Bab 44: The Final Boss

"Hey plant, can you still fight?"

After George Hauled himself upright, Roserade's faint trill seemed to say "Obviously." Had she indicated otherwise, kicking her away would have preceded proceeding without her services after forcibly absorbing his vigor.

"Now what?" The wizened elder strolled circles around the decapitated corpse, scrutinizing them evenly.

Did he say his name was Nurarihyon? It was clear that he was an outlier. Kyo wasn't here, but there was no need for him. There was no need to check the score either. The dead dog was already probably stronger. Still, underestimating him risked calamity as George gripped his sword warily.

"What, what is this?"

Shifting focus towards Roserade, the elder paced back and forth, waving his fingers tauntingly as he hopped up and down. His movements didn't seem especially rapid...

"We strike together. Got it?"

Hearin George's word's, Roserade extended a cluster of leaves from her arms. Each blade seemed imbued with power, coalescing into sword-like formations as she held them horizontally.

The elderly Nurariyon leisurely approached, showing no signs of attacking from range. He just meandered closer while muttering curiously and tilting his head.

Confirming his proximity, George shouted the signal, "Now!"

He arced his sword vertically as Roserade's blades swept horizontally between, trying to catch their foe in the crossfire. But the old man simply spun sideways, evading handlessly through an agile sidestep.

"Ugh!"

Despite intending no hesitation, the exclamation slipped out from George. Completely unanticipated - their pincer maneuver was ineffective.

Capitalizing on Nurariyon's momentary grounding, George swung overhead. Yet the wizened figure inexplicably compressed himself, easily slipping beneath that arcing trajectory alongside Roserade's follow-up slash.

George chained more strikes together and released a diagonal upward cleave.

Nurariyon whirled upwards, momentarily riding that sword's path to redirect his momentum midair.

Spotting the airborne opening, Roserade fired a shadow ball.

"I see..."

Nodding contemplatively, Nurariyon outstretched his legs, reverting to full size as the sphere passed harmlessly beneath his suspended crotch.

The moment he landed, George's horizontal sweep connected. With far less resistance than against that previous dog beast, his blade effortlessly bisected that feeble frame from shoulder to hip.

Freezing in disbelief, the severed halves morphed into a pair of miniature old men, simultaneously realigning with the ground.

"What the fuck!?"

Before George could process that shock, Roserade spat out a concentrated sludge bomb careening towards the diminutive duo, detonating just before impact. Yet that deadly blast area was already vacant.

The twin oldsters had rejoined into the original singular Nurariyon, now dismissively hand standing with infuriating nonchalance.

"I see, I see..."

Righting himself, he turned his back on them as if the ordeal was completed, leisurely departing elsewhere.

George was consciously wheezing, far more fatigued than their previous exertion despite lacking injuries. Profuse sweat streamed down his face for no apparent reason, his vision wavering unstably.

As he moved to strike that unprotected back, one of Roserade's flowers emerged to obstruct his path.

Riding his shoulder, she extended the crimson bud imploringly, her trembling lips quivering negatively as frantically shaking her head. Despite accompanying him to this juncture, her terror resonated with him somewhat. Evidently having lost all will to continue battling against this overwhelmingly enigmatic foe.

More concerningly, she seemed convinced of their futility and imminent defeat.

Until now, George had prided himself on being unshakable against such trifling circumstances. Yet an inexplicable surge of resentment welled up at being judged so critically by this mere plant creature.

"Don't mock me!"

Brushing her aside, he unleashed an outraged bellow.

Focusing one's consciousness greatly bolstered the Gantz suit's output. Amplifying that intent to maximum exertion levels, he discarded his sword - abandoning linear strikes for indiscriminate area attacks utilizing his entire body.

Ignoring Roserade's distressed cries, George charged towards Nurariyon's obliviously meandering back. The old man remained unaware until the final moment...

Spreading his arms wide, George bore down upon that frail figure, pinning both face and torso against himself to neutralize any resistance. Yet the old man barely struggled at all.

"Gotcha!"

Channeling increasingly exerted force, Nurariyon's muffled groans indicated evident suffering. Continuing to compress that withering flesh would surely crush him into an inescapable oblivion. George nearly flashed Roserade a triumphant grin, urges to rub his superiority in her face resurfacing...

Until his enclosed quarry began liquefying within that vice-like hold.

Its solidifying skin texture dissipated fluidly, oozing through the steadily increasing gaps in George's restraining grip before he could react.

Prior to voicing his shock, that amorphous sludge metamorphosed into a feminine humanoid shape. Subdividing, multiplying at an exponential rate until those burgeoning forms consumed and enshrouded George's entire being.

Being encased in such pliant feminine flesh could have been heavenly under other circumstances. Yet a steadily intensifying pressure soon dispelled that notion as his suits's integrity meter wailed ominous warnings - its structural tolerances taxed towards imminent critical failure. If that transpired, instantaneous compression into a gory paste seemed inevitable.

His darkening vision filled with frantic denial as George unleashed futile cries, his defiant thrashing only succeeding in hastening that decline.

Howling through clenched teeth, he swung the retained Gantz sword wildly - extending the blade's edge in hopes of carving an exit from this smothering, overwhelming femininity. But only agonizing backlash rewarded his exertions, the sword inevitably torn from his faltering grip alongside any remaining strength as pulverizing pressures began crushing his hands, torso soon to follow. Being compressed into organic oblivion could never end like this, yet no recourse remained.

His final thoughts turned towards Yamada and his plants, that familiar crimson hue of geranium petals flooding his fading vision alongside wafting fragrant scents.

Then a more vibrant shade manifested - blazing scarlet blooms blossoming forth followed by vivid cerulean accompaniment, those pungently revitalizing aromas shocking his ebbing consciousness back towards lucidity.

Brilliant light pierced the carnal shroud as visceral flesh explosively burst apart.

Roserade unleashed a furious barrage in every direction, her frantic exertions flailing those fleshy remnants away before dropping to drape over George's prone form, forcibly dislodging him from that dissipating membrane with a mighty heave.

He tumbled free in a disorienting rush, scorched but mercifully retaining a hairline fraction of suit integrity before its protective capacity faltered completely, bodily fluids and searing agony flooding back.

Roserade dragged him clear before he could process that torment, one arm utterly pulverized and hemorrhaging uncontrollably yet she persisted in towing his salvageable remnants without hesitation.

"You..."

More than self-loathing, an entirely different emotion surged forth before George could articulate any words.

Mustering his legs beneath him, he pressed onwards aided by Roserade's slowed yet tireless efforts facilitating his retreat. Her urgency overrode any immediate reflection.

Suddenly, a titanic appendage descended towards them. Detecting it preemptively, Roserade spun to unleash dual techniques - an energy ball detonating alongside concentrated sludge bomb residues to temporarily disorient their pursuer.

Taking that opening, they fled into a nearby alleyway before the next strike could land.

"Grrngh..."

Propping himself upright, George grimaced queasily as chilly perspiration drenched his ravaged form. One hand was utterly pulverized beyond viability, shattered bones and unstaunched hemorrhaging rendering it a dripping cauterized stump.

Roserade bounded ahead, gesturing insistently towards another direction which likely harbored their remaining comrades based on her urgency.

"Got it..."

Her glistening eyes brimmed with unshed tears that she refused to voice.

Feigning obliviousness, George probed her condition. "So what about you? You hurt?"

Fervently shaking her head sent some droplets scattering, her strained rictus spoke volumes.

Observing those earnest exertions, comprehension slowly dawned upon George. Every lingering hesitation and misgiving evaporated instantaneously. Ultimately, his reservations had never stemmed from any innate dislike of vegetation itself.

Rather, they originated solely from the flora's owner - Shirona. Some elusive yet pervasive undercurrent she catalyzed within him constantly stirred unease.

Sheer, unvarnished jealousy.

Certainly, most greenery exhibited primal responses to external stimuli like excessive watering discoloring their hue or drought inducing withering as a cry for succor. Yet those reactions only extended so far - a definitive limit existing before vitality irreversibly faded. With every instance of stymied growth or permanent wilting, George had indulged in a peculiar fantasy.

Namely...

A broad grin surfaced across his features.

Namely, Roserade personified the ultimate culmination of that hidden longing. Understanding his words, voicing displeasure openly. Mercurially cycling through obvious emotional ranges like sorrow, anger, and joy through distinctly expressive countenance. Direct physical contact, gyrating floral appendages exuding richly fragrant scents surpassing any conventional greenery he experienced.

Hence his gradually intensifying jealousy towards Shirona for so deeply engaging the recipient of his once undivided passions. Until an unconscious yearning took root - aspirations that another subject might captivate such profound devotions instead.

"...Perfection."

The murmured assessment fell on deliberately deaf receptors as Roserade surged ahead, glancing back with evident concern over that swaying pale verdant crest.

"Hey, are you...some kinda ribbon creature? Never seen any pushback before."

She cocked her head quizzically before demurely averting her flustered gaze from his curious scrutiny.

***

Joy proved transitory.

Togekiss darted towards Garchomp's pained thrashings yet its drizzling remedy triggered no visible improvement.

"Over here too, please!"

The bespectacled man could only gape numbly, never imagining so many individuals could become simultaneously embroiled in this inexplicable scenario. Residents from both Osaka and Tokyo converging amidst outright warfare along Dotonbori's streets.

Those grievously injured were salvaged somewhat by Togekiss's restorative techniques, clinging to life tenuously.

But the relatively unscathed individuals suffered the direst straits. They unanimously convulsed in evident agony, blood seeping from ears and mouths while teetering on death's precipice. Clearly poisoned by some toxin emanating from that crystalline orb, yet its exact nature remained elusive.

"Why...why is this happening..."

Togekiss folded its wings dejectedly as Shirona cradled the ashen Oka's face upon her lap, vitals fading alongside any signs of consciousness despite her streaming tears. The burly man alongside Garchomp, even the famous actress Reika - they exhibited the same dire symptoms.

"What...what can we do? There has to be a way..."

The bespectacled man was clutching the lone remaining Poke Ball, the very device that had averted his own peril. Perhaps clinging to that object could provide another miraculous solution if only he focused intently enough. Pleading for its return fell on obstinately deaf ears.

Yet no answers materialized. Without intervention, their surviving allies would perish imminently.

Abruptly realizing Shirona standing before him, her reddened eyes met his own pleadingly.

"We have to take a chance."

"Huh... what do you mean?" The bespectacled man was stunned.

Shirona explained, "The only one who understands this toxin is its creator. So we have to make THEM neutralize it."

"B-but..."

She indicated the quiescent crimson orb resting on the ground. "Deploying that should release its inhabitant once more."

"That thing will just attack us again! There's no way it will listen!" He said.

"Perhaps not... You deployed that Ball correctly as a Trainer would. The inhabitant willingly entered, only emerging once legitimately caught. See what I mean?"

"What are you saying...?" he was baffled.

"A contract of sorts was established. You became its Trainer, with it as your obedient Pokemon. It may actually heed your commands now that those roles are defined."

"But still..."

"Please, everyone will die without trying! You won't be put in harm's way - I'll protect you no matter what!"

Her sincerity seemed unimpeachable as the spectral Mikaruge materialized supportively alongside. Their mutual stares silently affirmed Shirona's point - everyone present had pinned their dwindling hopes on the observing bespectacled stranger, perhaps their only remaining recourse.

In all his recollections, never before had such onus been entrusted upon his unremarkable personage. Narrowing mental focus, no alternatives seemed viable beyond accepting this monumental burden. Having already witnessed innumerable surreal occurrences defy conventional logic, his directive to preserve life overrode any lingering disbelief about the situation's legitimacy.

"I'll...give it a try."

Retrieving the Ball felt heavier than expected, though its objective weight proved unchanged. Yet steeling himself to redeploy that contained being demanded profound resolution as the rising tensions permeated the surroundings.

Overwhelmed by such daunting stakes, he resorted to the most timid possible deployment - a gingerly underhanded lob across short distance.

That arcing trajectory seemed to unfold with ponderous lethargy despite his recollection indicating a far more dynamically forceful release upon its original manifestation while riding Togekiss's back. Only belatedly realizing it had likely rematerialized from that crystalline core, he lacked any foreknowledge about its primordial emergence. Hence the sight utterly blindsided him.

As an unperturbed male psyche, not even a flicker of maidenly modesty flickered as luminescent feminine shapes coalesced into coherent forms.

"Unh..."

Flowing resplendently from that spherical radiance emerged a distinctly feminine entity. Her nine luxuriantly furred tails rendered her identity unmistakable despite intimately witnessing this S-Class entity previously, transfixing him through sheer aesthetic splendor alone.

The vixen's eyes fluttered open to unerringly meet his own, seemingly recognizing him from the outset.

In that instant, the bespectacled man's voice failed him utterly once more.

An ostensibly malevolent and irredeemable presence, yet it was exuding an indescribable allure beyond mere visual captivation that attracted the bespectacled man.

Those exquisitely elongated eyelashes fluttered subtly as she silently wept.