Young Writers Society

The void ripples with palpable anticipation. Disembodied voices whisper and giggle in glee. It’s almost time! The proverbial stage is set, and— No, wait! It is time! The voices hush as the fabric of non-reality begins to shimmer.

“Welcome, esteemed viewers both within and without the binary gender spectrum, to the most breath-taking, awe-inspiring show in all the universe: Pokémooooon Purgatoryyyyyyy!”

The disembodied audience cheers, claps, and whistles.

“And now, introducing your gracious, griseous host, it’s the one, it’s the only: Giraaaaatinaaaaaaa!”

The shimmering void parts like a silken curtain. Thunderous applause welcomes the celestial centipede swooping in on tarry wings, its aurous armour glinting in the pseudo-light.

“Thank you for joining us! If you enjoy tournaments and heart-wrenching redemptions, you’ve come to the right place! And if you enjoy Pokémon, you’ve come to the right place, squared!”

The audience roars its approval.

“Over the next however many weeks I decide, you’ll get to see twenty lost souls battle it out in the arena that is Sin City. Their test? To prove their virtue and prowess! Their ultimate goal? To earn! Their! Salvation!”

Giratina coils and twists through the void in an unfathomable dance. It practically winds up the excitement with its dramatic loops and turns, for the disembodied audience begins to vibrate, a churning sea driven to the very edge of existence.

“Perdition for the damned! Paradise for the saved! And Purgatory for the rest! Let! Us! Begin!”

The audience, able to restrain itself no more, bursts into a nigh-infinite number of coloured rays. Screaming and whooping, the rays crisscross and scatter to create a scene transition. Giratina now floats in a bejewelled night sky above a lavender-lilac feline of sorts. The feline bows nobly.

“This dashing fellow,” Giratina says, its voice clear and resonating like a divine chorus, “is our esteemed director, Serene. His will brings my vision to fruition!”

The disembodied audience, once again coalesced into an entity of near-ethereal substance, applauds more politely.

Serene closes his eyes and nods ever so slightly. He wears a wisp of a smile, appreciative of the show of restraint. With a voice like polished jet, he says, “It is my honour.”

Though there is no moon hanging from the navy canvas above the pair, the night casts a blue, undulating hue that comfortably illuminates, rather than obscures, the splendid scene. The soft light paints Giratina’s armour into lapping pools of scintillating gold.

“As my left and right hand, Serene will ensure everything proceeds as it should. Please, explain to our dearest viewers how the show is structured.”

“Certainly.”

Serene himself floats in the air, merely a hand’s breadth above the blue-grey ground. A lustrous orb in hand, he makes a sweeping motion across its surface to produce a projection of images and text around him.

“There will be twenty rounds, and as there are twenty participants, the first round will be used to determine preliminary performance. Thereafter, each round will see a participant eliminated until only one remains. Participant performance will be measured in terms of both virtue and prowess; the former will determine a participant’s standing and therefore their worthiness of ascending to Paradise, whereas the latter will simply reflect their relative skill in combat. All points gained for virtue and prowess will earn a participant an equal number of performance credits, which can be spent to redeem advantages throughout the tournament. A participant’s virtue and prowess may also decrease, depending on their actions, but this will not affect their credits.

“The nature and duration of each round will be determined randomly, as Our Grace pleases. All rounds will occur within the confines of Sin City, where numerous souls committed to Purgatory reside. Many dangers also lurk there, and the participants will need to face these dangers, as well as navigate Sin City, using twelve initial techniques. These techniques are arbitrary definitions of significant actions that participants may take. They are sorted into offence, endurance, support, and pressure. Six classes emphasise two of these categories in unique combinations: attackers emphasise offence and endurance; defenders emphasise offence and support; suppressers emphasise offence and pressure; blockers emphasise endurance and support; eroders emphasise endurance and pressure; and controllers emphasise support and pressure. Participants may select as many techniques as they like from the emphasised categories of their chosen class, but no more than one each from the other two.

“Additionally, each round may be further divided into stages. Solo and group stages will specify whether participants are allowed to cooperate, while open, limited, and restricted stages will specify whether participants may use all, most, or only some of their techniques. The participants have already been informed of these rules, as have they selected their classes and techniques. They now await introduction by Our Grace.”

Giratina, who had leisurely been circling the area from far above in the meantime, dives downwards in a corkscrew motion before pulling up and spinning to a sudden stop above Serene.

“Whether they barely escaped eternal torment or just narrowly missed eternal bliss, our participants come from all walks of modern life! They may be dead, but their stories are still incomplete — and their next chapter starts now!”

The disembodied audience cheers and starts buzzing with conversation. This is so exciting! Which kinds of personalities might feature? Who will the favourites be?!

Giratina and Serene both float in one direction, but the world simultaneously pulls away in the other. The scene barely shifts and yet speeds by at an impossible pace. They stop in a new area, similar yet different. Open field has changed to an outcropping of rocks interspersed with delicate trees.

The audience hushes as it spies an azure jackal sitting cross-legged underneath the scarlet and cerise canopy. The figure is wearing an oriental two-piece outfit, consisting of an open cross-collar garment and a skirt. Emerald green, with black sleeves and borders alike featuring intricate designs, the clothing complements her blue fur.

Her eyes are closed and four black, tubular appendages, connected to the back of her skull, float around her head. It looks like she’s wearing a black mask that covers her eyes and runs up over her forehead, except it’s her natural skin. A metal spike protrudes from her chest and both her wrists, also evidently natural. She appears to be meditating and has not yet noticed Giratina’s and Serene’s arrival.

“This quiet lady is our first participant of the tournament!” Giratina declares. “Though she has taken a vow of silence, she has also asked to do her introduction herself. How puzzling! How mysterious! Let’s hear — or rather, feel — what she has to say!”

The jackal, initially surprised, has risen in the meantime. She rests one hand on her chest spike, as if to cover it, and bows slowly and gracefully, her other arm sweeping outwards and to the side. An aura of soft warmth emanates from her delicate figure. It evokes the impression of white magnolias blooming under a summer sky, the air filled with their citrusy fragrance. Gratitude.

“It is a pleasure to have you,” Serene responds. “Tell the audience your name.”

She nods and projects an image that fades into view, replacing the scene of the three individuals in the blue-and-scarlet world. A water garden occupies the central space of a temple courtyard. Sacred lotuses float on the surface. Their white petals blush a very slight pink at the tips.

“And your class?”

At Serene’s words, Lotus’ appendages float down to rest in a hanging position while the image fades away. She crosses her arms in front of her heart so that her wrists intersect at right angles.

“Our first Blocker!” Giratina calls.

Several gasps escape from the disembodied audience. Some voices whisper that the choice makes sense, but most express their surprise. All sound interested.

“I would give you a hundred words to say something about yourself, but an image is worth a thousand, as the saying goes!”

Lotus chuckles quietly and nods.

“Would you like to ask a question?”

“All participants of the tournament will be shown the introductions of all the other participants before the first round commences,” Serene adds, looking in the audience’s general direction, “so they will all benefit from hearing the same answers.”

She gazes at some non-specific point above her and to her left. Her expression becomes more solemn. After a moment, she smiles wistfully and shakes her head.

A few voices in the audience wonder if Lotus contemplated the question or something else entirely. Something she didn’t show them that time. A few other voices say it likely isn’t as unrelated as one might think, but all those voices are quickly shushed and told not to analyse the participants so much already.

“Very well!”

“Good luck in the tournament,” Serene says.

Lotus bows, again with her hand on her chest spike. The greeting is subtler this time.

As before, Giratina and Serene float away while the scene shifts. But rather than moving across the landscape, the ground pulls back and seemingly propels them into the sky. A lanky, orange dragon soars through the night, almost a star unto himself through the fire burning at the tip of his tail. He wears studded leather armour dyed the same navy as the dome above.

“Our second participant is a bold fellow named Gold! He clearly has an eye for taste. And maybe even the bigger picture? Let’s hear what he has to say!” Giratina pauses for a second before adding, almost conspiratorially, “In a hundred words or fewer, of course.”

The audience laughs and makes wry comments about their host’s cheekiness, but Gold almost drops out of the sky. Giratina’s introduction makes him jerk to a sudden stop, but his wide grin makes his feelings plain.

“Our Grace! It is an honour to fly with you! Oh, umm, should I land? I thought I’d look at your wonderful land from above, but I didn’t think you’d… well.” He chuckles and rubs one of the two horns projecting from the back of his head. “Oh, and greetings, Lord Serene!”

Serene nods patiently. “Greetings, Gold. However…” His long, purple tail gives a faint twitch.

The dragon grimaces. “Just ‘Serene’, sorry! I forgot.”

“No worries.”

Gold nods in relief.

“You may continue flying with us!” Giratina says. “Tell us about your class.”

“Of course!” Gold positions himself to fly abreast of Serene and Giratina, yet still slightly below them so he’d have to look up. “I’ve chosen to be an Attacker! What better way to prove one’s faith and devotion?”

“You certainly have the fire for it!”

The audience questions whether it’s allowed to boo its host for a bad pun. Giratina gives it a divine wink; the audience decides the God of Purgatory gets to make as many bad puns as it likes. One or two voices even pipe up that divinities make no “bad” puns and there must be a hidden meaning to it. Serene gives a single, amused, knowing snort.

Gold is entirely unaware of the audience’s speculation and takes the pun at face value. “I… thank you! Truly!”

A voice whispers that Gold looks like he might explode too. Another says Giratina would have that effect on people.

“I showed too little conviction before, since I’m here, but I’ll make you proud, Our Grace! I’ll give it my all!”

“That’s the spirit! And appropriately stated in ninety words. Before our flight ends, do you have a question?”

“Oh! I…” Gold fidgets with a strap on his armour. “No, Our Grace. I would ask only for the strength to face any challenge you would put before me.”

“I will put many challenges before you! But nineteen other souls will face them too, so I can’t give you any advantage you didn’t earn yourself.”

Gold looks abashed and even gawks for a second. “No, yes, I mean, of course, Our Grace! I never meant to… My deepest apologies! This is my test.” He pulls to a mid-air stop and performs a clumsy bow. “I’ll prove my worth!”

“Good luck in the tournament,” Serene says.

As he and Giratina descend towards the ground once more while the sky pulls away, the centipede gives him what Serene knows to be a curious look.

“Yes, Our Grace?”

“Wishing him luck was counterproductive.”

Serene blinks. He then inclines his head and closes his eyes. “I intended it as a formality, but I now recognise my poor choice of words.”

“You’ve said it twice. You’ll say it to everyone now.”

Giratina’s tone is matter-of-fact, but Serene opens his eyes and nods decisively, as if the words give him confidence. “Most certainly.”