Pokemon Arms

The deeper they ventured into the temple, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The air felt thick, heavy with a presence Spark couldn't shake, as if the very walls were watching them. His footsteps echoed in the silence, broken only by the distant rumbling that never seemed to stop. Spark's grip on his sword tightened. The weapon felt warm against his hand, its glow pulsating in rhythm with his heartbeat, almost as though it was alive.

Lucian moved swiftly ahead, but Spark couldn't help but glance around, taking in the ancient carvings that lined the temple's walls. The patterns seemed to shift before his eyes, forming shapes that seemed familiar, yet utterly alien. Pokémon, but not like the ones he knew—beasts with strange, ancient armor, wielding weapons that looked as though they were crafted by gods. Among them stood Arseneros, larger than life, his gaze intense as if piercing through time itself.

"The Crazu Tribe used to worship him," Lucian's voice cut through the silence. "He was their protector. But I fear... they've forgotten what it means to honor him. And now, the island is paying the price."

Spark stopped for a moment, feeling a strange pressure build in his chest. "What happened to them? To the Crazu Tribe?"

Lucian's face tightened. "They became obsessed with the power. The technology. They forgot why they fought, why they wielded Monster Arms. It wasn't for wealth or conquest—it was to honor those who sacrificed their lives. Pokémon... the ones who gave their very essence to protect their people."

Spark frowned, his mind racing back to the sword in his hand. Charizard's death, his mother's words. "When it recognizes you, it shall return."

He shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside for now. There was too much at stake to be distracted. But the more he learned about this island, the more questions he had.

They continued deeper into the temple until they reached a vast chamber. In the center, a stone altar lay, surrounded by remnants of old Pokémon armor and weapons. Spark could see traces of fire, steel, and earth, all mixed together, forming strange, jagged shapes. This was where the Crazu Tribe had once forged their arms—where Arseneros had granted them the power to protect.

Lucian paused at the entrance, casting a long look at the altar. "This is where they crafted the Monster Arms," he said quietly. "This is the heart of the island. The place where it all began."

Spark stepped forward, drawn to the altar. His eyes widened as he caught sight of something—a glint of light beneath the debris. He knelt down, carefully moving the broken pieces aside, until his fingers brushed against a familiar shape.

His breath caught in his throat.

It was a sword, much like the one he held. But this one… this one was different. The hilt was adorned with intricate carvings, and the blade seemed to shimmer with an ethereal glow. It was an exact replica of his mother's sword, except... older, more refined. It felt... connected to him, like a missing piece of himself had been returned.

He reached out, his fingers trembling as he gripped the hilt. The moment his hand made contact, a surge of energy ran through him, and the sword pulsed with light. For a brief moment, Spark felt something deep within himself stir—something powerful, ancient.

Lucian, who had been watching silently, stepped forward. "You've found it," he said softly, his tone reverent. "The other half."

Spark looked up at him, confusion clouding his gaze. "What do you mean? What's the other half?"

Lucian smiled faintly, a look of both sadness and pride in his eyes. "The swords are linked to Arseneros. They were forged together, as symbols of strength, courage, and sacrifice. Only those worthy can wield them—only those who understand the true meaning of what it takes to protect this island, its people, and its Pokémon."

Spark's grip on the sword tightened. The weight of Lucian's words sank in. He'd thought he was merely seeking answers about the island, about his mother's past, about the Monster Arms. But now, he realized there was something much larger at play. He wasn't just on this island to learn. He was here to stop something, to prevent the destruction that had already begun.

Lucian's gaze turned serious. "We don't have much time. The power that sleeps within this temple—within Arseneros—will soon awaken fully. And when it does, there will be no turning back."

The rumbling grew louder, more insistent. The ground trembled again, this time with an intensity that made the temple walls groan. Spark felt the sword in his hand pulse with power, as though it were responding to the chaos outside.

"Arseneros?" Spark whispered, unsure if he was asking Lucian or the sword itself. "What does he want from me?"

Lucian's expression softened. "He doesn't want just anyone to wield his power. He wants someone who understands the cost. Someone who will fight with honor, with respect. But he's angry, Spark. He's angry at what this island has become, at the people who've lost their way. And he won't rest until they learn that lesson."

The ground shook violently beneath their feet, and Spark's heart raced. He wasn't sure if he was ready for what was coming—but he had no choice. He would face it. For his mother. For the people of Crazu Island. For the Pokémon.

"We need to prepare," Lucian said, his voice steady despite the tremors. "We need to gather what we can. And you need to learn to wield both of those swords, Spark. Together, they're your only hope."

Spark nodded, feeling the weight of the responsibility settle heavily on his shoulders. The path ahead was uncertain, and the danger was far from over. But for the first time since stepping foot on Crazu Island, Spark felt a glimmer of hope.

Perhaps, just perhaps, he could live up to the legacy of his mother.