This is one of those times when something went wrong, so you try to stop it from happening, only to be the thing that went wrong in the fist place.

I believe it's the... Bootstrap Paradox? otherwise known as a Casual Paradox.

>Having to run naked down the hallway while being pursued by the evil embodiment of shampoo is pretty high on my list of things I never want to experience.

I can guarantee you, Ashley, that if it ever came to that it'd be far worse for everyone who witnesses such horror than it would be for you.

Yes.

I happen to disagree. I have solved a great many problems by using the versatile material known as 'intestines'.

Broken wire? Intestines.

Violin strings? Intestines.

Small child? Intestines.

​

I don't see why you couldn't use intestines to fix computers. Intestines are the future, the future is now.

"I seethe."

"No surprises there. Remind me why you go easy on the little snots?"

I turned from the mirror to Alma. The Banette picked at her zipper with her little finger like one would at their own teeth.

"Because we're the first. Because they need a first step up." I returned to staring at my aggrieved gaze. "Because no one else will. Because they knew the first would be a laughing stock. Our Time Badge means little. Its worth, devalued in the eyes of those on their road to Greatness. I wonder, will they recognise our grave at the end of the road? Or have the words worn down to nothing? Would they even care to read, if anything of our past survives?"

"We're here." Alma said. "We remember. Marty might wax poetic about how stone never forgets, but stone erodes. It wears away. The Dead don't. We persist. We persevere, even when we shouldn't."

"Aye." It was hard to disagree. Even if it won us battles that we should have lost, we would continue until the bitter end. Now, though...

"Zael?"

The door must have been open. Either that, or the hinges were recently oiled. I glanced at my secretary from the corner of my eye.

"Hello, Rebecca. Is our first challenger for the season here?"

She nodded, unperturbed by my asocial 'rudeness'. We went back a fair few years, so she was used to it. "A Harold Kensington."

"Kensington...? Galarian?"

She shrugged. "Better ask him yourself."

I nodded. "I shall arrive shortly."

As she left, Alma asked what I was going to do.

"Simple." I grabbed a simple, black book, inscribed with nothing but lines upon lines of names. "I'm going to raise Hell."

Rebecca could hear the cackling from the Doll's plush body.

---

"So, you're Mr. Kensington." I said.

The lad - he couldn't have been more than eleven, twelve - smirked at me. "And you're the guy everyone beats? How do you even keep this place?" He waved his arms to indicate my Gym.

"With a tenacity that can exhaust Fire, rust Steel, erode Rock, and melt Ice. A perseverance that stopped far more from reaching the pinnacle than you could ever hope. And for a lack of a better substitute, apparently. See, the ol-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he snapped. "Let's just get this over with." With a lazy flick of his wrist, he flung a basic Pokeball which spewed out a Pidove.

I glared at him for a moment. "Really? Do you not know what Badge I hold?"

"The one I'm gonna get?" he said, exasperation showing how little patience he had.

"It's not just a pretty name. 'Time Badge.' Honestly, it seems no one appreciates time anymore. They all just want to rush into things headfirst, without taking a moment to just... observe."

I threw my own ball into the ring, summoning forth Geb. The Mimikyu took a ready stance with an aura that would give even veterans pause.

Or, in Harold's case, the most chilling tingle down his spine. That face... oh how I missed that look. My A-Team were experienced in more than just battling, and when readying for a fight, one could feel the room cool by several degrees, and when one sets their sights on a target...

Well, that Pidove became damn near a ghost itself. It was still as a statue with eyes that betrayed a deep fear, eyes wide and empty like its mind fled. A peculiar sound emanated from its beak. As for Harold, he was sputtering something, like he wanted to know what the hell was going on.

"Hope was the old First Gym Leader. After she passed, I was... nominated to take her place. Time, Harold. We have to appreciate what little we have. How quickly it goes. How slow it drags. And I'm going to enjoy every microsecond of this, just as I did back in the Elite Four."

He gaped at me then, turning a corpseish pallor as realization sunk in.

"The Dead will be Remembered. This season, we will take on all comers. And as I inscribe you into my Book, I shall drag you into an unending Hell. Ready yourself, Trainer! Either face your fears, or I will take my price for your silence!

"Now, Gebura! Giga Drain!"

Nothing in the rules that says you can't do that, as far as I'm aware.

So, you were bitten, carried like the Disney Princess you were, and got repeatedly stabbed in the arm.

Net positive, I'd say for this little venture.

I can see the start of a plan to eliminate the flickering man. Unfortunately, as you said, it would just be temporary, until you find a way to truly eliminate him.

As for the devil, well, you've got three years at least. That's enough time to grab all the stuff you need to summon the river to drown him in.

"And so, no one will hear you in turn."

The poor fool frowned in confusion. He had one hand on the lever, wires protruding from it running to the chair his drenched 'victim' sat in.

"Allow me to explain. My name is Lazarus Geist. Maybe you know me, maybe not. I am what's known as a Reaper. We may go by other names, but the goal is the same: to kill what should not be alive. Or so it should be. In truth, I rejected it. See, at the time, I was murdered. Stabbed to death, funnily enough. And I forsook that path. Condemned the one who brought me back."

Lazarus paused.

"I was eventually killed a second time. Not quite sure how. And I ended up being reborn. Do you understand the implication? ...I see you don't. Essentially, When one dies, their soul is reborn elsewhere. An infinite amount of universes... imagine it. Death just being a pathway to a new life."

There was a click, or perhaps a clack. Maybe a clunk? In any case, the killer lowered the lever.

"It frustrated me." Lazarus continued. "No. No, in truth I was filled with hate. So I sought to kill at least the one who cursed me so."

The killer pulled the lever up, and down again, grunting in actual frustration.

"So I learned to kill. To truly kill. It started small. Humans, maybe other races. Then the vital bits. Hearts, limbs, emotions. Temporarily, sometimes. Then I aimed... bigger."

The fool of a killer stomped up to the door in the small room, and wedged the key in the lock.

"Rock. Stone. Metal, as you now may suspect."

The key spun, but no resistance from the lock was forthcoming.

"Emotions came later. Eventually I could kill even concepts. Faith. Hope. Time. That's a favourite of mine. An excellent hard counter to those who manipulate Time itself."

The fool began trying to pull at the door.

"Of course, this is over many lifetimes. I have learned so, so much. How to keep a prisoner alive for interrogation. Where to cut to keep them alive for the longest time. Which parts of the brain to sever to prevent my prey from escaping into insanity. Things that I have not practiced at for... a rather long time, I must admit. But now you're here."

The metal clasps used to hold Lazarus down, so pristine and shiny, began to turn all shades of orange. The killer, fool and target both, turned around just in time to see this happening.

"Our domain is death, and ours is not just to grant it... but to deny it also."

Lazarus rose, the rusted clasps having all the resistance of dust.

"And we have here a rare opportunity to shake off the rust. Wouldn't you agree?"