Finally Decided!

It was a comparatively cold, wet afternoon in the Cattail Marsh. Through the dense, heavy fog the pale sun created a milky light on the muddy ground, giving the entire place an almost surreal feeling to it.
Many Pokémon would not like being here, soaked through to the bone while a slight breeze covered one's entire body in a chilling sensation.
One of these Pokémon was Ned, the Nincada. There were quite a few places he would rather have been than these marshes, but after his recent encounter with his old clan in the Shadowhue Forest he deemed it unwise to return there for the moment being.
He would just have to bide his time, hoping to finally break free of the shackles of this weak, pathetic form of his.
When would he finally shed his burden, flying free as a Ninjask and a Shedinja?
Not now, that was for sure. Now he had to endure the harsh climate, hoping not to encounter any other Pokémon. If that were to happen, then he would surely be done for.
All those other Pokémon were lucky. They were all so powerful, even in their first forms.
But not Ned. He was a weak, pathetic bug.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

There was nothing quite like being knee deep in grime and murk. Ares, who had remained stouthearted and resistant to the idea that Cattail Marsh was really no place for him, was finally beginning to understand why he had heard rumors of this being quite an unsavory location. Small insects - who remained insentient and unintelligent lifeforms - buzzed about his scaled hide as he sloshed through the thick, stagnant waters that congealed about the scattered landmasses throughout the swamp. They investigated him with enchanted curiosity: some would swarm about his warm hide while others would unintentionally ignite themselves as they became bewitched by the flickering light of his tail's flame. The Charmander would occasionally swat at them with great belligerence, but such instances became less and less frequent as he succumbed to the idea that this would be a prominent theme for as long as he marched through this domain.

He was, to be delicate, regretting his decision.

While there was a chilled nip within the blowing wind to specimens with moistened flesh, Ares remained quite comfortably warm. His sole concern lay in the fact that he was drawing in the wrong crowd; where he had been searching for strong, worthy opponents, there existed biting gnats and skittish creatures. Nothing would stick around too long once it caught his eye, and it seemed like this would be a prevalent issue with his harsh training regimen - after all, it's hard to train to fight enemies when no enemies were there to fight.

The young drake, therefore, had become quite complacent as he searched for an exit. The dense fog created a labyrinth out a seemingly empty and peaceful quagmire, and even the most experienced of wanderers might become lost within its density. It would appear the only good method of getting out would be "going with the flow": something he was quite opposed to thanks to his need to be in control of a situation. This might take awhile.

Wandering through the murky marshes in search of a few blades of grass to nibble on, the Nincada was beginning to see at least one advantage in his small body. Due to his low mass, he did not sink into the swampy depths of the area.
But still, the Bug type had no clue, how he was suppoded to survive in the area for long enough to return to Shadowhue Forest after his adversaries had retreated again.
The place was cold, it contained lots of highly dangerous Water types and there were little to no trees to be found. At least it was unlikely, that the Nincada would run into one of those dreaded Fire types here.
Fire had always terrified the Nincada. Ever since those days of his youth.
Fire was a horrible, painful, destructive thing.
Instinctually Ned glanced at the red burn, that was still visible on his abdomen.
One day he wouldn't have to run away anymore.

With the lowly task of marching around through the mire, Ares felt as if the entire universe was rolling upon its metaphorical spine and laughing at him. This was a horrible situation to be in: knee-deep in a thick, polluted substance that, perhaps, jokingly called itself water. He wouldn't put it past anyone to reveal to him that this was something else entirely - what with its putrid, permeating stench - and would blame his folly expedition solely upon himself. Stubborn and proud: two words that fit the belligerent lizard and his fire-breathing race to a T.

The Charmander, who had become quite apathetic to his conditions and began to curse vengeance upon this gloomy location, had allowed his hands to cradle the nape of his neck. They would force his snout upwards, and allow him to gaze towards the blanketed sky that so dully glared back at him. For but a moment, he felt that he might simply be pleased to gaze on towards the grey abyss, but was promptly dragged back to reality when something caught his attention. It was a shadow that lingered in the corner of his vision, a darkness that scurried about in search of something, but was nonetheless an indicator of a creature that might pose a reasonable chance of being fun to fight against.

Ares did not tarry as he manipulated his body to fire a Dragon Pulse towards the insect looking Pokemon, attempting to hit it so that he might instigate an altercation. He was a "shoot first, ask question later" sort of guy.

Even though his superb sense of smell would have alerted the Nincada to the Charmander's presence in about any other conditions, the vile odor wafting from the water, the ground and the area itself was too strong for the Bug type to notice it.
Only as a bright ball of energy suddely burst through the fog, Ned finally caught on.
Screeching in shock, he was barely able to dodge the attack, which dissipated somewhere further in the depths of the fog.
Now the Ground type was panicked.
Who was attacking him here and why?
It didn't matter, he had to get away now!
As quickly as his legs could carry him, the Nincada tried to disappear into the misty unknown, hoping to evade the unknown aggressor.
Not even here he was safe. Where could he run to now?
Ned was running out of options.

Ares's ears picked up the sound waves of the shocked screech, and soon he was rallied to pursuing his newly identified target. A smile grew upon his face, its creepy countenance smeared from earhole to earhole, and soon he was hastily wading through the stagnant water to where the noise had originated. His tail's flame burned brightly as the sound of sloshing, thick liquid heralded his arrival upon the scene, and it acted like a beacon to any with excellent eyesight; it flickered and danced in a spritely manner as the prospect of finding a worthy opponent was becoming a reality. Though a far off boom confirmed that his designated shadow-foe had not been hit, he cared little: chasing after a noise was enough to lead him to his potential opponent.

There was a wet sound of skittering legs as moist ground and water were crossed, and he would use this as a further indicator as to his opponent's location and direction. Most likely it was a creature with multiple legs, but he cared little for this inference: the real money would come from rending it into a smoldering crevice. He would fire another Dragon Pulse, aiming it towards where he believed the creature to be lurking.

Luckily for the Charmander, Ned's eyesight was completely insufficient to see things close to him, much less the flame on the Charmander's tail. He ould only hear the ominous hum of the Dragon Pulse flying past him, eventually crashing loudly into the ground.
What was attacking him and why?
No, there was no time to concern oneself with trivial thoughts like those.
Ned had to keep running, or he would soon be dead!
This world truly was a horrible place, creatures attacking the Nincada left and right for no discernible reason at all.
There were few moments, in which the Bug type was not fearing for his life.
Why did the universe hate him so much, that it would want him dead this badly?
Couldn't he - just once - be left alone to wait for his evolution to take place?
No, he had to be chased, attacked and terrified.

As the sound of the frantic footsteps continued, Ares began to let his pace slow. His hopes of finding a worthy opponent had once more been squashed and he was left to his own devices once more. Frustration and disappointment - a deadly combination of emotions - welled up within his stomach as he let his feet drag to a stall. In that grim and mirk, there was nothing for him to challenge, nothing for him to test his strength against; everything here that was feral ran away from him. Such a realization made him feel quite glum, and thus he would feel anger bubble forth.

"Fine!" he would exclaim, projecting his voice out towards the shadow, "Flee! Run! You're nothing but a coward, you feral slime!" Yes, because obviously he was going to get a response out of a feral Pokemon. They could hardly communicate or battle!

Finally the footsteps stopped. Finally the monster, that had been chasing him seemed to have ended its pursuit. Now maybe Ned would have a chance to recover from the chase, the exhaustion, the fear.
Then suddenly a voice called out, through the fog and the gloom.
Flinching at the surprise, the Nincada forgot about his safety for a second, unthinkingly calling out:
"Maybe I am a coward, but at least I survive! Some day your senseless aggression will get you in quite some trouble, I hope, monster!"
Why would anyone do this? Why would anyone attack a poor, innocent Pokémon for no reason at all?
And it hadn't just been a mindless, feral agressor. No, the Pokémon had clearly been capable of speech.
If only the Bug type's evolution would have taken place already.
The attacker seemed to have been a Dragon type. A Shedinja would have had no problems dealing with such an enemy.
But at least Ned had pissed him off.

In all honesty, Ares had not anticipated that another creature would attempt communication with him. He had expected silence to embrace his words and swallow them, for an illiterate creature to scurry away into the fog with no understanding of his insults; however, a voice returning his sentiment with fluent speech was something that startled him entirely. As he peered into the grey, rolling abyssal fog, he found himself taken aback: another sentient being was out here?! Why were they here? Did they want to train as well?

For a moment after the word "monster" had been dropped, the Charmander would feel a perplexing sensation bubble up inside his skull. He attempted to verify this seemingly surreal and novel event, but could not do so without further proof that it had merely been a trick of the wind or his own imagination. His voice would aim to sound proud and confident, but would come off as more intrigued and surprised, "You aren't feral?"

"Wow. Now is really a great time to ask someone that question. Of course asking that question before you attempt to kill them would be bad style or something. But to answer your question: No, I am not feral."
What was this Pokémon's major malfunction?
Did it just ran around, hurting innocent others and then saying "Oops" when it was revealed, that they were thinking, feeling, living beings? At least it wasn't attacking anymore, but still - how inconsiderate, indignant, idiotically ignorant would one have to be to do things like these?
The Nincada took a moment to recover, breathing heavily as the only sound to be heard was the chirping of a few feral Pokémon and the bubbling of the swamp.
"Are you?"

A slight huff was given as Ares registered the other's response. His eyes would roll in their sockets as if he were attempting to wipe them clean of the invisible sound waves that were produced by the other from the thick fog. His arms, which had remained by his side and stationary, had now crossed over one another to form a rather indignant posture; such curt bluntness! Though he was more inclined to give a flippant remark as to how "yes" or "no" would have been more or less a satisfactory response - even any method of communication involving words and syntax was acceptable - he held his tongue. It was not entirely evident as to why he did so, but it ultimately must have something to do with being remorseful about chasing after a sentient being. Such a disposition would not have been reproduced should it have been a feral creature: his humanity only extended so far.

"In my defense," retorted the Charmander, "I can't exactly see if I'm aiming for something dangerous or not; shadows and fog play dangerous tricks upon the eyes, particularly in a less than savory location such as this." He had given a slight wave of his hand, as if he expected the other to see it through the dense, impenetrable haze, and rolled it about in a matter-of-fact manner.

Upon the inquiry as to his mental status, Ares would allow a moment of silence to draw out before instigating the other's cognitive process. It was admittedly less than friendly, but the Charmander still wasn't sure if he liked this guy yet - he hadn't even seen his face! He would speak, "Well, we seem to be having a conversation, so I'd say so."

Would the Nincada have palms, it would have facepalmed upon hearing the unknown being's response.
"It was a rethorical question. I was hoping to inspire you to think about what it is, that differentiates you from the feral creatures of this swamp, if all you do is running around, attacking others before even trying to verify their identity."
A battle of wits was much preferred for the small Bug type, as he would be at a horrible disadvantage in most other forms of disagreement. Hopefully he would be able to get out of this one safely.
"And trick of the eyes or not, you could aim your shots rather accurately, meaning, that you had to have been able to see me. This in turn means, that I would have had no opportunity to surprise you. So why do you feel the need to shoot first and ask later?"

Ares just about rolled his eyes as the other let his voice fill the air; there was some sort of satisfaction he got in beckoning the shame and chastisement of others that he might as well call it an addiction. His arms slipped tighter about one another like constricting snakes, and he let the other press on with his "enthusiastic" scolding prior to allowing a merry, light-hearted laugh to filter forth from his throat. It was booming and cheerful, as if someone had just told an excellent joke. Who was this guy telling him how to react to stuff in this location that sweltered and punished like the primordial ooze? Certainly it had not resulted to petty insults so quickly!

"Paltry comments aside," he would begin as his laugh settled back within his chest, "when you've been chased by predatory birds, launched off a mountain side by a behemoth of living stone, ambushed by thugs, terrorized by a hulking mass of fur, and have survived a couple of battles, you become a 'shoot first' kind of guy. I'd say I'm even entitled to such behavior."

A burning sensation welled up from deep within the Nincada's body.
How could one Pokémon be so idiotic? So arrogant? So careless?
Would the Bug type not have known the destruction a Solar Beam could unleash, he would have been tempted to utilize it now.
"Laugh all you wish. Believe all you wish. But know this - no matter, what you claim to have defeated, you are not entitled to anything. And I am fairly certain this swamp will prove that one fact to you. One wrong move and you will sink into the ground, never to be found again. And you are right in the middle of it. I wonder, what will be getting to you first. The feral beasts or rather starvation? I doubt you'd be able to navigate through the fog. Oh, and don't forget the creatures of the night. You seem to enjoy telling your little ghost stories. How would you feel about actually fighting one?"
While it did not physically harm the other Pokémon, the burning sensation in the Nincada's chest subsided for at least a tiny bit. The cocky idiot would learn its lesson.
Eventually.