The sixteen imitation life plates arrayed themselves in a sharp line, piercing through High Priest Shaka's form like ethereal blades.
"Old friend, don't be so hot-tempered," Shaka remarked, making no effort to dodge. He allowed the plates to pass straight through his smoke-like body without resistance. "Why must we resort to violence the moment we reunite?"
"Shaka, if you aren't off worshipping your Sky God, what business do you have in my temple?" the Pope asked, his gaze icy and his lips curling into a sneer. "Or have you finally decided to betray your master and become a believer of Arceus?"
"No, no. I remain the most faithful messenger of the Sky God," Shaka replied, pointing a skeletal finger toward the glowing Jirachi. "My goal is the Wishing Star. Pope, a single person can only make one wish. Don't be so stingy; grant me a turn."
Shaka idly glanced at his missing pinky finger, a relic of a past failure.
"As I suspected, you're after the Wishing Star. If you want to lay a finger on my prize, you'll have to prove you have the capability. Go, Infernape! Empoleon!"
The Pope threw two Poké Balls, and two Champion-level Pokémon erupted onto the floor. Infernape flared with a white-hot blaze that filled half the hall, while Empoleon's wings shimmered with a lethal, metallic chill, encased in swirling torrents of water. The sixteen plates began to orbit the Pope in a defensive screen.
"Pope, after all this time, you're still as stingy as ever. We are old friends; why the need for such a grand display of force? How about we both take a step back?" Shaka suggested, his tone shifting to one of negotiation. "I am willing to wait. You make your wish first, and I will make mine afterward."
Shaka had no desire for a suicidal clash. While he was functionally immortal, if the Pope destroyed his physical vessel here, it would drain a massive amount of the Sky God's energy to resurrect him—a failure that would surely result in severe punishment from his dark master.
"Fine," the Pope growled. "But if you try any tricks, I will use Judgment to grind your soul into dust. Don't think your smoke-form can save you from the power of the Plates."
To emphasize his point, the Pope sent the plates streaking toward Shaka. This time, he infused them with a secret art. Though Shaka dissolved into black mist, the shockwave from the plates rippled through his essence, wounding him. When the mist re-formed, Shaka looked noticeably more translucent.
"I won't try anything, Pope!" Shaka shouted, waving his hands in surrender. "But! I want a guarantee that you won't turn on me the moment your wish is granted. Otherwise, even if I am erased, I will use my last breath to drag you off your throne with the Hellfire."
Black flames flickered to life beneath Shaka's feet. Within seconds, the floor of the Great Hall was carpeted in dancing, shadowy fire. The flickering black light reflected off the Pope's uncertain face.
The Pope hesitated. He was confident he could strike first, but he was too close to his goal to risk everything in a frantic duel. Furthermore, ancient texts suggested a wish takes time to manifest; if he betrayed Shaka mid-ritual, the Hellfire would certainly reach him.
"Very well. I agree. Put out your flames."
The two old foxes reached a tentative truce. The plates returned to their orbit, and the black fire retreated.
"Shaka, since we have an agreement, let us stop wasting the lives of our followers," the Pope said, listening to the screams of battle from outside.
"Heh, I find the music of their cries quite pleasant. But for the sake of our 'sincerity,' I shall end it." Shaka snapped his fingers, and the four elemental priests ceased their assault.
The Final Gathering
"Why has the Pure Heaven Sect stopped?" Luna asked, her hand still glowing with psychic energy. She feared a trap.
"Everyone, stand down! I have reached an accord with Shaka!"
The massive doors swung open. The Pope walked out, staff in hand and plates circling his head, with Shaka trailing behind like a shadow.
"Sol, Luna, Nova, Furukawa—come inside," the Pope commanded, casting a cold glance at Shaka.
As the four priests entered, the doors slammed shut, nearly catching Shaka's nose.
"How rude," the Wind Priest muttered, preparing an attack.
"Patience," Shaka restrained him. "He agreed to let me wish. It's only natural he's upset. Besides... I've left a small 'gift' for the Pope inside. I wonder if he'll appreciate it."
Shaka's eyes glinted with malice, the red mark on his forehead pulsing in the moonlight. "The Sky God is coming. The Hellfire will burn away all that is impure. Only our followers will be left to inherit the ashes."