Thread: TOWER [Violent]

Character count: 19,496.
Target: Growlithe.

THE TOWER

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Home

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His name was Markus Novolos.

Markus Novolos was not an ordinary person. Born in July 18, 1997 as the only son of Seth and Iris Novolos, he lived on a mansion in Cinnabar Island. Seth was the largest property owner on Cinnabar island and the mansion itself was large enough to require a dedicated squad of maids to clean it in any practical manner. Seth Novolos could afford it; Seth was a rich and a famous man who held quite a bit of stock in Silph Corporation, one of the largest tech companies in the world. But it was more than that which made Seth famous; when he was but a boy he played a significant role in the Clan Wars of Johto and survived, and was sometimes compared with the nigh-mythological Red in that regard; Seth was also the inventor of Porygon, the first Pokémon made with modern techniques and the first Digital Pokémon. Finally, Seth’s cousin (and by extension Markus’s Aunt), Sabrina, was the Gym Leader of Saffron City and not only a popular Actor but a well-known Psion and member of the Magus Council, a respected group of Psions dedicated to studying Psionics.

His mother was less famous, but younger by many years (a facet of the relationship that often caused friction), and perhaps more dangerous; she had worked for the International Police Department as one of its more prestigious agents. What she did there was an enigma to Markus. She refused to answer it or any other question of the sort whenever he asked, not like Markus ever asked much to begin with. Markus knew she was a high-ranking agent and certainly earned her place, however; he caught her doing intense physical training, once or twice. To add onto that, her mother was also a fierce Psion, though of an altogether different and rarer sort than Sabrina. That part, however, seemed to be a family secret, or at least was not talked about much.

As one could imagine, surrounded by wealth and power and born to some of the most influential people in Kanto-or even in Povinal (known to some others as “The World of Pokémon”)-quite a bit of pressure was upon him, just for his upbringing. His parents were generous and as caring and close as they could be, and as Iris had opted to retire to raise her son, his upbringing was relatively happy.

Markus grew up into a boy who took on more of his mother than his father. Sure, on the surface his fair skin, white hair and tall stature were all quite like Seth, but the son was much more like his mother on closer inspection. He grew tall, but rather thin, quite like his diminutive mother; his hands were practically bony stubs; his feet were quite small; his freckles were enough to make his face look brown, though nowhere else; his eyes were a piercing and bright hazel, matching how his mother almost seemed to have red eyes and not at all like Seth’s cool blue; Markus required constant haircuts from how quickly his hair seemed to grow, like Iris, while Seth was trying his hardest to keep hairs on his head to begin with; Markus was confirmed positive for Psionic potential, like Iris and unlike Seth; and of course, his personality.

Let it never be said that a Novolos does not speak his or her mind. Markus was possessed of many qualities, most of them ill-he took after his mother in personality and even in his youth it showed. He was possessed of little patience for antics and not enough patience for it in his younger years, and he would oftentimes say and do things he would regret. His mother was vigorous in removing any trace of foul language from Markus’s mouth, and she had to be, for the words he learned were surprisingly colorful for a boy who would rarely go out of the house. He was adventurous and bold, as well, to degrees that caused worry-though Seth figured it just meant he was a born trainer, quite like himself. It did not stop him nor Iris from having to hunt him down from wherever on Cinnabar he happened to squeeze himself this time.
One day, while again wandering well beyond of where his mother and father would typically allow him, he wandered his five-year old person all the way to Cinnabar Gym, in the middle of a Gym Battle no less. He had heard of battles on TV and seen battles on TV, but never before in person. Perhaps it was the feeling of extreme energy in the room, or just the intense heat? Or perhaps those battles weren’t nearly as interesting as this one to the young Markus? All I know of it is that, even though the other Trainer had completely lost after having his Raichu nearly grilled well-done by the Magmar that Gym Leader Blaine had sent, the boy was ecstatic.

Blaine was an old man then (and still is now), with his only hairs being a white mustache, though he usually tried to hide it under a white cap. His knees were bad, and he had a tendency to get dehydrated from handling the Fire-type Pokémon all day, in a suit no less. He was nevertheless quite the enthusiastic and intelligent man who could love any battle, win or lose, and love his Pokémon. He was also a family was a family friend and had known Seth when Blaine was in his peak physical condition. Needless to say, upon seeing the boy, and quickly made sure Seth and Iris received him safely. Afterwards, however, recalling the boy’s vigor, he made a phone call, and on that day suggested that his interest in Pokémon Training be sated-and that, coincidentally, there were a few free Growlithe Puppies that were donated to the Cinnabar Gym.

Seth and Iris thought of it all a great idea. Markus was full of energy and ambition, and now he was talking nonstop of training; certainly, something like a Growlithe would keep his energy under control, give him a playmate and friend, and allow them to hopefully reign in Markus more through that. And thus, it was arranged that Markus would receive a Growlithe puppy within a week if he would behave himself.

Markus did not so much as infarct even a modest knowing look from his mother that week. The start of the next week, the Growlithe was at his doorstep, and the Growlithe and Markus introduced themselves to each other and played the whole day away. In that moment Seth and Iris knew that they had made the right choice. Naming the Growlithe puppy ‘Valiant,’ often shortened to ‘Val,’ Markus and his newfound companion would proceed to be inseparable comrades for the next two years, never leaving each other’s side, always caring for one another, and promising each other that they would get strong and conquer the Pokémon League, together, and make his mother and father proud of what he did when he brought back home the trophy.

It was never to be, and I would be to blame for taking that dream away.

September the 9th, 2004. It was 9 years since Team Rocket’s second iteration had been bested by Gold; 11 since their first iteration had been bested by Red; 36 since Seth and the other members of Silver Team stopped the Clan Wars of Johto; and since then crime had practically ground to a halt in Kanto. Sure, there were crimes and there were murders, but no real headliners, and everyone thought themselves safe, until then, that day. It was approximately 3:04 AM in the morning when young Markus, then only 7, had been rustled from sleep by a faint noise.

“…Bluh,” Markus moaned, trying to rouse himself at whatever sound had woken him. He looked around his room, trying to see within the impenetrable shadow of night. Alas, it was useless, and Markus would have simply closed his eyelids and resumed sleeping, if he didn’t catch the same noise, louder, more distinct. A thump.

Markus was awake now. Markus hopped out of bed in his pajamas-a big boy’s racecar print, nothing special-and at once went to the lightswitch, flicking it on. His room came into clear view as the bulbs blurred to life. It was mostly covered in toys, being rich and being a kid, ranging from dart guns to toy swords to action figures to a big beanie and more. His room was almost always clean, a measure the maids took while he was out, but even they couldn’t remove the subtle smell of Valiance’s hair strewn about so thoroughly. Valiance himself rested on what had to be the king of all Pokémon beds, lavishly decorated and so, so soft that Markus was tempted to rest there on occasion, if his bed wasn’t bigger and didn’t have blankets-but that cool print of a Charizard was too much to pass up (and it was really comfortable too). Valiance himself was growling, unhappy with being roused.

“Valiance, I heard something outside,” Markus said, and he would have said more, if another, louder thump did not occur again-this time it was very close to his door. Valiance jumped at the sound, and Markus had to stop himself from saying anything. He was young but he understood the meaning-those thumps were not a pleasant sound, and he was fairly sure Santa Claus wasn’t doing Christmas in July.

Someone was in his house, someone that did not belong.

Markus turned to Valiance and made a shushing sound. Valiance was a smart Growlithe and made a small nod to confirm that, yes, he understood. A well-trained Growlithe, and Markus had spent two years making sure of it. Markus didn’t understand the gravity of the situation too well, though: His intention was to catch what he presumed to be a burglar, and make mom and dad proud. After all, rich people got stolen from, right?

Markus made a quick sweep for his flashlight, digging into the pile of his toys, trying to be fast. He barely caught the sound of another thump just outside as he managed to secure a grip on the small torch-it was very bright. “Follow me, Valiance,” Markus said as he turned off his own lights-trying to make sure the presumed thief was not going to be seeing him until it was too late. Markus was about to grab hold of the doorknob, when he heard the sound of a vase breaking. He flinched-that would be put on him, wouldn’t it?

Markus sighed, and opened the door, slowly, to not make a peep. He peered into the inky shroud of shadow that was outside his bedroom hallway. It was only a short distance to the Foyer and from there his parent’s bedroom. They wouldn’t be too far from their only son, after all. Nevertheless, the darkness was incredible; the new moon made the ceiling window next-to-useless as the dimmest of starlight was only mildly better than the absolute shadow he could see.
Valiance was a good boy and Markus was his father’s little tough guy, but it suddenly struck Markus-of course! He shouldn’t be trying to fight this crook without a weapon. He was almost about to turn around and fetch his favorite toy sword or dart gun.

“WHAT ARE YOU-“

Markus’s heart skipped a beat-that was his dad.

Markus clicked on the flashlight and flung the door open. Dad clearly needed his little tough guy now. He barely noticed that the door wedged on something and didn’t open all the way, but he and Valiance were already running. “Daddy I’m coming!” Markus yelled, running now, not caring for trying to catch the crook.

Now Markus heard the sounds in earnest-someone was thrashing and bashing something against furniture and walls, as well as grunts of pains-grunts of pain that suspiciously sounded like his father’s, and with these sounds Markus did hurry, dashing to the stairs, but no sooner had they ended than did everything go very suddenly quiet. Markus did not care, he was running now, this was important.

“Valiance, get ready! Bad guy,” Markus said as he rushed to the scene

“YOU!!!” Markus’s mother roared. Markus did not care, mommy needed his little tough guy, and Markus needed his mommy too, and Markus was just down the stairs and had turned the corner, his flashlight illuminating the scene.

Markus oftentimes wished he could forget that scene he saw that horrible night. His father, Seth Novolos, was lying on the floor in a pool of red, his head looking like someone bashed in a pumpkin where his ear was. A black mask with a green-colored and too-simple smile lied at his feet, while an odd silver knife (actually a spearhead but it was in function a knife) lied at his side. Not too far was the remains of a broken vase, and just beyond, Markus’s mother, Iris, still alive, her face clenched in rage, her arms surrounded by this black aura that seemed to lash out, flow even; this was her style of Psionics to Markus’s knowledge. And then, there was me, the assailant Iris was fighting.

Do not expect me to talk much. This is the story of Markus Novolos, not my story. I may have a few scraps of information that Markus did not receive that I will nevertheless share with you, but as this is his story, I feel no real need to talk about me. My story would take too long to divulge in a story about someone else anyways. I shall talk of events as close to his perspective as I know it (and I do know it very well), and will only take this time to note that any word of lesser standing hitherto mentioned shall instead be replaced with the word ‘mutton.’

In any case, this was the first time he saw me-though not the last, and he committed what he saw to memory. He saw then a young man of seventeen years, short and thin and bony in the ways his mother was, though in these ways his appearance ceased to line up; his pale skin, brown hair (including a goatee and ragged, split mustache), athletic build and much darker hazel eyes, as well as his odd facial structure that, to be brief, looked somewhat like a fish, made him altogether quite strange, inhuman even. He wore almost all black (mottled gray actually)-some kind of full-body suit covered him, and some rather ragged vest was one of the few other articles of clothing he really had. On his right hand laid a pair of artificial claws, three black knives, stained red with blood. Blood, indeed, was all over this man, while Iris was mostly clean, and considering they were currently locked in struggle, Markus was quick to realize who did it.

I was never a petty thief, let that be said.

“MARKUS, RUN, GET AWAY, IT’S NOT SAFE-“

Iris was rudely interrutped by being smashed into a wall by my own hand. Markus did not hop to his feet and flee, however-he was too affixed upon the corpse of his father. Valiance was too paralyzed at the sight of it all, though he kept more attention to the fight and started barking.

“Daddy! Daddy,” Markus said, trying to rouse his father, hoping beyond hope that this was just sleep. “Wake up, daddy, wake up! We’ll, we’ll get a bandage, a really big bandage, daddy! We, daddy, no!”

‘Daddy’ did not so much as budge. Meanwhile, the fight had progressed to another room, furnished just for conversation from the look; there were cabinets and drawers, yes, but only chairs overlooking a fireplace, and we had taken our deadly dancing to a corner, Iris backed to the wall but fighting viciously, almost connecting with a headbutt had I not pulled back my head just then.

“MARKUS!!” Iris yelled, desperate to make her son obey but still looking me dead in the face, “RUN!”

Valiance had entered the conversation room and started barking quite loudly at me, perhaps as a threat or to distract me. Neither worked, as I proceeded to slip in a kick to her gut. Her powers required focus-all Psionics do-and the pain was severe. It interrupted her focus and her powers, leaving me in sure control. It was all I needed to then take her head and do like what I did to Seth-that is to say, I grabbed her head and bashed it into the brick of the fireplace. I do not know if Markus had decided to enter the doorway immediately or opted to console his dead father more, or even if he turned to obey her mother before deciding that he would confront me instead, but I do know that Valiance had bit me in the leg before I could break her skull, an assurance to her death-alas, it was only an assurance. She was dead.

“Mutton!” I yelled. The bite was painful and drew blood, and I quickly realized my assailant as the Growlithe. Markus, too, entered the room at this point, now holding that silver knife though not approaching. The Growlithe, sadly, did not do anything that I needed my Psionics to handle. I simply bashed the Growlithe into a nearby drawer with a swift roundhouse. The one kick was good enough-I kicked very hard. Thus was the end of Valiance the Growlithe, whose body, now limp, dropped the floor, bloodied, graceless and dead.

“NO! VALIANCE!” Markus screamed, his face covered in tears. I turned around to check for the body of Mrs. Novolos, and saw her dead. I then positioned my face thus that I could see Markus and the dead Iris out of the corner of my eye, and not entirely sure if I had done the fatal deed, checked her pulse. Markus, sensing his opportunity, proceeded to attack me in one of the only ways he could: He tossed the silver knife at me.

Markus was, at the time, completely unaware of a critical fact as the knife sailed towards me. While I shall not divulge the full extent of my abilities or how I used them, I was not only cognizant of his action, but had a swift counter to them; metallikinetic aptitude, or the ability to manipulate metallic substances from a distance with my thought. My aptitude in using it lead me to discover its flaws; namely, any metallic structure enhanced with energy or otherwise carrying an abnormally strong current were completely exempt from my power. My reaction to seeing Markus throw the knife was to use this ability to neutralize the threat. Seth had not the chance to use it against me, so I was unaware that it was indeed an exception from my powers, and could have very well killed me if it struck true.

I am alive, as is obvious, so naturally it did not kill me. It was not the blade of the knife that hit me, but its handle. Nevertheless, it struck against the back of the neck, and while not at all lethal, it was enough to incite my ire. Why this knife had failed to kill me did not matter.

I do not tolerate attempts on my life very well, however successful and no matter who did it. As such, I rushed to the boy with great speed; before he quite knew what was happening he was pinned to the wall in the dark hallway by his neck, while my clawed right hand pressed against the chin’s proverbial underbelly enough to draw blood, but no further. Our faces were so close that we could not help but commit to memory what the other looked like in full detail. Markus was still crying. I, meanwhile, bore a face of pure hate, the single reaction I bore for any who dared to try and kill me.

I was poised to do it. I could have killed him right then and there, and would have.

It was then that we heard it. The sound of sirens, the police most likely. I figured that, since I had to kill a maid or two on the way here (guess what object Markus’s door lodged upon earlier), a third must have seen me do the deed, and immediately called the cops rather than try to stop me directly. They would be upon me any moment now, and I could not afford to waste any more time-and that included killing him.

I dropped Markus, breathing the word ‘lucky,’ and proceeded to make my exit. So stunned was Markus, so horribly unable to comprehend what was going on, that he did not follow. The Kanto Police, refusing to let me get off free, barged in a second later, rushing to the scene, grim as it was. Seth, head caved in; Iris, veiled with blood; Valiance the Growlithe, bones broken and little more than a sack of fur; Markus, slouched on the floor, crying at the sight of his dead Growlithe and dead parents.

His name was Markus Novolos, and though he was the heir to the fortune of the Novolos family fortune, that day he lost everything.