"So Mystik proved to be the spy," Azrael mused as the three of them sat in the shelter of some trees, watching the building burn. The Umbreon was tending to James’s many injuries, whilst Blade stood beside them, staring out at the flames.

"Why does he do this?" He said softly, his pincers clicking softly. "Why cause such pain and fear?

"You know better then I do," Azrael replied, "he feeds on their death, and feeds his minions with lies."

"You really hate him, don’t you?" The Ninja’s voice was flat, almost devoid of emotion.

"He told me untruths about the most important thing in my life," he answered, "I hate him more then anything else, more then myself for believing him."

James grinned crookedly. "You and me both," he muttered.

"I have wondered myself, if his cause is a worthy one," Blade continued. "He lacks compassion – even for his armies. He told us that the inhabitants of the Isle were planning for war – intending to overthrow us. But I see now that they are not. They are not even able to cope with a few bombs. See how they huddle together in the open, making a target for themselves."

"So why did Giovanni plan to attack the isle?" Azrael asked, helping James into a sitting position against the tree’s trunk.

Blade shrugged. "His agenda is all but unknown to us, officially, but rumours do fly. It is suggested that all of this is over one Pookamon, one Pookamon who contains inside it the genetic code that he most requires for the next stage in his plan."

"And what would that be?"

"I wish I knew," he replied gloomily. "But surely it is something selfish, if there is one thing Giovanni craves, it is power. It is said that once, some years ago, he had immense power, but it was lost. And now he desires its return."

"And this is the monster we’ve all worked for," James groaned.

"Well, no more," Azrael replied, "surely their must be other deserters, surely not everyone is power hungry and crazed as he!"

"You should meet Goliath," Blade replied, "it is the most wicked ‘morph ever created. There is human DNA in that thing, and Charizard, and I would guess enough steroids to make its body grow and its brain shrink." He shuddered. "I think the creation of that monster was what first laid the seeds of doubt in me."

James groaned and tried to stand up. "We have to help them," he said, "you can’t just sit there all day and watch it burn!"

"I cannot help them," Azrael replied, as some of the water types finally set about dousing the flames. "They despise me. And you are too weak to move."

"I am not," James stood up and clumsily put his hands on his hips. "See, I’m fine, let us go and offer our support. Maybe you will find they do not hate you after all."

Suddenly Blade lunged at something so fast he was just a red blur, when he returned he had trapped in his pincers a struggling Nyura girl.

"Mystik!" Azrael whispered.

"She was standing there, staring at us," Blade replied, "so still and quiet that I would not have seen her but for the firelight reflecting in her eyes." He looked at James expectantly. "What would you have me do with her?"

"She is a spy and a traitor," James growled, "she must not be allowed to speak of what she has seen."

"Shall I kill her then?" Blade did not look too happy with the prospect.

"It is perhaps the only thing for us to do," James replied.

Azrael stared into her flat, emotionless eyes. They still held no depth, no recognition. He swallowed hard. "I have to do it," he replied. He was, after all, responsible for the fact that she had lived to make it to the island and caused such devastation. It did not matter that the attack was focused in the village, and that the Pookamon were creating havoc all on their own.

What did matter was that Mystik had caused such damage to this, their sanctuary. He had no knife, but that did not matter, he had the power to destroy her fragile mind, or the power to strangle her. He reached out to do the latter. But as his large dark hands closed about her throat she looked up at him, and her large eyes showed something for just a brief second.

Fear perhaps.

He dropped his hands at his side and shook his head. "I cannot," he said.

"You want me to sir?" Blade asked.

"No, let her go, it matters little what she tells them. We are lost anyway."

A look of relief crossed the Scizor’s features for a brief flicker of a moment. It was quickly banished behind a look of indifference. He dropped the Nyura, she stood there for a moment, staring blankly at him, then looked straight at Azrael, and smiled.

Then she was gone, running through the trees. He had never seen her with so much life.

"Probably running to report to her master," James grunted, but no effort to stop her or pursue her.

Azrael shook his head, "I don’t think so," he said, "the girl is a mystery, but I don’t think so." He stared at them, "I have to go and find Brooke," he said gruffly.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. James.

"I’m coming too, it will be good to see her and Cassandra again, even in such trying times." What he didn’t add was, I want to make sure you don’t hurt her, but he bit it back. Azrael could almost see the thought on his lips.

"Blade?" He asked, "what do you want to do?"

"I shall help these poor souls," the Scizor replied, "they need guidance."

And so the three of them set out across the field, towards the huddled groups.

The Pookamon in charge appeared to be a tall, gangly Noctowl. He was directing the water morphs to put out the fire and then helping the injured back inside. There were many injured. Azrael was both pleased and disturbed to notice that Brooke was not amongst them. Nor was Cassandra.

"Are you in charge here?" He asked the Noctowl.

"Indeed I am," he replied, the feathers on his neck rising slightly, as though defensive. "And whom might you be?"

"They call me Azrael," he replied.

"Your reputation precedes you," the Noctowl frowned. "And whom might you be here to kill?"

Azrael was surprised. Normally people did not react that way when they knew whom he was! "Noone," he answered, "why is it you do not seem shocked?"

The Noctowl shrugged. "Assassins are rarely as dangerous as people might think," he replied, "you kill for money, and I doubt there is any reason one would pay money for my demise."

"Few people realise that," Azrael answered, "but I am no longer working for Giovanni. He betrayed me, in the most destructive manner imagineable."

"Over a woman, I would guess," the Noctowl replied. He held out a clawed hand. "My name is Knoel," he said, "the students call me Doctor, but I hardly see it necessary for one of your standing to use such formalities."

Azrael nodded. Blade bowed deeply and James just sighed. He had already met with the Doctor.

"We wish to help," Blade declared, "my kinsfolk have not been kind upon your people, and I wish to make up for things."

"That’s all well and good," Knoel said, "but I think getting inside would be the first priority. We were lucky, the explosion seems to have been short on fatalaties. However, some of my students have vanished. If you are willing to help, the Scizor could round up and stragglers and you two could help me with the injured."

Suddenly something flashed through the sky in the distance, a great shape illuminated by flames.

"We must make haste," Blade said calmly, "for even now the great Charizard comes."

The Noctowl whirled around, his wings flapping around his shoulders like a cape. He gestured with his hand-claws, giving orders. The students still gathered outside made their way back towards the building, or what was left of it. Many of them were shaking and shivering.

"I can’t find my brother," a tearful Flareon-morph said to Azrael as he walked past. "Have you seen him?"

Azrael could only shake his head.

A Kangaskhan girl leaned against the doorway, a piece of wood buried into her upper chest, her breath coming in a rasping gasp.

As he entered the building, following the others, he saw the disarray the bomb had left. Broken floorboards, dripping with water and everywhere was littered little hearts, their edges scorched and charred.

The floor was torn open, with gaping holes and pieces of timber stabbing into the air like blades. Atop one of the jagged pieces of wood lay a shape and at first Azrael started, for it had a long blue tail. He darted over to it, praying that it was not his beloved.

It was not, it was a Horsea, the wood protruding through his chest where the blast had blown him.

Azrael had to turn away to stop from gagging. He had seen death many times, but he had never seen this sort of violence.

"We need blankets!" He shouted, "sheets, anything! Something to cover those who are injured and…" his voice faltered.

"Dead?" Someone asked.

"Yes."

And Azrael was quite startled to find that he was squeamish. It was one thing killing people, in a close, one on one situation, but quite another to witness random, and gory, acts of destruction.

At least he had cared, at least he had said "farewell" to each in turn.

James appeared beside him, his face pale. The other morphs were studiously either ignoring the carnage, or weeping over it. There were several in the corners, being quietly sick.

Azrael pushed his way amongst them, always looking for silver hair and fins.

But there was not a sign of her. James stopped to comfort a young Meowth girl, who literally threw herself into his arms.

Finally, the Umbreon made his way back to the door, and rested his head on his arms, staring at the shadow between them. "She’s not here," he whispered. "She’s not here."

"A-are you oh-kuk-kay sir?" Came a voice to his elbow and he lifted his head to see a Bulbasaur staring (And stuttering) at him.

"No." He replied.

"Uh-I’m not either. Muh-my friend duh-disappeared."

"Happened to a lot of us," he replied, "and I do not think the one I seek will be willing to see me."

"Whu-why not?"

Azrael stared at him then and he took a step back, seeing the anguish in the Umbreon’s eyes.

"Suh-sorry to duh-disturb you." He muttered and stepped away.

"No, wait," Azrael snapped, and the boy stopped. "Can you just tell me, have you seen a pretty Vaporeon girl with silver-white hair?"

"Buh-Brooke," he stammered, his eyes wide. "Whuh-what do yuh-you want with buh-Brooke, mister?"

It was more a reflex then intent, but Azrael reached out with one hand and grabbed Jakob by the arm, dragging him closer. "Where is she?"

"Ah-I-I-I duh-don’t know suh-sir." The lad was terrified now.

"Are you sure you don’t know?"

"Puh-please you’re huh-hurting me!"

Azrael realised what he was doing and immediately released his grip. He faltered and was about to run when he saw the look on Azrael’s face.

The Umbreon dropped his eyes, and tried to fight back the tears of frustration and rage. Frustration that he still hurt people when he didn’t mean to, rage that nothing seemed to be going right.

The Bulbasaur faltered. "Shuh-she really is guh-gone," he stuttered, "wuh-we was huh-hiding out suh-side and thuh-then suh-someone a-a-a-tuh-tacked us and Muh-Midori and I fuh-fought it off, and wheh-when we tuh-turned bah-back, she was guh-gone." He proudly pointed to a bandage about his arm. "It duh-did thuh-this to me."

"Where did she go?" Azrael was getting anxious now, his fingers digging into his fur.

"I duh-don’t knuh-know." He faltered, "buh-buh-buh I thuh-think she fuh-followed Nuh-Nothing, he wuh-was trying to fuh-find a girl."

"A sandshrew?"

"Yuh-yes."

"What’s Nothing?"

"Huh-he’s my ruh-roommate."

"No! I mean what species is he!"

"Uh-uh-uh Nuh-Ninetails." He finally forced out.

"Thank you. May luck be on your side." Azrael suddenly ran from the building.

Well, she had gone off following a Ninetails, and fox Pokemon were very easy to trail, being rather strong in aroma. This should not be too hard. It was just a relief to get away from the poor kid, with his stutter it took his twice as long to say anything, which was a pity because Azrael was in a hurry and could not afford the time to ask questions. But there were so many questions in his head!

He realised too late he should have asked where Brooke had last been seen.