“And, in other news, the People’s Imperial Army has taken Viridian City with no resistance

(A/N-AG: OK, everyone, here goes Attempt #5! And, to ensure I don’t screw up again, I asked a very established writer here to help out…everyone, a round of applause for…Raichu! [Really, this way, you don’t have to deal with an inevitable Attempt #6!]. Being the person I am, I figured out this A/N system [no idea if I’m the first one doing this or not].

A/N-AG: I (Areku Guru) wrote it.

A/N-R: Raichu wrote it.

So…yeah. Applause for Attempt #5!)

+++___+++

I walked over to my chair, and turned on the TV.

“Aldak’ar tap, Zhou’dar’ku ik vil nar Naril’chaarak t’wak-t’wail tsuremak. Roké Iksander tapmek za Ku, soren makkil teuil Tameji Serudan. Yavon…”

I changed the channel.

“Zhou’dar’ku tein valak Naril’chaarak no septum-ci…”

I changed it again.

“Alrél nopin najir Warui-quilnar, sokun Zhou’dar’ku, iler nim t’wak-t’wail Naril-chaarak…”

Again.

“Warui-quilnar sotak ur, na’—”

Yet again.

“Warui-ta motok Naril soren Nakon-Tep seril Na, ok nabash taré Roké-Iksander?”

<Warui’s new motions in the Senate are making him a national hero all over again, but does it spell trouble for King Iksander?>

I turned off the TV and walked into the kitchen, where the family’s personal chef, Ayato, was cooking something.

“Oren’il tar sok Naril-chaarak, aya? Ayato asked.

“Inyun, sa inyun. Sakir, wa noril tep,” I replied.

<True, very true. Actually, I’m a bit tired of it all.>

“Alk’te vokal sorep partus sip’te.”

“Inyun, sotel alk…sabil, Warui napul torek osa autor.”

<True, but if I want any chance of…well, you know, then Warui can’t keep gaining power.>

“Atap teru norek te autor salmak Tameji Serudan aldo na rak’ber,” he winked, stroking his white hair.

“Va’tin sul…graza.”

“Toprel. Ev yeku?”

“Solu, da?”

“V’lik tep yul.”

<I’m trying a new soup recipe.>

“Tak ya’ruk.”

“V’lik suruk nal, Warui-dakkil sorél tamak é sol. Avak’iyun.”

<I’m telling you, Warui’s movement isn’t going to last long. Trust me.>

“Olda. Septe ki…” I sighed.

“Sozu karlek?” Ayato asked, as he ladled some of the good-smelling stew into a ceramic bowl.

“Vi…taa; v’lik suto unkom’tun sic torok pajir autor!”

<I…well; I’m a bit uncomfortable about a soldier taking so much power!>

“Dou vudon sil?” Ayato asked as he placed the bowl in front of me, as well as a spoon and napkin.

“Io, si’ku da op-Quilnar, i…zatsun kiru piol makki.”

<Well, he’s a field general, so…that would have to mean he’s killed a fair share of people.>

“Dou sori é…”

“Rózu…aa, rózu, si’ku madakku!”

<Well…that, well…he’s a murderer!>

“Dakka?” the elderly man frowned.

“Rózu, si’ka kiru makki!”

<Well, he’s killed people!>

“Zosu tak u mada, vu!” Ayato exclaimed. “Diaburu na! Wat’yi, Harberakku Temara ungu nal. Fikuti-nirou pa. Saltó da m’lik madakku?”

I was immediately uncomfortable with the situation.

“This soup’s pretty good!” I exclaimed, hastily shoveling a spoonful into my mouth, only to realize that it was steaming hot.

<Yul vi maa kui!>

“Muru’ki, saa, vikudosh’to noval!” Ayato laughed, handing me a cold glass of water.

“Daraku,” I said.

<Thanks.>

“Naldon, sak yi t’ork liyun. Nuril pa mada, ti nal sa. Nu’shi ki tilmak orok, bii. Boko vi nolra ‘pak-ti-ama’ ock, sori strag.”

“Anyway, don’t try an’ change the subject. You think all killing is murder, and it ain’t like that. You’ve got to kill to survive sometimes, boy. But I guess you’re at that ‘peace and love’ age, so I figure you’ll get it straight.”

“Oldar,” I said, eager to end the conversation. I’d already lost many a friendship to my beliefs, and wasn’t willing to lose another…

<Maybe.>

+++___+++

Red walked up to the door, hesitated for a moment, and then knocked.

“Coming!” a man yelled.

When the door opened, a man with a fishing rod in hand looked at Red, and smiled.

“Red, how’re ya doin’?”

“Doing well, Mr. Wilton. Is Yellow there?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s been restless waiting for ya. Yellow! Red’s here!”

“Is it a joke this time?” a voice called out.

“No, I’m really here!” Red replied.

Yellow then bolted down the stairs, a fishing rod, sleeping bag, and Pokédex in hand, her Pokémon in their Balls, and Chuchu on her shoulder.

“Good…you ready?” he asked, slightly amused at how eager she was.

“Yeah.”

“Uh, Red, can I talk to you for a second?” Wilton asked. “In private?”

“Sure,” Red said.

“OK. We’ll be right back.”

The two walked in the living room, and Wilton sat down.

“Please, sit.”

Red obeyed.

“Red, I want the best for my niece. You know that, right?”

“Oh, it goes without saying.”

“And you’re both teenagers on a journey together. You know how sometimes, you wind up spending the night in a forest…”

“UNCLE WILTON!” Yellow shouted through a nearby window, embarrassed.

Red chuckled. “Don’t worry, Mr. Wilton. I won’t try anything.”

“Good. Just so long as we understand each other. Now, I suppose you two had best get going?”

“Yes sir. Don’t worry, we’ll be safe.”

Red got up, bowed, and walked outside to find Yellow had become a deep, deep crimson after hearing what Wilton had said. They then began walking

“Sorry about that,” she said a few minutes later. “He usually doesn’t say stuff like that. And I told him a million times that it wasn’t a date.”

“It’s cool,” Red said. “So…you said that a week or two in the forest would be a good way to start?”

“Yeah,” Yellow said. “It’s a relaxing place.”

+++___+++

My mind went blank, my thoughts vanishing as it did so, as a knife flung into the wall, missing me by less than half an inch. Jerking my head to the side, I saw a man in a lime-green uniform standing in the doorway, cursing as he took out another. Two words flashed through my mind; the only two words that I could seem to process:

Damn it.

I ducked as a second knife was hurled at me, and barely avoided having my head impaled by the weapon. Grabbing the handle of one, I tried my hardest to pull it out of the wall. Breaking the knife out of the walls, I looked to my right, and saw the assassin charging me with a third knife, apparently not wanting to risk another miss. As he charged forward, I extended the knife out.

Suddenly, I felt something colliding with the knife, and time stopped. Looking up, I saw that it was the assassin’s forehead. As blood dripped from the knife to the ground below, I looked at the assassin’s surprised face. I quickly withdrew the knife, and the man’s body fell backwards, blood pouring from the wound. My mouth swung open as I stared in horror.

“Dauo’za kara volo?” I gasped in horror. As the realization of what had happened struck me, the realization of what would happen also struck.

“V’lik Panteo al rik,” I said. “Vi lik iru sokku Panteo a ci.”

<I’m going to hell for this,” I said. “I am going straight to hell for this.>

I went for my father’s observation room in the upper floor of the palace, hoping he could help me…

+++___+++

He looked at his watch.

30 seconds.

That’s how long it had been since Red Moon should have hit his mark, as should have Blood Star. Now, he had his mission. Knife concealed in his right sleeve, and revolver in holster, he walked into the room.

“Roké Iksander!” he exclaimed, faking a sense of horror. “Suru temik iló!”

The King, who was smoking a cigar, turning his back from the large window towards him. He slowly took said cigar from his mouth, and the smoke wafted towards me.

“Volo na?” he asked.

<What’s going on?>

“Nilk…nilk rak’tul ta volklian’ta…morke! Madaa’so!”

He looked down.

“Akuma Warui-quilnar, hanaruku ton’yal?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yol’da,” he said, walking towards him. “Zou si cou askaku rolun.”

<Sadly. But I know how to find the ones responsible.>

“Daaka?”

< How so?>

He put his left hand on the King’s shoulder, and allowed the knife to slide down his sleeve, the handle in a firm grip.

“Ala’vi sorik napal!”

< By looking in front of you!>

With that, as he looked at the General in disbelief, Warui stabbed him in the stomach, twisting the knife around while it penetrated his insides, blood dripping down the handle onto the floor. To his surprise, he felt a heated, burning feeling on his face, causing him to retreat a few steps. Iksander pulled the bloodied knife out of his stomach, and began to land blow after crashing blow onto Warui’s face, courtesy of his fists, burning him with what turned out to be his cigar as well. In his other hand, he wielded the knife, and attempted to stab Warui with it, barely missing as his attacker darted out of the way each time. Eventually, realizing the mission was in danger, Warui pulled out his revolver, and fired a single round into Iksander’s chest. He staggered back, and the general emptied the rest of the chamber into him. Warui rammed his fist into his face three or four times, and finally thrust him out the massive window, watching him as he hurtled down into the chasm below.

Warui took out his radio.

“Tol’yuk, Gorudo-San. Iksander morik.”

With that, Warui walked out of the room. There was no way the queen was alive---and if Iksander couldn’t fight him off, how could that bastard pacifist of a prince Yoshi Takeru survive?---he thought.