Chapter 108: Patricia VS Jack
The air in the arena had changed.
It was thicker now, charged with something Briv couldn't name. The crowd's roar had faded to a low murmur, a nervous hum that buzzed against the crystal walls like static electricity. Thousands of faces turned toward the central platform where the announcer stood, his amplified voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TRAINERS AND SPECTATORS ALIKE—THE ROUND OF THIRTY-TWO CONTINUES!"
The screens flickered. Two names appeared in letters of fire and ice.
PATRICIA CROWNLEAF
JACK HAYWIRE
Briv felt his stomach drop.
He had known this was coming. He had known since the bracket was announced, since the moment he saw Jack's name slotted across from Patricia's, since the instant his girlfriend had looked at him with those blue eyes and said nothing at all.
But knowing didn't make it easier.
Patricia sat beside him, her hands folded in her lap, her face calm. She wore her trainer's jacket—the one with the worn cuffs and the faded League emblem—and her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that made her look older than twenty-four.
She didn't look at him.
She looked at the arena.
"Patricia," Briv said.
She turned.
Her eyes were steady. Clear. The eyes of a woman who had made her decision long before this moment.
"Don't," she said.
"Don't what?"
"Don't tell me to be careful. Don't tell me he's dangerous. Don't tell me you're sorry."
Briv closed his mouth.
Patricia reached over and squeezed his hand. Her grip was firm.
"I know what he is," she said. "I know what he did to Nicola. I know what he's going to try to do to me."
"Then why—"
"Because I'm not Nicola."
She released his hand and stood.
The crowd's murmur swelled as she walked toward the stairs that led down to the trainer's tunnel. Dariana watched her go, her dark eyes unreadable. Samuel leaned forward, his warm gaze following Patricia's retreating form.
Nicola said nothing.
She sat behind Briv, her arms crossed, her jaw tight. Her Magnezone hovered beside her, its single eye tracking Patricia's movement with mechanical precision.
Nicola had been quiet since the previous night.
Briv had seen her in the hallway, standing outside her door, staring at nothing. He had asked if she was okay. She had told him to go to hell.
He hadn't pushed.
Now, watching Patricia disappear into the tunnel, he wished he had.
"THE TRAINERS WILL NOW ENTER THE ARENA!"
The crowd erupted.
Patricia emerged from the tunnel first, her boots clicking against the polished stone floor. She walked with purpose, her shoulders back, her chin high. The lights caught the gold in her hair, the determination in her eyes.
Jack Haywire emerged second.
He was tall—taller than Briv remembered—with broad shoulders and a jaw that looked like it had been carved from granite. His hair was dark, cropped short, and his eyes were the color of slate. He wore a black jacket with red accents, the collar turned up, and a smirk that made Briv want to break something.
The crowd cheered for him.
Some of them cheered for Patricia.
But most of them just watched.
Jack stopped at his platform. Patricia stopped at hers. They stood twenty yards apart, their Pokémon still in their balls, their eyes locked on each other.
"TRAINERS! ARE YOU READY?"
Patricia nodded.
Jack smiled.
"BEGIN!"
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena one more time.
"THIS ROUND WILL BE A THREE-ON-THREE MATCH! THE ONE WHO DEFEATS ALL THREE OF THE OPPONENT'S POKÉMON WILL WIN AND QUALIFY FOR THE NEXT ROUND!"
Patricia's hand moved to her belt.
Jack's smirk widened.
"Ladies first," he said.
The crowd laughed.
Patricia didn't.
She threw her Poké Ball.
"Gliscor!"
The ground-flying type materialized in a flash of purple and black. It was massive—wings spread wide, pincers raised, its segmented tail curling behind it like a scorpion's stinger. It shrieked, and the sound echoed off the crystal towers.
Briv felt a chill run down his spine.
Gliscor was Patricia's most aggressive Pokémon. It wasn't her strongest—that honor belonged to Rampardos—but it was her most ruthless. It fought with a cunning that bordered on cruelty, a patience that bordered on sadism.
It was the perfect counter to Jack's style.
Jack's eyes flickered with recognition.
"Gliscor," he said. "Interesting choice."
He threw his own Poké Ball.
"Skarmory!"
The steel-flying type appeared in a burst of silver light. It was sleek, deadly, its wings like blades, its body covered in metallic feathers that gleamed under the arena lights. It hovered in place, its red eyes fixed on Gliscor, its beak sharp enough to cut through stone.
The crowd gasped.
"A steel type," Dariana murmured. "Against Gliscor's ground attacks."
Briv nodded.
Ground attacks were useless against Skarmory. Gliscor's Earthquake would do nothing. Its Earth Power would do nothing. Its physical attacks would do little against that armored body.
Patricia had to know that.
She didn't flinch.
"Gliscor. U-turn."
Gliscor moved.
It was fast—faster than Briv expected. It crossed the distance between platforms in a blur of purple and black, its pincers snapping, its tail whipping. It struck Skarmory once, twice, three times—and then it was gone.
The light of the Poké Ball consumed it.
Patricia's hand moved to her belt.
"Floatzel!"
The water type exploded onto the battlefield.
It was sleek, athletic, its orange fur gleaming, its twin tails lashing behind it. It landed on the packed earth with a splash of water that seemed to come from nowhere, its yellow flotation sac inflating around its neck.
Skarmory didn't have time to react.
"Waterfall," Patricia said.
Floatzel moved.
It was faster than Gliscor—faster than anything Briv had ever seen in an arena. It crossed the distance in seconds, its body a missile of water and muscle, its forehead aimed at Skarmory's chest.
The impact was devastating.
Skarmory slammed into the barrier. The steel type crumpled, its wings folding, its body denting under the force of the blow.
"SKARMORY IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! FLOATZEL WINS THE FIRST ROUND!"
The crowd roared.
Jack recalled his Skarmory. His smirk was gone.
"You're clever," he said.
"I know," Patricia said.
Jack's jaw tightened.
He reached for his next Poké Ball.
"Magneton!"
The electric-steel type appeared in a flash of gray and yellow. It was a cluster of three metallic spheres, each one crackling with electricity, each one floating in perfect synchronization. It hummed, and the sound made Briv's teeth ache.
"Floatzel. Aqua Jet."
Floatzel moved.
Magneton didn't.
"Thunderbolt," Jack said.
The electricity hit Floatzel mid-charge.
The water type screamed. Its body seized, its limbs locking, its momentum carrying it forward even as lightning coursed through its veins.
It hit the ground hard.
"FLOATZEL IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! MAGNETON WINS THE SECOND ROUND!"
Patricia recalled Floatzel.
Her face was calm.
But Briv saw her hands tremble.
"You okay?" he whispered.
She didn't hear him.
She reached for her third Poké Ball.
"Rampardos!"
The rock type materialized with a roar.
It was massive—easily the size of a small car, its dark blue body covered in thick, armored plates, its thick skull a battering ram of bone and fury. It stomped the ground, and the arena shook.
Magneton hummed.
"Rampardos. Head Smash."
Jack's eyes widened.
"No—"
Rampardos charged.
It was slow—slower than Floatzel, slower than Gliscor—but it didn't matter. Its bulk carried it forward like an avalanche, its skull aimed at Magneton's center, its momentum unstoppable.
Magneton tried to dodge.
It wasn't fast enough.
Rampardos hit the electric type with the force of a falling mountain. The sound was like thunder, like an explosion, like the world ending.
Magneton flew.
It bounced once, twice, three times before slamming into the barrier. Its metallic body crumpled. Its sparks died.
"MAGNETON IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! RAMPARDOS WINS THE SECOND ROUND!"
The crowd screamed.
Jack stared at the fallen Magneton.
Then he started laughing.
"You're good," he said. "You're really good."
Patricia didn't answer.
She was breathing hard. Her ponytail had come loose, strands of gold falling across her face. Her jacket was rumpled.
But she was winning.
Jack reached for his final Poké Ball.
"Let's see how you handle this."
He threw it.
"Absol!"
The dark type appeared in a swirl of white fur and black claws. It was elegant—leaner than Rampardos, faster than Floatzel, its red eyes gleaming with intelligence. The horn on its head curved like a scythe, and its tail lashed behind it like a whip.
Rampardos roared.
Absol didn't flinch.
"Absol. Psycho Cut."
The dark type moved.
It was fast—faster than anything Rampardos could match. It crossed the distance in a blur of white, its horn glowing with psychic energy.
Rampardos tried to turn.
It wasn't fast enough.
Psycho Cut caught it in the side. The blow didn't do much damage—Rampardos was too armored, too tough—but it did something worse.
It knocked Rampardos off balance.
The rock type stumbled. Its momentum carried it forward. Its skull missed Absol by inches.
And then Absol was behind it.
"Night Slash," Jack said.
The dark type's claws raked across Rampardos's back.
Rampardos roared in pain.
"Rampardos. Zen Headbutt!"
The rock type turned, its skull glowing with psychic energy. It charged.
Absol dodged.
Dodged again.
Dodged a third time.
Rampardos was fast for its size—faster than most rock types—but Absol was faster. It moved like a shadow, like a whisper, like something that didn't exist until it struck.
"Play Rough," Jack said.
Absol lunged.
Its claws raked across Rampardos's legs. Its teeth sank into Rampardos's shoulder. It moved with a brutal grace, each strike aimed at a weak point, each attack designed to wear down the rock type's defenses.
Rampardos fought back.
It landed a hit—a glancing blow that sent Absol skidding across the arena—but Absol recovered before the rock type could follow up.
"Night Slash."
Psycho Cut.
Play Rough.
Night Slash again.
Rampardos roared. It bled. It staggered.
But it didn't fall.
"RAMPARDOS IS NOT OUT YET!" the announcer screamed. "THIS IS INCREDIBLE!"
Patricia's voice cut through the noise.
"Rampardos. Head Smash. Full power."
The rock type's eyes gleamed.
It charged.
Absol braced.
But Rampardos didn't aim for Absol.
It aimed for the ground.
The impact cracked the arena floor. A shockwave rippled outward, knocking Absol off its feet, sending debris flying in every direction. The dark type tumbled, its claws scrabbling for purchase—
And then Rampardos was on top of it.
"ROCK SLIDE!"
Rocks erupted from the ground.
They slammed into Absol from every direction, a barrage of stone and fury that buried the dark type under a mountain of rubble.
"ABSOL IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! RAMPARDOS WINS THE MATCH!"
The crowd exploded.
Patricia fell to her knees.
Rampardos stood over the rubble, its chest heaving, its eyes burning with triumph.
Jack Haywire stared at the battlefield.
His smirk was gone.
His face was pale.
Patricia rose to her feet. She walked to the edge of her platform, her eyes fixed on Jack's.
"Remember this," she said.
Her voice carried across the arena. It was quiet, but somehow everyone heard it.
"Remember that a woman beat you. Remember that she did it with three Pokémon and a smile. Remember that the next time you try to hurt someone I love."
Jack didn't answer.
He turned and walked off the platform.
The crowd cheered.
Briv was already running.
He hit the arena floor at a sprint, his shoes slipping on the debris, his heart pounding in his chest. Rampardos stepped aside as he approached, its massive head lowering in what might have been respect.
Patricia stood alone on her platform.
Her hands were shaking.
Tears streamed down her face.
Briv caught her as she fell.
"I did it," she whispered. "I did it."
"You did," he said. "You did."
He held her as the crowd roared, as the lights blazed, as the crystal towers of Aethelburg shimmered in the darkness.
He held her as Jack Haywire disappeared into the tunnel, his shoulders slumped, his defeat written in every line of his body.
He held her until she stopped shaking.
And when Nicola appeared at the edge of the arena, her brown eyes wet, her jaw tight, her Magnezone floating behind her like a guardian angel, Briv watched Patricia pull away and walk toward her.
The two women stood face to face.
Neither of them spoke.
Then Nicola nodded.
Patricia nodded back.
And the crowd roared again.
=====
And the crowd roared again.
The sound followed Briv down the tunnel. It echoed off the polished stone walls, a living thing that pulsed against his eardrums and made his teeth vibrate. Patricia leaned on him, her arm draped across his shoulders, her breathing still ragged from the match.
Nicola walked ahead of them. She hadn't spoken since the arena. She hadn't looked at Patricia either, not directly. Her shoulders were rigid beneath her jacket, her hands shoved deep into her pockets.
Dariana caught up with them at the tunnel's mouth.
"That was—" She stopped. Shook her head. "I don't have words."
Patricia laughed. It was a wet sound, half tears and half relief. "Neither do I."
"You should rest," Briv said. "The next matches start in twenty minutes."
Patricia pulled away from him. She stood on her own, her legs steadier now, her eyes clearing. "I don't need rest. I need to watch."
"Watch what?"
"The next matches."
Briv frowned. "Patricia—"
"I need to watch," she repeated. "I need to see who I'm facing next."
She walked past Nicola without a word. Nicola watched her go, her expression unreadable, then followed without comment.
Dariana fell into step beside Briv.
"She's stronger than I thought," Dariana said.
"She's always been strong."
"I know. But that—" Dariana gestured vaguely toward the arena behind them. "That was something else."
Briv nodded.
They emerged into the stands just as the announcer's voice boomed across the arena.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE ROUND OF THIRTY-TWO CONTINUES! PLEASE WELCOME OUR NEXT TWO TRAINERS!"
The screens flickered. Two names burned in letters of violet and iron.
SAMANTHA ETERNGUST
MALIK
Briv felt something cold settle in his chest.
Samantha Eterngust.
He had heard the name before. Everyone had. She was Eclipse Squad—one of the most dangerous trainers in the tournament, a woman whose reputation preceded her like a storm cloud. She fought with fire and poison and psychic energy, and she fought like she enjoyed it.
The crowd's murmur shifted. It wasn't the excited buzz of Patricia's match, or the nervous hum before Joel's defeat. This was something else. Something darker.
People were afraid.
Dariana leaned close. "Have you seen her fight?"
"Once," Briv said. "In the qualifiers. She destroyed a guy from Sinnoh in four minutes. He didn't just lose. He looked… broken."
"Malik's no pushover," Nicola said from behind them. "He's been fighting in this circuit for years. He's brutal."
"Samantha's worse," Dariana said.
Nicola didn't argue.
The trainers emerged from opposite tunnels.
Samantha Eterngust walked like she owned the arena. Her violet hair cascaded over her shoulders, wild and untamed, and her purple eyes glittered with something that wasn't quite sanity. She wore a tight black dress that shimmered like oil on water, and her lips were painted the color of blood.
She smiled.
It was a predator's smile.
Malik emerged from the other tunnel. He was huge—broad-shouldered, thickly built, his dark eyes carrying a spark of mischief that somehow made him more intimidating. He wore simple clothes: a gray shirt, dark pants, boots that had seen better days. He looked like a man who had fought his way out of a hundred bad situations and expected to fight his way out of a hundred more.
He stopped at his platform.
Samantha stopped at hers.
"TRAINERS! ARE YOU READY?"
Samantha laughed. It was a bright sound, almost musical, and utterly wrong.
"Ready to play," she said.
Malik cracked his knuckles. "Let's do this."
"BEGIN!"
Samantha moved first.
"Chandelure!"
The ghost-fire type materialized in a swirl of purple flame. It was beautiful—a chandelier of glass and shadow, its flames flickering with malevolent intelligence. It hovered in place, its eyes fixed on Malik like a predator watching prey.
Malik didn't flinch.
"Krookodile!"
The ground-dark type appeared in a burst of red light. It was massive—easily the size of a small car, its crimson scales gleaming, its jaws lined with teeth like daggers. It roared, and the sound made the barriers flicker.
Samantha's smile widened.
"Chandelure. Fire Blast."
The ghost type's flames erupted.
A torrent of fire—white-hot, blinding—screamed across the arena. It hit Krookodile square in the chest, and the ground-dark type staggered. Its scales blackened. Its roar turned to a howl of pain.
"Krookodile. Crunch!"
The dark type lunged.
Chandelure didn't move.
It waited until Krookodile was inches away. Then it vanished.
Krookodile's jaws snapped shut on empty air. It stumbled, off balance, its momentum carrying it forward.
Chandelure reappeared behind it.
"Shadow Ball," Samantha said.
The attack hit Krookodile in the back of the head. The dark type crumpled, its limbs twitching, its eyes rolling back.
"KROOKODILE IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! CHANDELURE WINS THE FIRST ROUND!"
The crowd gasped.
Malik recalled his Krookodile. His jaw was tight.
"Not bad," he said.
"I know," Samantha said.
Malik reached for his next Poké Ball.
"Conkeldurr!"
The fighting type materialized with a roar. It was massive—muscles rippling under gray skin, veins like ropes, its two concrete pillars gripped in its hands like clubs. It pounded the ground, and the arena shook.
Samantha tilted her head.
"Interesting," she said. "A fighting type against a ghost. Brave."
Conkeldurr roared.
"Conkeldurr. Stone Edge!"
Pillars of rock erupted from the ground.
Chandelure dodged the first. The second. The third. But the fourth caught its flame, and the ghost type flickered, its light dimming.
"Chandelure. Pain Split."
The ghost type's flames pulsed.
A thread of purple light connected it to Conkeldurr. The fighting type screamed—its energy draining, its vitality flowing into Chandelure. Its muscles shrank. Its skin grayed. Its eyes dimmed.
"Conkeldurr. Close Combat!"
The fighting type charged.
Chandelure tried to dodge. It wasn't fast enough. Conkeldurr's fist, wrapped around a concrete pillar, slammed into the ghost type's core. Chandelure shattered into a thousand pieces of light.
"SAMANTHA'S CHANDELURE IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! CONKELDURR WINS THE SECOND ROUND!"
The crowd roared.
Samantha recalled her Chandelure. Her smile didn't fade.
"You're stronger than I thought," she said.
Malik grunted. "You talk too much."
Samantha's eyes glittered.
"Let's see how you handle this."
She threw her next Poké Ball.
"Salazzle!"
The poison-fire type appeared in a swirl of purple smoke. It was sleek, serpentine, its scales gleaming like oil. It hissed, and the sound was like silk tearing.
Conkeldurr didn't wait.
"Stone Edge!"
Salazzle moved.
It was fast—faster than anything Conkeldurr could match. It slithered across the arena, its body a blur of purple, its eyes locked on the fighting type.
"Toxic," Samantha said.
Salazzle spat.
A glob of purple poison hit Conkeldurr in the chest.
The fighting type staggered. Its veins darkened. Its breathing turned ragged. The poison was working fast—faster than any normal poison should.
"Sludge Wave," Samantha said.
The poison type raised its head.
A wave of purple sludge erupted from its body. It washed over Conkeldurr, burning its skin, searing its eyes, filling its lungs with toxins.
Conkeldurr screamed.
"CONKELDURR IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! SALAZZLE WINS THE SECOND ROUND!"
The crowd was silent.
Malik recalled his Conkeldurr. His hands were shaking.
"You're poison," he said. "Through and through."
Samantha laughed.
"I'm everything," she said.
Malik reached for his final Poké Ball.
"Tyranitar!"
The rock-dark type materialized with a roar that shook the arena.
It was massive—easily the largest Pokémon on the battlefield, its green armor gleaming, its red eyes burning, its tail lashing behind it like a whip. It stomped the ground, and the earth cracked.
Samantha's smile flickered.
"Tyranitar," she said. "Well. That's a problem."
Malik grunted. "You talk too much."
Tyranitar roared.
Salazzle hissed.
"Salazzle. Fire Blast."
The poison type's flames erupted.
Tyranitar didn't move.
The fire hit its chest and washed over its armor like water. When the flames cleared, Tyranitar was still standing, its scales smoking but unharmed.
Malik smiled.
"Sand Stream."
The sandstorm erupted.
The arena disappeared.
Sand screamed across the battlefield, a blizzard of grit and fury that scoured everything in its path. Salazzle cried out, its eyes closing, its scales scraping under the assault.
"Tyranitar. Stone Edge!"
Pillars of rock erupted from the ground.
Salazzle tried to dodge. The first pillar missed. The second missed. The third caught it in the side and sent it tumbling across the arena.
"Tyranitar. Crunch!"
The rock-dark type lunged.
Its jaws closed around Salazzle's tail. The poison type screamed as Tyranitar swung it like a rag doll, slamming it into the ground, into the barrier, into the rubble of the arena floor.
"SALAZZLE IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! TYRANITAR WINS THE SECOND ROUND!"
The crowd roared.
Samantha recalled her Salazzle. Her smile was gone.
"You're better than I thought," she said.
Malik grunted. "I know."
Samantha reached for her final Poké Ball.
"Let's see how you handle this."
She threw it.
"Houndoom!"
The dark-fire type appeared in a swirl of black flame.
It was lean, elegant, its horns curving like a demon's crown, its eyes glowing with hellfire. It threw back its head and howled, and the sound echoed across the arena like a death knell.
Tyranitar didn't flinch.
"Houndoom. Dark Pulse."
The dark type's flames pulsed.
A wave of darkness erupted from its body. It slammed into Tyranitar, and the rock type staggered, its eyes clouding, its limbs seizing.
"Tyranitar. Stone Edge!"
The rock type roared.
Pillars of stone erupted from the ground.
Houndoom dodged the first. The second. The third. But the fourth caught its leg, and the dark type yelped, tumbling across the arena.
"Tyranitar. Crunch!"
Tyranitar lunged.
Houndoom recovered.
It was fast—faster than any dark type Briv had ever seen. It dodged Tyranitar's jaws by inches, its body twisting in midair, its claws raking across the rock type's face.
"Dark Pulse."
The attack hit Tyranitar in the chest.
The rock type staggered. Its eyes dimmed. Its limbs slowed. The darkness was working—creeping through its veins, sapping its strength, dulling its senses.
"Tyranitar. Earthquake!"
The ground erupted.
Houndoom tried to jump. It wasn't fast enough. The shockwave caught it mid-air and slammed it into the barrier.
"HOUNDOOM IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! TYRANITAR WINS THE MATCH!"
The crowd exploded.
Malik stood on his platform, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with triumph.
Samantha stood on hers, her face pale, her hands clenched into fists.
"You win," she said.
Malik nodded. "I know."
Samantha turned and walked off the platform.
The crowd cheered for Malik.
Briv watched her disappear into the tunnel.
He felt something cold settle in his stomach.
"That was brutal," Dariana said.
"Yeah," Briv said.
"She's dangerous."
"I know."
"She's going to be a problem."
Briv didn't answer.
He thought about the way Samantha had smiled when her Pokémon was destroyed. He thought about the way she had laughed when Conkeldurr screamed. He thought about the way her eyes had glittered when Salazzle was crushed.
She wasn't just dangerous.
She was broken.
And broken things were unpredictable.
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE WELCOME OUR NEXT TWO TRAINERS!"
The screens flickered. Two names burned in letters of blue and black.
OFFICER JENNY
NICOLETA
Briv turned.
Nicola was already standing.
She walked past him without a word, her Magnezone floating behind her like a metallic shadow. Her boots clicked against the stone floor, steady and sure.
Patricia reached out and caught her arm.
Nicola stopped.
"Be careful," Patricia said.
Nicola looked at her. Her brown eyes were hard, but something flickered beneath the surface—something that looked almost like gratitude.
"I always am," she said.
She pulled away and walked toward the tunnel.
The crowd cheered.
Briv watched her go.
He thought about the hallway the night before. He thought about the fear in her eyes when she talked about Chigusa. He thought about the way she had stood alone in the arena, waiting for a fight she knew would be brutal.
He thought about Nicoleta.
She was everything Nicola wasn't. Gothic. Confident. Perverse. Intimidating. She fought with a brutality that bordered on cruelty, and she enjoyed every moment of it.
Nicola fought with precision. With discipline. With control.
It would be a fascinating match.
It would also be a massacre.
Officer Jenny emerged from the opposite tunnel.
She was tall—athletic, her teal-blue hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, her green eyes sharp and alert. She wore her navy uniform with pride, the badge on her chest gleaming under the arena lights.
She walked like a soldier.
Nicoleta emerged from the other tunnel.
She walked like a queen.
Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders, dark and glossy. Her pale skin seemed to glow under the lights. She wore black—a tight corset, leather pants, boots that reached her thighs. Her dark eyes glittered with something that wasn't quite amusement.
She smiled.
It was a dangerous smile.
"TRAINERS! ARE YOU READY?"
Jenny nodded. "Always."
Nicoleta laughed. "I was born ready, darling."
"BEGIN!"
Jenny moved first.
"Arcanine!"
The fire type materialized in a burst of orange and gold. It was massive—easily the largest Arcanine Briv had ever seen, its fur like living flame, its eyes like burning coals. It threw back its head and howled, and the sound echoed across the arena.
Nicoleta tilted her head.
"Pretty," she said.
She threw her Poké Ball.
"Umbreon!"
The dark type appeared in a swirl of black and gold. It was sleek, elegant, its rings glowing with an eerie light. It landed on the packed earth with a silent step, its red eyes fixed on Arcanine.
Jenny didn't flinch.
"Arcanine. Flare Blitz."
Arcanine erupted in flames.
It crossed the arena in a blur of fire and fury, its body a comet, its eyes locked on Umbreon's slender form.
Umbreon didn't move.
It waited until Arcanine was inches away. Then it vanished.
Arcanine hit the barrier.
The impact cracked the stone. The fire type crumpled, its flames dying, its eyes rolling back.
"ARCANINE IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! UMBREON WINS THE FIRST ROUND!"
The crowd gasped.
Nicoleta laughed.
"That was quick," she said.
Jenny recalled her Arcanine. Her jaw was tight.
"You're fast," she said.
"I know."
Jenny reached for her next Poké Ball.
"Manectric!"
The electric type materialized in a flash of blue and yellow. It was lean, athletic, its fur spiked with electricity, its eyes blazing with power. It growled, and the sound made the barriers flicker.
Nicoleta smiled.
"Umbreon. Dark Pulse."
The dark type's rings pulsed.
A wave of darkness erupted from its body. It slammed into Manectric, and the electric type staggered, its eyes clouding, its limbs seizing.
"Manectric. Thunderbolt!"
The electric type roared.
Lightning erupted from its body. It hit Umbreon square in the chest, and the dark type screamed—its fur scorching, its flesh burning, its rings flickering.
"Umbreon. Assurance."
The dark type recovered.
It lunged, its claws outstretched, its teeth bared. It hit Manectric in the side, and the electric type tumbled across the arena.
"Manelectric. Flamethrower!"
The electric type's flames erupted.
Umbreon tried to dodge. It wasn't fast enough. The fire caught its flank and sent it skidding across the arena.
"UMBREON IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! MANECTRIC WINS THE SECOND ROUND!"
The crowd roared.
Nicoleta recalled her Umbreon. Her smile didn't fade.
"You're stronger than I thought," she said.
Jenny nodded. "I know."
Nicoleta reached for her next Poké Ball.
"Let's see how you handle this."
She threw it.
"Gengar!"
The ghost-poison type appeared in a swirl of purple shadow. It was grinning—a wide, malevolent grin that made Briv's skin crawl. Its eyes glittered with malice.
Jenny didn't flinch.
"Manectric. Thunderbolt."
The electric type roared.
Lightning erupted from its body.
Gengar laughed.
It vanished.
The lightning hit the barrier and dissipated. Manectric stumbled, its momentum carrying it forward.
Gengar reappeared behind it.
"Shadow Ball," Nicoleta said.
The attack hit Manectric in the back. The electric type crumpled, its limbs twitching, its eyes rolling back.
"MANECTRIC IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! GENGAR WINS THE SECOND ROUND!"
The crowd gasped.
Jenny recalled her Manectric. Her hands were steady.
"You're good," she said.
"I know," Nicoleta said.
Jenny reached for her final Poké Ball.
"Arcanine!"
The fire type materialized with a roar.
It was massive—its fur like living flame, its eyes burning with fury. It had recovered from its earlier defeat, its wounds healed by the arena's medical team.
Nicoleta tilted her head.
"Back for more?" she asked.
Arcanine growled.
"Arcanine. Extreme Speed."
The fire type moved.
It was faster than anything Briv had ever seen. It crossed the arena in a heartbeat, its body a blur of orange and gold, its jaws open wide.
Gengar laughed.
It vanished.
Arcanine hit the barrier.
The impact shook the arena. The fire type crumpled, its flames dying, its eyes closing.
"Arcanine is unable to battle!" the announcer started.
But Arcanine wasn't done.
It rose.
It rose on trembling legs, its eyes blazing with defiance, its flames flickering back to life.
"Arcanine. Flare Blitz."
The fire type erupted.
It crossed the arena in a blur of fire and fury. Gengar tried to dodge. It wasn't fast enough. Arcanine's jaws closed around the ghost type's body, and the explosion of flames that followed lit up the entire arena.
When the smoke cleared, Gengar was gone.
"GENGAR IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! ARCANINE WINS THE MATCH!"
The crowd exploded.
Jenny stood on her platform, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with triumph.
Nicoleta stood on hers, her face pale, her hands clenched into fists.
"You win," she said.
Jenny nodded. "I know."
Nicoleta turned and walked off the platform.
The crowd cheered for Jenny.
Briv watched her disappear into the tunnel.
He felt something warm settle in his chest.
"That was incredible," Dariana said.
"Yeah," Briv said.
"She's tough."
"I know."
"She's going to be a problem."
Briv nodded.
He thought about the way Jenny had refused to give up. He thought about the way Arcanine had risen from defeat. He thought about the way the fire type had blazed with defiance even when everything was lost.
He thought about Patricia.
He thought about Nicola.
He thought about himself.
The tournament was only going to get harder.
And they were only going to get stronger.
He reached for Patricia's hand.
She took it.
The crowd dispersed. The arena lights dimmed. The crystal towers of Aethelburg glowed in the darkness, their spires reaching toward a sky full of stars.
The round of thirty-two was almost over.
And tomorrow, everything would change again.