Usually a tranquil area that many of the Johto region's Pokémon call home, today the air was noticeably tense. The only stirring was that of leaves as the winds passed through the canopy, allowing beams of light to pass through. Then, out of nowhere, a pair of panicking Ooddish ran through the trees and undergrowth. A Noctowl followed close by, seemingly in pursuit, flying in the same direction before suddenly peeling away. All around Pokémon seemed afraid, hiding and sheltering away as a monarch walked amongst them.
They could sense that he was not from Johto, that he was an invader.
They could tell that he was exceedingly dangerous.
King's massive, infernal silhouette stood out like a sore thumb within the greenery of the forest. The red-hot spires upon his back and the mismatched horns upon his head rose up like smoke from a flame. His eyes, red as embers, scanned the trees for something to fight, something to hunt. His tail, akin to a blade forged from fire and lava, swayed haphazardly as steam hissed from its surface. His every step was metallic, earth-shuddering, not too dissimilar to a hammer striking a sword on an anvil.
He was a Hellblade Glavenus, and an excellent specimen at that. He strode through the forest with an arrogant, aristocratic air, passing through as though he owned the place; considering no other Pokémon dared challenge this dinosaurian behemoth, he may as well be in charge until he decided to leave. King stopped to lean his head downwards, sniffing the grassy ground. His nose led him to a small, wooden structure built upon stilts. In his bestial mind, he compared it to a tiny human house.
Odd.
Did a tiny human live in there?
Eventually he snorted, then sneezed, having picked up traces of... onion? He did not come here for onions. No, he could smell metal somewhere else. Quickly losing interest in the small house, King continued through the forest, following his nose. He disturbed a small group of Paras as he passed them by, the fungus-bearing crustaceans skittering away as they sensed the sheer heat emanating from him. A flock of Butterfree soon followed, frightened into fleeing as King's infernal tail came swinging far too close for comfort.
At last he found the source of that metal smell that had enticed him so.
... It was a singular, discarded Poké Ball. Chipped and old, with no inhabitant to speak of.
King grunted, evidently displeased. This was not what he expected nor hoped for. Still, metal is metal, so he scooped it up in his furnace-like jaws and ate it with an audible crunch. He would have grimaced had his physiology allowed for it, not fond of the artificial taste; proper metal ores were far better.
But, oh, well.
Beggars can't be choosers, even if said beggar was a multi-tonne monster that fashioned itself after royalty.
