The dark shape perched on the gate post like some sort of obscene crow, overseeing the battle field. Azrael watched, and waited. He was a hunter, a born observer. He was waiting for the time to strike. It was nightfall, approaching dawn and he was wondering if his new target was about. From what he had gathered, she could be anywhere in this rather large garden, but he suspected she was in the house. From here he could see most of the grounds and there seemed to be a large amount of Pokemon about, too many to warrant an attack. He was not suicidal. Besides, he was here only for Brooke. He had nothing against the people that ran this place, although he had heard a little about them. The woman had a rare Pokemon (well, once, now she had many), so had been the target for Team Rocket for a while. She was now married to a young man whom Azrael understood had deserted Team Rocket a long time ago. Therefore he was also technically a traitor and the assassin would kill him if he got the chance. But he was not about to go out of his way to do so, it was too dangerous and his target was Brooke.

He cursed the man, James, that he had attacked earlier this night. Certainly, James had given him the information he needed but he wanted to know the man was dead. And he hadn’t been sure. The people downstairs had become aware of the event and prevented him giving the poor soul a proper farewell. Azrael put a lot of value into giving proper goodbyes to those he had slain. But no matter.

He had a job to do.

And he would do it well.

Stripping off his cloak and clothing he transformed into a Burakki. Although true Pokemon could sense immediately that he was not one of them, at least this form gave him a slight advantage. He hid his clothing behind a rosemary bush and stole across the field. A small group of nidoran, out grazing in the early dawn, scurried away as he approached them. They could sense there was something wrong about him, something dark. He made his way across to the lake, where he picked up the scent of a Vaporeon-morph, slightly fishy, smelling of salt and wet fur. She had been here, but where was she now? The scent of an Eevee, a true Eevee, mingled in with it and that of a woman, human, whom Azrael took to be Kataryna, proprietor of the sanctuary.

<<What are you doing here?>> A voice demanded and Azrael whirled to find himself nose to nose with a large Growlithe.

<<Nothing,>> he replied, taking a step back, closer to the water. He had no love of Fire Pokemon, being a Darkness type himself. Of course, he had skills this Growlithe was sure not to realise.

The dog snarled. <<Intruder!>> And flamed at him. Azrael threw himself back into the water at the last minute, the resulting splash showering the poor Puppy Pokemon. The Growlithe whimpered and fell back, wounded by the water.

And Azrael struck. He may not have his weapon, he may not have his humanoid form, but he did have something. Surprise and power.

He was large for a Burakki and sent the Growlithe sprawling, straddling the fire puppy. The light seared his legs and claws, but he ignored that, pain was nothing to one such as himself, it merely made him stronger.

<<Now,>> he demanded, <<my purpose here is very minor and I am sure you do not wish to be inconvenienced further, so kindly, tell me where the Vaporeon girl is!>>

The puppy whimpered. Azrael dug his claws in.

<<I will not betray my master!>> It whimpered in pain.

<<Then, prepare for what comes,>> Azrael struck it with the power of darkness, the power of shadow and watched as the puppy drew back, overwhelmed by its own dark emotions and past sorrows.

<<She’s in the barn,>> it whimpered, under the terrible assault.

<<Thank you kindly,>> Azrael clambered off the terrified creature and strode boldly away, at least he would not have to venture into the house, barns were so much easier to enter…

She was not here. Her scent clung to the floor, the walls, to the pile of bedding lying in a bed of hay, but the area was somewhat lacking in the way of Vaporeon-morphs. He had transformed to enter the barn, still unclad, hoping to rely on his nature talents more than his knife skills to make the final kill, and now he flung the bedclothes about in a rage, searching desperately for any clue as to where she’d gone.

"Charrr!" Something snarled at him from the corner and he turned to glare at it. The Charmeleon dropped low, nervous, under the power of his violet eyes. It sensed the fire there, the rage.

"Do you know where she is?" He asked it.

"Charrr charr cha!"

"What’s it to me? Worth more to you if I know it then if you hide it from me, right? I really think it would be best if you share."

"Charrr!"

Because he was annoyed and because the fight with the Growlithe had stirred the rage in him, Azrael unleashed some of that Dark Power at the Charmeleon. He wouldn’t do such a thing normally, but he was highly stressed at present.

The poor fire lizard was pushed back by the dark psychic blast and writhed, screaming in agony for a few seconds, before recovering enough to crouch there and stare up at him.

"Not very pleasant, and there’ll be more of the same, should you upset me further."

At that moment his sensitive hearing picked up the sound of footsteps and he hastily shape-shifted.

The Charmeleon’s eyes bulged with surprise and fear.

If it could not help him, maybe the person arriving would. The door, which he had carefully closed, swung open.

"Brooke, are you awake?" A voice called tentatively and Azrael could see the early morning light highlighting the young female that stood there. Her gaze alighted on the devastated bed and she rushed forward, turning a baleful eye to the Charmeleon, who still crouched in the cage, whimpering somewhat. "What happened to her? What happened to you?"

Azrael took advantage of the distraction to sneak out, using the power of darkness to disguise himself. The sunlight hurt his sensitive Burakki eyes, but it was early morning and he could cope with that much sun. It looked like another plan was required.

* * *

The disheveled Pookamon walked up to the door. His clothing was tattered, hanging loosely about his thin, but muscular body. His black hair hung in greasy chunks, framing a vulpine face with dark fur and lost violet eyes. He knocked heavily on the door and had it answered by a young man, with curly brown hair. The young man frowned at him.

"We had no word of your coming?" He said.

The morph staggered heavily. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice dripping wearily, "but I have come a long way to find you. I have terrible news for you."

"What is it?" The man seemed not to trust him.

"Your friend, James, is dead."

A look of sorrow was quickly replaced by a mask of bland confusion. "I have no friend by that name," he said coldly.

"You do not, then perhaps I am mistaken." He could almost scent it. Somehow this man knew he was not here with good intentions. He would have to take extreme measures. "Farewell then," he said, striding away.

He walked through the gate, well aware that the man would be watching him. His stealth skills were weak during the day, the sunlight drained him. Once outside, he moved along the fence until he could see the roof of the barn, and then he carefully and cautiously, climbed up and onto it, avoiding the barbed wire that framed the top. His violet eyes picked out the shape of a woman, attending to something beside the water’s edge. As silently as a shadow, the assassin dropped over the wall. He was much less successful during the light, but he had only a limited time to locate the Vaporeon morph in – if she reached the Haven, he would be unable to follow. They would not permit him there, he would be killed on sight and they would know him for what he was – an assassin for the greater evil.

He approached the woman, carefully stepping on twigs so as to make a noise and alert her. She whirled around.

"Hello?" She seemed warmer then her husband, at any rate.

"I went to the house but noone answered," Azrael stuttered, trying to sound as pathetic as he currently looked, "so I thought I’d better come here."

"You poor thing," she replied, "you look like you need a good hot meal and a bath." She placed the young Vaporeon pup she had been holding on the ground and slithered into the water. The Burakki-morph tried not to watch it, it brought back memories of his long dead Vaporeon friend.

"That would be fine," he said, smiling slightly. "But I am afraid I bring tiding of bad news."

She looked concerned. "What kind of bad news?"

"Your friend, James, is dead," he repeated to her.

The look of sorrow on her face was neither brushed away nor disguised. "How?"

"I, I don’t know," Azrael replied, "he met with me earlier that night, yesterday and described to me passage to your sanctuary, I did not leave straight away, I had some affairs to sort out and when I returned to his apartment to thank him and clarify instructions, I found the place surrounded by the ambulance and police." He paused, and gulped, as though he too were greatly saddened at the turn of affairs, "and when I inquired I found he had fallen down the stairs, after someone had broken into his apartment. I think he was running from them and slipped." He feigned wiping away a tear. It was not that he felt no sorrow or regret about James’s death, no more than he felt sorrow every time he assassinated anyone. What he regretted most was that he hadn’t got to say a prayer over the corpse. Now James’s soul would be tormented forever.

The woman seemed greatly affected and wiped away her tears. He wondered how well she had known the Team Rocket deserter. Probably quite well, judging by her reaction. He felt a momentary pang of regret. She was innocent and he had hurt her, by doing his job.

But she was also married to a deserter, had probably lured him into deserting.

That could not be forgiven and was justification enough for what he was about to do.

He cowered a bit, trying to shade himself from the sun’s evil eye.

"I’m so sorry," she said, immediately realising his discomfit. "I forget myself. Please, come with me and we can mourn James properly after a good meal. My name is Kataryna, by the way."

And she led him towards the house, he followed passively, like the refugee he supposedly was.

* * *

"What are you doing with him?" Was the warm greeting received from the man, whom Azrael assumed was Kameron.

"He needs help," the woman explained. "And he brings news of a friend."

"He is not our friend," Kameron stated, narrowing his eyes at Azrael. "Step away from him now!"

But Azrael was too fast for them. He had been prepared for this and had made sure he was walking at just the right angle to grab Kataryna should he be exposed by her unusually empathic husband. His knife slid from his sleeve and into his hand and he seized Kataryna, clasping her close to his muscular chest. His Pokemon skills may be limited by the light, but his knife would still have the desired effect.

Kameron, about to jump at him, suddenly recoiled back at the sight of the shiny blade pressed against his beloved’s throat. "No!" He shouted.

Azrael grinned, flashing his teeth, "oh yes," he said, malevolently. "I do not wish to hurt her, but I shall, if your cooperation is not insued."

Kataryna was too startled to react. She simply stood there, held in the assassin’s strong grasp, the blade prickling her throat.

"You killed James," the man stated, "why should I have your word on anything?"

"I never killed the man," the Burakki assassin replied truthfully. "He had a little … accident. But I shall kill her, if you do not tell me what I wish to hear."

"And if I do tell you?" Kameron was sharp, he was determined to get Azrael’s word first.

"Then I shall release her," he replied, truthfully. Brooke was his true target and although his Boss would not disapprove of him killing these two upstarts, Azrael himself would. He did not like killing innocents, it made him too much like a common murderer.

And Azrael was anything but common.

"Then I shall tell you. What is it you wish to know?"

"Simply," he said, allowing himself a small smile, "the presence of a certain one of my kin, a woman going by the name of Brooke, a Vaporeon-morph. And before you lie to me, remember where I have the knife."

"She’s gone," Kataryna whispered from his grasp. "She was not there when I left this morning. I thought you had done her it."

A look of puzzlement crossed the Burakki’s face. "I’m sure I would remember," he said. "Well, no matter," and he was sure they were telling the truth, "then tell me where she has gone and I shall leave you in peace."

Kameron answered this one, despite the scowl on his wife’s face. "A gym, north-east, in a place known as Sereniti. But you have to cross the mountains first."

"Then that I shall do," Azrael stated. "Now, I shall bid you both adieu." He then struck them both with the shadow mist – since it was the only way to fully assure he got away unfollowed. Kameron wheeled back at the force of all his worse memories being dumped into his consciouness at once. Kataryna sagged against him. He pushed her into Kameron and ran. The assault was weaker, due to the sunlight, but it made no difference. Before they noticed he was off and away.

To Sereniti it was then.