning a deeper red, for only a moment. He flashed a cocky grin. “What will it be?”

Goddamnit! He knows how to fight, and I can barely muster out a jet of water from my mouth. I’d probably lose this fight. No—I certainly would. Going up against him is not a smart decision…

Andrew held his flippers up. “You wanna go, man? You wanna fight me? You think you’re tough, you weasel?”

“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!” Leo shrieked.

“C’mon, weasel.” Oh god, I’m dead. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. What’ll it be?”

Leo’s flames became red as his eyes, embers escaping his mouth. “You want to play this way, Andrew Marshtomp?” His head turned down for a moment, a sort of… crackling sound. His head pushed forward as a flaming orb careened straight toward Andrew.

“Shit!” he yelped, scrambling to get out of the way. His legs kicked into action, managing to maneuver him out of the closet with barely a split second to spare before the fireball collided with the wall. Unfortunately, the equipment inside was not so lucky.

The top of the broom had been set ablaze. Andrew shot a quick jet of water, which flew with precision right toward the top of the broomstick. It coated the fire, surrounding and suppressing it until it was nothing more than a small cloud of smoke. Oddly enough, the wall which the fireball had impacted appeared unscathed. 

Huh, nice to know he can’t burn this place down, I think.

Leo glared at him. “Not bad for a politician. But you’re dealing with the world’s best recuser!”

He lunged forward, pouncing in an attempt to tackle Andrew. The Marshtomp attempted to run. However, he was not fast enough—hardly even close, the Quilava landed on him with a thump.

Andrew attempted to push him. “Get off me you maniac! Don’t you know who I am?!”

“Yes, Andrew Marshtomp,” he laughed. “Who doesn’t?”

Andrew attempted again to remove Leo, jolting his flippers up, only for Leo’s swift paws to grab and force them down to the floor. A bout of pain ran through them. Still, it was nothing compared to the primal fear rocking Andrew’s mind.

Leo reclaimed his cocky grin. “I’ve dreamed of this moment, Andrew Marshtomp. Oh, you’ve no idea how long it’s been. You could never, ever, ever, ever… ever understand what you’ve done to me! Do you know how it feels to be homeless?”

“I was homeless before becoming chief of police.”

The Quilava deadpanned. “What.”

“Yeah,” Andrew sighed. “It really sucked. Sleeping in the ocean sounds kind of fun at first, but it really begins to hurt your back after doing it for a while. And don’t even get me started with how much it throws off your internal clock. The number of times Charlie had to—”

Leo pressed down on his flippers, causing an ache to set in. “Shut up! You weren’t homeless, that’s a two-faced lie! Liar, liar, liar! You’re just saying that to manipulate me! People like you are never homeless. Shame on you, Andrew Marshtomp.”

“Don’t you think I’m too stupid—”

“I’m not entertaining this manipulation! You’ve made it clear we have to do this the hard way… So, let us do that.” Leo’s mouth opened. Out of nowhere, swirls of fire materialized in it, spiraling and condensing into a fiery orb. More strands joined as the fireball became larger and larger.

Heat beat down on his face. He could nearly feel the sensation of burning, skin turning to ash, and moisture turning to steam. Suddenly, a presence was in his throat. The feeling of water rushing, ascending his esophagus had become all too familiar, but for once seemed to bring a wave of hope instead of fear.

Before Leo could release his fireball, Andrew’s mouth opened to release a jet of water. He could see the Quilava’s eyes widen. The battle was over before it had begun—Leo had no chance of hurting him by the time the water was out.

Whether or not he realized that was beyond Andrew. The water collided with his fireball and neutralized it into a fluffy cloud of smoke. Seeing his opportunity, Andrew tried once more to force Leo off of him. His flippers escaped the Quilava’s grasp, followed by his torso, and soon his entire body.

Leo fell to the ground with arms clasped around his face. Huh? Did I hurt him?

“You monster! Do you know what water does to a Quilava?!” He rolled onto his back, appearing to writhe in pain. He let out grunts and cries of anguish as his flames sputtered and struggled to remain ablaze.

Damn. Andrew flexed the muscles in his flippers as he watched Leo roll straight into a wall. I guess I’m stronger than I thought.

He approached his assailant, water in his mouth. The Marshtomp released another shower onto Leo, this time drenching his entire body, flames finally going out. Leo stopped moving.

“I always knew I was the best fighter in the world,” he chucked. “But still, I expected the so-called leader of the resistance to—I don’t know. Be a bit better?”

The Quilava let out barely a whimper. “A-Andrew Marshtomp. P-P-Please, mercy.”

“Oh!” he crossed his flippers. “So the terrorist wants mercy?” A rumbling began from his stomach, water rushing up for the final blow against Leo. “All in a good day’s work!”

Suddenly, Leo rolled over to face the wall before pushing down. His lower half rose before two, small, furred feet moved up in a parabolic motion heading straight toward Andrew’s face. 

The Marshtomp was caught off guard. He released the water without precision, coating the Quilava’s already-soaked fur, but failing to stop him. His feet connected with Andrew’s jaw, sharp pain sending Andrew tumbling back.

Crap, shit, goddamnit—OW! He had stumbled back into the wall, his head having collided with it. Another similar pain now was pulsing through the back of Andrew’s head, fueling a sensation of dizziness to overtake him.

Leo swung back and forth like a pendulum. His flames had regained their former size, albeit a small amount of steam rising from the water absorbed by his fur. Andrew attempted to grab onto something—anything to stabilize himself.

The Quilava began to list, until flipping on his side as Andrew collided with the ground. His chest heaved. A heaviness began to take hold of his eyes as his heartbeat seemed to grow ever loud.

“You actually fell for that?” Leo snickered, approaching the defeated Marshtomp. “You reeeeeeeeally fell for that one? Did you think I’d go down after getting hit by a single drop of water? Wow. You are as aloof as they say. I bet I’m the first Pokemon you’ve ever fought.”

His flipper trembled as pain began to mount from him being rolled over on top of it. “Not true. I-I’m the world’s best fighter.”

“Ha!” Leo kicked the orange target painted on Andrew’s stomach. The pain was an excruciating ache, a bout of saliva being ejected from his mouth with motion. 

The heartbeat sound had grown stronger. He could barely hear his voice. “I-I’ll kill you. I’ll kill everyone you love, and I’ll m-make you watch. I’ll fucking torture you.”

Leo stepped forward, continuing to look down upon him. He pressed his paws together and cracked his knuckles. Smiling, he said calmly. “Usually, this is the part where you beg for your life. Where you offer me money, fame, and power.”

“A-And why would I?” he coughed. “Do that?”

“I don’t know. Luckily for you, Andrew Marshtomp, I am truly merciful. See you in court.” Leo’s mouth opened, a fireball beginning to form.

Andrew squeezed his eyes shut. If I could just… I don’t know. Do I deserve this? Did I really wrong somebody so much that I deserve to die? No! I didn’t! This guy is nuts and I have to do something before he charres my face off.

He peeked his left eye open. 

Leo’s fireball had grown to monstrous proportions. It extruded out from his mouth, creating a wonderful sensation of heat that may have soothed Andrew if he knew it wasn’t about to be launched down at him. 

Goddamnit. 

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps.

It was subtle, but the noise of something metallic tapping against the floor was growing ever louder. He could feel a small vibration shaking the floor. 

Despite this, Leo’s fireball kept growing. It had dwarfed most of his head and completely covered his eyes. Andrew had no idea whether or not the Quilava could see past it.

Out of the corner of the Marshtomp’s eye, a gray dot began to grow. The footsteps grew stronger, heavier. A lone Bisharp guard was heading straight for Leo, running as fast as it could go, shiny blades seeming to pierce the air itself.

About time! He thought.

His heartbeat had grown so loud that he could not hear anything else. Andrew figured that Leo was likely droning on about something behind the gaping ball of fire, but had lost any interest in attempting to decipher his words.

Dazed from the hope that had struck him upon seeing his savior approach, Andrew failed to realize Leo had released the fireball.

It was torture.

All the moisture on him evaporated in an instant. His skin was boiled to its limit as a wave of burning pain ripped across his head and torso. Each particle of fire seemed to rip part of him away. Slowly but surely, simmering the Marshtomp to ashes.

Even as the ball ceased its being as suddenly as its release, the pain refused to subside. It was as if it were still there. A thousand knives. Millions upon billions of tiny daggers rained upon every inch of his poor skin.

His eyes had long since squeezed shut. But out of nowhere came a new sound. Not that of his heartbeat or Leo gloating—that of a slashing noise. Suddenly, some relief. A bucket of water had been dumped on him, or so he presumed. The liquid washed across his skin and quelled the pain. It did not rid him of the pain entirely, but it did begin to let up slightly.

Andrew opened his eyes, but could only manage to squint. The liquid, whatever it was, blurred his vision. Odd, usually I’m able to see even better when there’s water. Between the fuzzy shapes, he could make out Leo lying on the ground beside him. 

The Quilava’s flames were not lit. His body seemed unmoving, and his piercing eyes were firmly closed. Wait! Is he trying to trick the guard? I’ve got to warn him! Standing above Leo was his Bisharp savior. He was able to make out the Pokemon’s signature gray torso and red-tipped limbs fairly easily, but some of the skin on his chest and blades was also covered red.

That’s weird, I can’t remember there being a Bisharp with any discoloration like that. But he just saved me, so who am I to judge?

The Bisharp tentatively stomped over to him. Andrew’s head fin vibrated vigorously in response. The guard crouched down, leaning over to inspect the maimed president. He smiled, reclaiming it for the final time from Leo.

“Heh, j-j-just,” he wheezed. “A scratch.”

As he muttered the words, an insurmountable weight pressed down on Andrew’s eyelids. His surroundings became completely blurry. The Bisharp above him was now barely humanoid. The world spun and spun, and the pain throughout his body flared up again.

The Marshtomp let out one more conscious breath… and then…

Darkness.

---

Andrew awoke in an unfamiliar place. 

His body had been tucked snugly under a thick, white blanket. The surrounding room was a similar shade, with the walls having a similar aged feel and peeling pane to those in the castle. The floor was made up of alternating white and brown tiles.

Hospital. Popped into his mind.

The room did have an air of familiarity to it. The sheets, tiles, walls, chairs, all of them would hardly stand out if he’d encountered them in his original life.

Wait, chairs? 

Andrew turned his gaze to three wooden chairs tucked into the corner which he had somehow missed upon his first glance. Sitting with his head slumped over, was none other than Thomas. A soft snoring sound emitted from the Servine.

“Th-Thomas?” he spoke with as much strength as he could muster.

His head perked up, eyes opening. “Andrew!” he cried happily. “You’re awake! Arceus, I was worried that you’d be like that forever.”

“What? H-How long was I out?” he sat up, twisting his head from side to side. A piercing ache shot through the entire left side of his body, forcing him to fall back onto his pillow.

Thomas stood up and held out his hands. “Woah. Take it easy. The doctors said you sustained some pretty nasty burns.”

“Burns? Oh, right.” His lip protruded. 

Thomas reciprocated the frown. “If it makes you feel any better, Leo got off a lot worse than you. The guard who saved you cut a pretty nasty gash in him. Word is he’s expected to pull through, but I doubt he’ll be seeing the light of day again.”

“That… That’s good,” Andrew sighed. “I don’t know I’m just—what happened?”

Thomas’ expression softened. A chill went down Andrew’s spine. “You don’t remember?”

“No, I remember every moment of it. Honestly wasn’t too bad until I got hit by a fireball. Still, I guess I’m just shocked. How could I have been so vulnerable?” A quiver crept into his voice. The harsh winds outside wailed with his words.

The Servine put his head down. “Don’t blame yourself, any—”

“What?! I don’t blame myself. I blame Leo! I’m going to have him killed.”

Thomas crossed his vines. “Andrew, I don’t think you can do that. And even if you could, it’s not a good idea.”

“He deserves it for ruining my beautiful skin!” Andrew humphed.

Thomas shook his head, taking a deep breath. “All I see are some bandages and a bit of discoloration. You look fine.”

“Bandages?” he looked down. Half of his left flipper, up to his shoulder, was wrapped in a thin white bandage. Peering under the sheets, his left leg met the same fate. The skin connecting the limbs had become slightly darker. “That’s not good at all.”

“Your wounds will heal. It’ll just take some time, you should relax until then.”

He turned his head to the side. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Thomas had become forceful in tone. “I’ve kept telling you that you have to relax. You haven’t listened and now look at you. You’re only going to hurt yourself more if you don’t take it easy.”

Slowly, using a great deal of strength, Andrew sat up. “Are you suggesting that this wouldn’t have happened if I had just relaxed?”

“No, I never said, but it would have—”

He interrupted. “If the council had just let me arrest the Resistance like I originally wanted, none of this would have happened!”

The pain returned and Andrew was again forced to fall back onto the bed. How am I supposed to do anything like this? I can’t even sit straight. 

Thomas went silent for a moment. The Servine shut his eyes and leaned back in the chair. “Get some rest. It’s late. You can arrest the Resistance in the morning.

With a disgruntled grunt, the Marshtomp too, closed his eyes. 

---

Andrew sat in the council’s meeting room. His posture was a bit odd, hunched over slightly to his right and with a flipper propped up on the table. It had only been a few days since he left the hospital. The burns had stubbornly refused to fully heal, and the discoloration, while subtle, had not quite left him.

I’ll be stuck in bed for the rest of the day because of this stupid meeting.

His shoulder pulsed with pain. With an uncharacteristic weakness to his voice, Andrew spoke. “So, what is it you want with me today? Here to tell me how great the Resistance is?”

“Andrew,” Felicia rolled her eyes. “We never endorsed the Resistance’s actions nor did we—”

The Marshtomp bit his lip. “That’s great to hear, Felicia. Unfortunately, I don’t have the energy for your stupid formalities right now. Get to the point.”

Charlie turned toward him, a sympathetic glimmer in his eyes. The Raichu had not spoken with Andrew since hiding him in the closet. So much for that plan. I hope the embarrassment is eating that rat from the inside out.

“On behalf of the council, Andrew, we would all like to issue a formal apology regarding our judgment of the Resistance… situation. If we had the foresight to know you would be injured during the events that transpired, we would never have let it occur.” Felicia lightly elbowed Charlie, who twiddled his paws.

The Raichu shot Andrew a strange grin as if simultaneously trying to apologize and crack a joke. “Andrew, l-look. I’m really sorry that the Quilava guy found you. I was trying to keep you safe.”

“I know,” he murmured. “Did a lousy job at it.”

Charlie slammed his paw down on the table. “I made the best decision I could at the moment. I get that it didn’t work out, but at least I tried! Would you rather I have left you out there to die?”

“Charlie,” he brought his right flipper up, twitching slightly. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’re uninjured. Unless, did one of the terrorists leave a mark I can’t see?”

He furrowed his brow. “I was lucky enough to not encounter any groups after leaving you.”

“And now that I think about it, none of you seem injured. I don’t see a single bandage or gash on any of you! Because apparently, the universe is sooooo much more sympathetic to you all than the stupid Marshtomp.” Andrew sneered as he panned his head around the room.

“To be fair,” Larry shrugged. “We did have the panic bunker.”

Upon hearing this comment, Andrew sat up straight. Pain shot through his left half but the strength to disregard it was stronger than ever before. He faced Larry with a deadpan glare.

“You had what?”

He held up his arms. “W-Well, you see. Mirage—Arceus bless his soul, was a paranoid man. He anticipated that in ruling for a thousand or so years, someone was bound to break into the castle. So he built a… panic bunker.”

Andrew turned to Charlie, mouth agape. “You knew about this?!”

“No! Only Larry knew about the panic bunker. He didn’t even tell us about it when the Resistance broke in, me and Felicia just followed him when he tried to sneak away.” Charlie said, looking over to Felicia. 

“My name is Law—”

“Shut up, Larry,” they all said in tandem.

The Lucario put a paw over her face. “Charlie’s telling the truth. The three of us were lucky enough to lock ourselves up in the panic bunker.”

“Let me get this straight. You knew that I was just hiding away in some janitor’s closet on the fifth floor, and didn’t think it was a good idea to bring me to your stupic panic bunker?!” Andrew yelled.

Larry clenched his teeth. “Charlie said you were safe!”

“Charlie also can travel from the bunker to the closet in less than a minute.” Andrew narrowed his eyes, focusing on the Raichu.

Charlie stood up, cheeks crackling with energy. “You didn’t call for help! How was I supposed to know you were in danger? This isn’t my fault!”

“You couldn’t have been bothered to check?” Andrew asked as he looked down at his bandages. “You didn’t hurt me. But you didn’t save me from getting hurt, either.”

Felicia cleared her throat. “What’s done is done. We aren’t having this meeting to discuss the fault of your injuries, Andrew.” She shot a glare at him and Charlie. “Again, the council gives its condolences. However, there is a far more pressing matter at hand.”

The sound of her voice hurt Andrew’s gills, causing him to groan. “And what might that be?”

“Per your prior request, we will be pursuing and arresting anybody associated with the Resistance.” She continued. “There will be nothing short of life sentences for anyone who entered the castle. And in addition, we will declare the Resistance a terrorist organization.” 

“That’s good,” Andrew said plainly before crossing his flippers.

Eugene, making his presence known for the first time since the meeting began, bowed his head down. “Should I have been there when you were attacked, Marshtomp, even with our differences, I would have defended you with my life.”

“Oh, uh…” he muttered as he scratched the back of his head, taken aback by the comment. “Thanks, I guess? You too.”

The Lucario stood up, running her paw along her aura sensors. “Well then…” she said with a confused expression. “I suppose that’s all for today. Go get some rest, Andrew.”

---

After another week, Andrew’s wounds finally began to let up. His bandages came off to reveal newly healed, fresh, moist, healthy Marshtomp skin. The discoloration nearly vanished. It was so subtle and near impossible to spot that even a Luxray would easily miss it.

The pain in his body had subsided in everything except his shoulder. It still remained a bit numb and challenging to move but was tolerable to deal with in his fairly sedentary day-to-day affairs. 

“So, is this an apology?” Andrew asked, usual vigor having returned to his voice.

Charlie cocked his head to the side. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.” 

The two of them strolled down the cobblestone street. Accompanied by a Bisharp guard on either side, Andrew had mustered the courage to partake in the two’s tradition of heading to Grandeport’s main square for ice cream.

They turned the street corner to be met with the sight of Pokemon scampering to and fro shops. Bags of good-lined hands, vines, and paws alike. A lone wooden stand stood at the edge of the square. Andrew, Charlie, and the Bisharps, casually strutted toward it.

The stand was manned by a Vanillite. 

Charlie asked. “Two vanilla cones for me and my Marshtomp friend here, please.”

“Nothing for the big guys?” the Vanillite responded softly.

Charlie gave a brief, insincere smile. “No.”

“Oh, alright then,” the ice cream Pokemon levitated down and picked up two cones. They took a spoon and scooped a generous serving of ice cream into each cone, handing them to Charlie. 

The Bisharp placed money on the counter as lightly as it could, with only a small noise of cleaning metal. The group turned around and began to continue their afternoon stroll.

“W-Wait!” the Vanillite called out.

Andrew swung his head around as Charlie went back over to the stand. “Is there an issue here?”

“Is he the Marshtomp from the papers?” the Vanillite pointed at Andrew.

He approached the stand, straightening his bowtie. “I am the president, so yes, I’d assume that’s me.”

“I’m really sorry about what happened to you…” they murmured, a frown coming over their face.

Andrew smiled. “I appreciate the concern. Luckily, I was able to fight off the assailants with ease, and only sustained minor bruises.”

“The news said that you lost a fight with a Quilava and—”

A crazed smile grew on Andrew’s face from gill to gill. His eyes bulged open, his posture was rigid.

“With ease.”

The Raichu nodded to the Vanillite and handed Andrew his ice cream cone. The group lazily sauntered away to enjoy their ice cream. Cold winds had still yet to let up, and the temperature was barely above freezing.

Still, the Pokemon dug into their sweet treats.

I wonder if Grandeport gets snow. Wouldn’t that be magical?

The four Pokemon stood in place at the corner between a side street and the square. Pokemon seemed to more or less ignore them, with hardly any glances of love, hate, or acknowledgment of any kind. A Drifloon floated by and an Umbreon scampered past them.

Soon enough, Andrew had nearly devoured his entire cone. The last bits of it crunched underneath his teeth as they traveled down his esophagus and into the cavity of his stomach. He wiped off some crumbs from his face, turning to Charlie.

“That was pretty good! It’s been a while since we did this.”

He grinned. “Yeah, things have been so hectic lately. I forgot how nice it is every once and a while to just come out here and get some ice cream. Really calms my nerves.”

“Yeah,” Andrew nodded.

Suddenly, a loud BANG echoed through the square.

Everything paused.

The quiet chatting of friends, the hollers of shopkeepers advertising, the scampering of Pokemon’s feet against the ground, all came to a halt. Everyone was frozen. Everything stood still, even Andrew.

Slowly, he turned in the direction where the noise had come from.

In the skyline stood the building where Charlie, Andrew, and Thomas had stood not long ago. It was easily the tallest structure in sight. Even with its measly five stories, it stood high above all other buildings in the city.

From its windows came a warm, orangish glow. A dark cloud of smoke bobbed and rose from the base of the structure and gathered above, giving off an eerie, evil appearance.

“Oh… Oh my Arceus,” Charlie muttered.

Andrew ran. He fought against the crowd, shoving a Glalie and Audino blocking his path. Adrenaline coursed through him. The building grew larger, taller—heavier in his presence. The rest of the world was reduced to nothing but background as it was all he could focus on.

A window on the third story burst, shards of glass flying out before falling to the ground. He had gotten close enough he could hear the sound of the raging fire inside. His pace slowed, and he crossed onto the street the cobblestone tower was on. 

The wooden shop below had been engulfed in flames. He couldn’t see what was—or had been side of it. Only a wall of fire.

Onlookers had gathered in front to watch the building burn. They were as unmoving, resilient, and still, as the fire was mesmerizing. Andrew too, found himself caught in their trance. 

A glistening shower of glass fell inches in front of him. Still, nobody moved.

But, perhaps what fascinated Andrew most was not the fire itself. Above the shop wood turned to cobblestone. The rock was resistant to the flames, and therefore untouched by the incinerating kiss of fire.

In a powder, white chalk, a message had somehow been scrawled on the cobblestone.

He whispered it aloud. “Kill Andrew Marshtomp.”