Devil's Birthright

Chapter 1

Of all the bad decisions I've made over the years, this one takes the cake.

You see, I'm what you would call a hybrid. The product of an unnatural relationship between a human and a pokémon. Hybrids are becoming especially rare these days, for a number of reasons.

First of all, the League's been cracking down way harder on poképhiles to reinforce the stricter-than-ever law. Secondly, the world is starting to realize what an "abomination" we are; some humans have even started hunting us down like animals. But the biggest reason is that if anyone, human or pokémon, is found carrying a hybrid, the offspring are immediately to be aborted and the pokémon euthanized. The worst part was that this law extends into after the child's birth.

That's right. The punishment just for being a hybrid is death.

Luckily, my mother is a Salazzle, so I was hatched from an egg instead of being born into human society. Despite my humanoid figure, my mother raised me in the wild away from humans for the first few years of my life. Although I'm obviously appreciative of that, it means I'm technically more pokemon than human, also leaving me at risk from the biggest threat: Trainers. Because I'm more than fifty percent pokémon, a pokéball would technically see me as such and would suck me in without hesitation.

So you can imagine my anxiety skyrocketing as I'm forced to walk right smack into an enormous festival full of them.

The trainers' festival is a huge event where thousands of trainers from all different regions gather to converse, battle, and compete to prove their strength. Shockingly, I'm not a fan. I push through the crowd and try to focus on getting through as fast as possible.

Even above the chatter and the hustling of the crowd, I can hear whistles and jeers clearly directed at me. This isn't really a surprise to me, as I'd inherited my mother's... curvaceous form. My midsection is unnaturally small, and my chest is near flat. I always wear the baggiest pair of jeans I can find to hide my legs (if you've ever seen a salazzle, you'll know why). All of these features on a hybrid on the run... well, it doesn't exactly make it any easier to stay hidden.

Naturally, I've had plenty of run-ins with some pretty sketchy people trying to do some pretty sketchy things. Luckily, I figured out early on that I can basically convince people to do pretty much whatever I want; in these cases, forgetting they ever saw me.

Of course, this has it's limits. I can't just order someone to fall on a knife, or walk off a cliff. I can't control their minds or anything. It just gives someone a strong desire to do something. They could fight it and resist the temptations fairly easily, but usually they don't. Humans are a very proud species that pride themselves on free will, and they tend to do everything in their power to refuse the idea of someone else influencing it. They're completely oblivious to the fact that the desires and temptations aren't their own.

But when I put something ridiculous in their mind (like shoving a hot iron down their throat, or spontaneously smashing their head against a wall), they usually get confused and simply wave it aside.

I pull my hood over my head and shake out my sweatshirt, making me look much more... average. I probably look sketchy with my sunglasses and my hood, but whatever. I should be fine as long as I don't interact with anyone (shockingly, my forked tongue and fangs tend to give me away).

Most humans would do anything to get their hands on a hybrid, whether it be for a reward for turning them in, as a sort of slave, or, on rare occasions, a few specific reasons that I shouldn't specify, for the sake of any squeamish readers out there. Unfortunately, I usually encounter the latter. No surprise there.

I quicken my pace as I notice the crowd beginning to thin. I'm pretty sure I lost him, but I want to hurry and get the hell out of here — just in case.