There was little to be scavenged in the waste bins around the small village. Whatever the people here did with waste, it was certainly not throw it away. They probably ate it, it seemed like that kind of area.

Azrael had spent the better part of the last week hobbling around in Umbreon form in a desperate effort to rebuilt his strength and also find some way of getting to the island. He was beginning to think that the only such way would be swimming. At least he did not hurt as much now as he had then, he almost had full use of his legs once more, although they still ached in the frosty mornings.

He trotted around the head to the little cove where he lay and watched the island, and realised that someone else was already there.

Quite a few of them from the looks of things.

This reeked of trouble, and not just to the Assassin’s delicate sense of smell. There seemed something secretive about the small flock of boats and the amount of Pookamon gathered.

Azrael remembered they had planned war against the inhabitants of the Isle. And even now, perhaps, they were gathered to put that plan into action. It was early dawn, thus he still had some of his night-time powers working, and stealth, in this case, would be all important. He could not risk being caught, if they caught him, they would kill him without thought, he was a traitor, after all.

Nearby, a muscular Machamp-morph was rolling barrels onto one of the boats. Azrael could only guess that it was some sort of fuel, maybe something explosive. Near him a female Rhydon set about dragging large sacks and pushing more barrels. They were obviously prepared for some sort of onslaught on the innocent inhabitants of the Isle. He shuddered as something soared in from the sky, a large Charizard morph, twice the size of your average Charizard.

"Behold Goliath!" Came a voice, and Azrael’s pupils narrowed as a familiar, fully human, man walked across the stand to greet the monstrosity before him. Beside the man stalked an impressive Persian, entirely non-morphic, but its muscles rippled powerfully beneath its cream fur. It purred and nudged Giovanni, for it was he, with its head.

For a moment there, and only a moment, Azrael entertained the thought of leaping down there and assassinating his old boss, but it was only fleeting, he had no chance against the fire of the enormous dragon, or the muscles of the fighting Pokemon.

His skill lay in stealth and planning, the powers of the darkness, in one on one warfare, he was useless. But on the other paw…

He stole closer, allowing the early morning shadows to hide his form.

The Charizard lowered its head so that Giovanni could stroke its long muzzle, loaded with dangerous teeth.

"You shall do well, my pet," he said softly to it.

"Chergh," the beast agreed.

The leader of the mutant army stood back and put his hands on his hips, surveying all around him. "And tonight, the poor souls won’t know what has hit them!"

So tonight it was, was it, Azrael growled softly, gutturally. He could not allow them to destroy the final sanctuary. Tensing every muscle in his battered body, he waited until the Machoke-morph had stomped away to collect some more barrels and quickly darted across to the shadow proffered by the nearest boat.

His muscles throbbed from the exertion, he still had yet to fully heal from the wild ride down the waterway and from the beating he had received. He crouched low, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Danger was, after all, what life was all about.

Goliath crouched back, folding its massive wings close about itself, and sitting there, staring out across the waves. You could not see the Island from the shore. In the week Azrael had been here, he had not seen the Isle once. It was hidden in a permanent shroud of distance and cloud. Possibly some type of weather controlling Pookamon had created the mist. The thought made him remember Lilith, with her strange beauty.

Who was she? What did she want of him?

How could he possible help? He was miles from the island and his only way there was aboard the dread ship.

With Giovanni’s army.

So be it.

The Rhydon-morph stomped off the boat and traipsed across the sand towards a truck, partly hidden in the trees. She paused and began flexing her muscles.

And the hunter waited until she had turned her back and no-one was watching him and slunk up the runway as quickly as he could manage.

The ship was loaded with barrels, and the reek of oil. He slid in between two of the foul-smelling barrels and crouched, praying that none would notice him. Fighting Pokemon were not reknowned for their sharp eyesight and insight, and the fuel would mask his distinctive scent.

His fur tingled with apprehension. What was going on here? Obviously they were intending to assault the island with powerful Pokemon. And what possibly could one lone Umbreon do to stop it?

He sat amongst the stinking barrels and waited.

*

Dusk came, and with it the ships left shore. They were not sailing on the winds, Azrael quickly realised, but being drawn by large morphic Gyrados, fearsome looking humanoids with powerful tails. He crouched amongst the barrels, praying that he would avoid detection.

The warriors seemed unaware of his presence, and as darkness grew deeper, his confidence arouse. He stalked out and sniffed around the boat. The warriors were resting around deck, quietly staring out over the moonlit waves.

The competition was frightening, and Azrael knew if he was caught his only chance of survival lay in jumping overboard and praying. On board his ship there appeared to be a Gligar-morph, two Scythers and a Scizor, a Nidoking and Nidoqueen and a number of spearows, all humanoid in form, or at least in scent.

The captain of the ship appeared to be a Politoad, and Azrael could just see him over the small cabin. He did not wish to be caught out, as he slunk slowly towards the stern. The assassin was good at planning ahead. And to help his, well, they were hardly friends, fellow free morphs, he supposed, he would need more information, and probably some sort of boat. One of these, at least, was provided for him.

It did not take him long to reach the lifeboat, as yet undetected. He slipped into the welcoming darkness, more content in her embrace then any other. And beneath her, he assumed his human form. Now things would get more difficult, but paws were not made for operating mechanisms on boats. He crawled out after making sure the coast was clear and began to turn the handle that would set the boat on its way over the side and onto the water.

It made a screeching noise, the noise of tortured metal.

Azrael wound harder, so that the boat was suspended above the water before the first of the crew came to investigate. The Scizor, his skin a shiny red, towered over him, and snapped its scissor-like claws.

There was only one thing to do. Azrael grasped the blackness in the Pookamon’s mind and brought it sharply into his consciousness.

The Scizor gasped for a moment, but quickly regained composure, too quickly.

These were not humans he was dealing with, but skilled fighters.

The Nidoqueen and King marched up beside it, and one of them struck out at him, sending him tumbling backwards into the boat.

The Scizor jumped in on him, his claws snapping at him, tearing out chunks of fur and skin. Azrael’s Pokemon skills were useless in close combat, but his assassin skills came into action. He reached up with one hand and grasped the Scizor just behind the talon and pulling his head towards his chest he brought his muscular shoulders forward with enough force to send them both tumbling into the water.

The Scizor-morph quickly struggled to the surface, flapping its wings furiously. Bedraggled, Azrael dragged himself back aboard the boat, managing to free it from the side of the ship just before the Scizor, moving too fast to be seen, knocked him out again.

His vision flashed blue for an instant, as the lifeboat was left behind in the wake of the speeding ship. The Gyrados-morph dragging it had not even noticed the fight.

The two Nido-morphs, a little nervous of the water (with their immense weight they were more likely to sink then swim), merely watched from the back of the boat. Obviously Azrael was of no consequence, of no real threat to their plan.

Surely the Scizor would finish him off.

The Scizor morph hovered above the struggling Umbreon, pushing his head beneath the water every time he managed to flounder his way to the surface. Its wings were a bright blur, and the noise they made sounded not unlike a lawnmower. He could feel the life slipping from his lungs.

Frantically, with energy spurred on by fear of death (something he would never willingly admit to), his grasping, flailing hands managed to grab his attacker by the foot and in an instant had managed to drag it under too.

The two flailed furiously, and Azrael was definitely suffering, when suddenly the Scizor spasmed and stopped grasping, given the Umbreon the chance he needed to struggle to the surface.

The boat had hit the Scizor-morph in the back of the head, leaving it slightly dazed. Azrael clambered willingly aboard, his lungs gasping as the air rushed in to fill their hollowness.

The Scizor tried to struggle to the surface, but he kicked him under again with one foot, making the boat lurch to one side.

Limply, the now unconscious Pookamon floated facedown in the water. Azrael pondered for a moment, then in an uncharacteristic show of sympathy, dragged the morph aboard.

He pushed on his enemy’s chest, expelling the water from his lungs.

The Scizor let out a long drawn out gasp and tried to leap to his feet, staggering miserably.

"Go on," he said softly, his voice a rasp from the strain. "Kill me, why don’t you?"

Azrael grunted. "I could not do that," he replied, equally quietly, "once I was you."

Th morph’s eyes were surprised, and then they narrowed, and for a moment the Umbreon though he was about to take advantage of the comment and finish the assassin off, but then he sat down, and sighed.

"I know of you," he replied, "you were an assassin for Giovanni, we have hunted you these last few months."

"That is I," Azrael did not really feel like discussing matters further.

"I admired you," the Scizor admitted, "that you managed to outwit us for so long. Tell me, what is to stop me killing you now?"

"Gratitude," he replied simply. "I could have left you to die, but I did not."

The Scizor-morph scowled. "Oh, you thought to save me and hold my honour at ransom," he growled.

"I am not noted for my kindness," was all the assassin replied. "You will not kill me, your kin are burdened with honour."

The Scizor hung his head. "Alas it is so. You have saved my life, so it is my duty to aid you."

Only now did the Umbreon allow a small, almost sad, smile to feature on his face. "I need to get to the Isle," he said, "before Giovanni and his cohorts." He dragged a coil of rope from under the seat, where it had been neatly lodged. "And Scizor, I believe, are well noted for their swift flight."

The Scizor shook its head sadly. "I am bound to help you," he replied, "but must I do so in such a demeaning fashion?"

Azrael nodded. "There are innocent Pookamon on that Island that are our kin, perhaps even our family, and Giovanni is waging war on them merely because he wants to try out his army. They are no threat to you. On your honour as a Pokemon Ninja, do you not understand that what he is doing is wrong?"

"It is the way I have always been taught." The Scizor nodded. "But I also understand that those poor souls on the island are of no threat to us, and never will be. I too have seen the madness in Giovanni’s eyes." He closed his eyes for a long minute. "I shall help you, Azrael, Angel of Death." He proffered his hand to the bedraggled assassin.

The Umbreon accepted it graciously. "And I thank you for it," he paused for a moment.

The Scizor saw his discomfit. "I am Blade," he replied.

"I thank you, Blade."