That's The One

Inhale, exhale, dodge.

There it was. That rush he adored. The adrenaline coursing through his veins, clouding his mind. The clenching of his fists, huge clawed fingertips digging into his palm. It was better than anything else that would happen here.

His smirk a death sentence, his posture a threat, movements a mockery. He was a god here. A god of what he wasn't sure, but he was a god nonetheless. Twisting, like a ballerina, he moved across the fenced in dungeon of a fighting ring, moving in an elegant mock dance. His foe, an untrained kabutops-tyranitar fusion hashed at him barbarically, scythe-like limbs never striking his huge body as he moved. It was up to his shoulders, bearing a slimmed tyranitars body, coated in plates, upper arms scythed, and it's head a disgusting pincer ridden bug like monstrosity. The poor thing didn't stand a chance, it was sloppy, unprecise, and angry. Pulling out of a pirouette he slammed his fist into the unsuspecting bugs face. What sounded was a resounding crack, small lines of a shattering exoskeleton evoking the sickening cheers of rich humans on the sidelines.

The dragon sneered, more at the humans than the lithe creature that was now screeching and clawing at its face, only causing more damage. "A prototype." Gavino noted out loud, incredibly long tail curling behind him. They often sent incomplete fusions, rejects, to test them. To see where they could improve upon their genetic splicing for the next one. It probably wasn’t even weeks old. He briefly wondered if there were versions of him that came before and faced the same horrors. 

"I'm not a prototype!" The opposing creature snarled, raising its deformed smashed head, voice spewing beads of blood between crooked pincers. It was wobbly on its feet, the head trauma All it took was one hit. One hit to do all that damage. The poor bastard. He didn’t bother correcting it. When the final blow came he would make it quick. Though he always tried to.

It rushed at him again, still hissing in pain, desperately, and he dodged, with ease. It was even sloppier now, wobbly on its feet and even less precise in it's slashing. He grew careless, toying with the creature as the humans loved. Dancing around it, knocking it down with his tail and swooping with a grin. Sometimes he was daring enough to place his hands on the other, dance around and pull them like a dance partner before dodging off from a scythe. He tried his best to avoid looking at the gory cracked mess of a face he had caused. 

It was in doing this that it happened. Dragging the thin creature’s back into his chest, he twirled. And, with its own rush of adrenaline one of its arms broke free from his loose grip, and reared up to strike him. It was harder than he thought the creature could hit but probably explained by being fused with a tyranitar. The blunt end of the scythe struck him, right in the front of the nose.

He stepped back a few paces, surprised as the bug leaped away and prepared another attack. It took a second, but the final ingredient was there. A smirk twitched at his lips, a dark, twisted grin as the streak of red rolled down and over his lip. It stained the edge of the few teeth it touched. “That’s the one.” he growled out, eyes dangerous as they narrowed.

The jolt of pain and blood was all he needed. It made him distant, took away his inner turmoil, his pain. It became physical, something he could see, understand, feel, taste. So beautiful. So comprehensible.

“Finish him, Calix!” his female owner screeched, her voice grating. He gave her a sideways glare. That wasn’t his name, and he was already on ending it.

Huffing he glared down the being that was now rushing at him and opened his mouth simply. It nearly tripped trying to dodge, seeing the bright yellow light rising from the back of his throat before anyone else did. But it was too late, the dramatic, harsh, violent beam of pure energy exploded from his mouth, shooting towards the smaller creature.

It hit him, illuminating the entire arena with a sickly yellow glow. The fusion was slammed back, body flying through the air and into the cement wall like it was nothing heavier than a newspaper. Louder, more dramatic and sickening cracks rang out, polluting the air with what he had done. 

Pausing a moment to rest, inhaling and exhaling long deep lungfuls of air he watched the mess he left behind, beam fading from existence. It was, thankfully not as gory as it sometimes was. The body slumped and cracked, but not blown to smithereens and bloodied like it was with smaller non-armoured pokemon. He gagged, remembering a lilipup that he had blasted mercifully last week. A scene he would forever see in his nightmares.

Mostly recuperated he approached the body, kneeling down and staring. “You never stood a chance… Rest easy little one,” he spoke, voice low and head bowed. It was then he saw it, the twitching signs of life. A harsh pained exhale left him as he met what he assumed to be the gaze of the creature. It gurgled some string of messed up speech a few times before it could settle on something comprehendible as the blood trickling down his muzzle.

“Pl..eee….Kiii..lll…. Me”

He truly was a god here. With a sigh he fulfilled its wish, grasping it’s body with one hand and the mess of a head with the other. Then he pulled. It was like popping the head off a doll-Easy. Physically, that is. The blood spewed, coating his hands, his face, his chest, his soul. Panted breaths came out choked, the audience roaring at the carnage. Slapping on his signature smile he turned, raising his arms in the air and doing a small spin before he was ushered in through small cramped doors into a holding cell, until he was next to smite someone. 

He didn't want to be a god here.