UncleKAKAA
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- An adaptation of the storyline in Pokemon Black and White, with more realism and maturity. Witness the rise of Team Plasma as it could have been, with Ghetsis at its head and N as the puppet dancing to his strings. King, an office worker, must contend with the ideals of Team Plasma and the weight of his past if he is to ever achieve his dreams of being a great trainer.-
Chapter Forty:
Dragonspiral Tower: Zinzolin
Chapter Forty:
Dragonspiral Tower: Zinzolin
Dragonspiral Tower loomed in front of Zinzolin like a single, smooth fang sprouting from the bed of rough water at its base. Black clouds rolled across the sky, obscuring the top. Thunder boomed. Lightning snaked through the clouds.
Zinzolin stuck a hand into the folds of his robe, rain beating at his head. He procured a rounded black stone, the color of glossy ink - the Dark Stone: a dormant form of a dragon forgotten to history. Yet, soon, the whole world would fear the name Zekrom. That fool Ghetsis thought he knew everything, thought he controlled everything. He didn't control Zinzolin, not now that he'd finished with Ghetsis and his insipid games.
Zekrom would be his and his alone.
He stomped over the bridge leading into the tower's maw, wood thudding under his boots. He gripped the Stone close to his chest. He had only been able to grab one of them in his haste, but it mattered little. Ghetsis hadn't planned to summon the dragons for a long while yet. How surprised the fool would be when Zinzolin arrived with the powers of thunder at his command, and Ghetsis had yet to summon Reshiram. Zinzolin would finally kill that blasted old fool and solidify his rule over Unova. Team Plasma might not follow him afterward, but those extras were not needed, not when he had Zekrom to attract other followers.
The rain ceased its incessant pouring as he moved inside Dragonspiral. The walls shook and creaked against the force of the howling storm. A marble staircase spiraled upward into the darkness, cracked and splintered in places where years of decay had eaten away at it. The fierce winds blowing through the holes and cracks in the walls kicked up the smell of dust. Zinzolin started up the steps, beginning the arduous journey to the top floor of the tower.
His knees cracked, and his back ached as we went, beads of sweat forming at his temples. Damn old age. No longer was he the spry young man he had once been. If only he hadn't spent his youth performing experiments on Pokemon and people and instead devoted his time to his current goal of utilizing Zekrom, maybe he would never have had to deal with that fool Ghetsis. Zinzolin had done many things as a young man that he regretted, but none of them could he go back and fix unless there was some Pokemon, legendary or otherwise, that allowed a human to transport themselves back in time. He resolved to research it at a later date, once he had declared his rule.
Years ago, at first, he had followed Ghetsis after being enticed by promises of power and wealth. It wasn't long before he realized that that fool Ghetsis hadn't the slightest intention of giving away a single bit of his power, once he obtained it. That was fine with Zinzolin. Having partners was bothersome after they ran dry of their uses, and Zinzolin had no use for Ghetsis any longer. Once the government collapsed and Ghetsis put his plan into motion, taking over the Elite Four, Zinzolin would swoop in with Zekrom, and that moment would be Ghetsis' last. Then, Team Plasma's activities having already ensured that there were no more trainers, Zinzolin would govern on a throne of iron.
He reached the top of the steps, panting. The air was humid, sticking to his skin, condensing between the parts of his robe. He growled, frustratingly wiping his forehead, and strode into the main chamber.
Columns, broken as if raked at by giant claws, lined the room in rows. Swirling patterns decorated the flooring, and the walls by cracked mosaics that would have once depicted drawings of the dragons. From a hole at the far wall, Zinzolin could see out into the heart of the storm, where rain stirred, and lightning pulsed periodically like a heartbeat.
The wind gusted inward, blowing hot air against his face. He came to the center of the room and bent, placing the Dark Stone between two columns, then stepped back and folded his arms into the sleeves of his robe. He waited, anticipation causing him to breathe in short, excited bursts. This was the moment he had waited for for a long, long time. Come to me, Zekrom. Come to your master!
And he continued to wait. Nothing occurred. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but even so, he waited. The dragon would sense his presence, sense him calling to it, and appear, reading to serve his commands.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. Still, there was nothing.
His patience spent, Zinzolin raged, kicking the Stone. It smacked against a column, sounding like marble on wood, echoing in the chamber as it clattered to the floor. Zinzolin turned his back on it, seething, jaw clenched, fingers squeezed together.
Why was it not working? He had read how the damn thing was supposed to activate, studied the ancient tombs night after night. Zekrom would appear for the Hero that summoned it. Am I not attempting to summon you, you stupid dragon? What could-
Zinzolin froze, looking down. His shadow had begun to spread along the floor, molding with the blackness that stretched from the pillars.
He spun, face splitting into a broad grin. The Dark Stone was glowing bright and radiant blue, trapped lightning churning within the orb, zapping against its restraints.
Zekrom was awakening.
Zinzolin began to run toward it. And was stopped by an immense, ear-shattering boom accompanied by a great flash of white light.
The impact thrust him back, causing him to tumble across the ground like some discarded pebble. His ears rang; his eyes burned. He cried out as his back cracked against one of the pillars, sending a wave of sharp pain thudding between his shoulder blades.
He could not see. He felt the air around him churn and gather speed, whipping at his clothes; felt sudden bullets of rain tear at his skin as if it were paper.
Scrubbing his eyes, he blinked furiously, trying to see. Needing to know.
Slowly, he pulled open his eyes.
Zekrom stood in the middle of the chamber, floating slightly above the ground. Its appearance had ripped away the tower's roof. The storm that flooded inward seemed to wreathe around the Pokemon, cloaking its black form. Beady red eyes like pricks of blood regarded Zinzolin, judged him as no more than an insect to be squashed underfoot.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the Pokemon where it floated, tail glowing a vibrant blue, black scales glistening with water.
It is perfection.
The image was the last thing Zinzolin saw before lightning crashed atop him, more potent than anything caused by nature, dissolving his skin and shattering his bones. He did not even have time to scream before he became little more than dust.
Unguided by any master, Zekrom flew off into the night. The black clouds, matching the color of its scales, veiled it from human eyes.