Chapter 112: Nicola VS Drew
The lights shifted. The crowd's murmur swelled into something sharper—anticipation honed by hours of battle, by victories and losses, by the brutal arithmetic of elimination.
Briv felt it in his chest. A pressure. A pulse.
He was still raw from Samuel's defeat. Still tasting the metallic edge of failure on his tongue. But the tournament didn't care about wounds. The tournament didn't care about feelings. The tournament only cared about who could stand, who could fight, who could win.
The announcer's voice cut through the arena like a blade.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THE ROUND OF THIRTY-TWO CONTINUES!"
The screens flickered. Two names materialized in letters of gold and white.
NICOLA SUNFALL
DREW SATURDAY
Briv's stomach clenched.
"Nicola," Patricia said. Her voice was tight. "She's fighting Drew Saturday."
"I know."
"Drew is—"
"I know who Drew is."
Patricia looked at him. Her blue eyes were bright with something that wasn't quite fear. It was closer to recognition. The look of someone who had seen this before, who knew exactly how this story could end.
"Nicola's strong," she said.
"I know."
"But Drew—"
"Drew is a strategist. A scientist. A woman who's spent her entire career studying Pokémon battles." Briv paused. "I know."
They stood in the stands, surrounded by thousands of spectators, and watched the arena transform.
Nicola emerged from the west tunnel.
She moved like fire—confident, aggressive, her long blonde hair swaying with each step, her sharp brown eyes fixed on the arena ahead. She wore a fitted black jacket over a crimson top, her Pokémon belt gleaming at her waist. She didn't smile. She didn't wave. She simply walked to her platform and stood there, waiting.
She was beautiful. She was terrifying. She was Nicola.
Drew emerged from the east tunnel.
She moved like precision—calm, deliberate, every step measured, every movement calculated. Her sleek white hair framed her face with surgical precision. Her orange and black tactical suit hugged her athletic frame—shoulder pads, utility belt, reinforced boots. Her piercing pink eyes swept across the crowd without interest, without emotion, without anything resembling warmth.
She had seen this before. She had done this before. She was ready.
Dariana appeared at Briv's shoulder. Her dark eyes were fixed on the arena, her expression unreadable.
"Nicola's going to win," she said.
Briv looked at her.
"She has to."
The announcer's voice boomed across the stadium.
"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!"
Nicola's hand moved to her belt.
Drew's hand didn't move at all.
"TRAINERS! ARE YOU READY?"
Nicola nodded. Once. Sharp.
Drew smiled. It was a thin smile, a cold smile, a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"BEGIN!"
Nicola threw first.
"Magnezone!"
The electric-steel type materialized in a burst of gray and red. It hovered above the packed earth, its saucer-shaped body gleaming under the arena lights, its single red eye fixed on the opposite platform. Its magnet-like arms crackled with energy.
Drew moved.
"Skarmory."
The steel-flying type appeared in a swirl of silver and crimson. It was sleek—elegant, its metallic feathers shimmering, its blade-like wings folded against its body. It didn't move. Didn't attack. It simply stood there, its golden eyes fixed on Magnezone with predatory focus.
Nicola's jaw tightened.
"Skarmory," she muttered. "Steel-flying. Resistant to electric."
"Problem?" Drew asked. Her voice was calm. Academic. Like she was discussing a theorem.
"Not even close."
"Then you won't mind if I start." Drew raised her hand. "Skarmory. Spikes."
The steel-flying type's body glowed.
A storm of metallic shards erupted from its wings—jagged, sharp, impossibly fast. They scattered across Nicola's side of the arena, embedding themselves in the earth, waiting.
Nicola's eyes narrowed.
"Hazard setup," she said. "Smart."
"I know."
"But not smart enough." Nicola pointed. "Magnezone. Thunderbolt."
The electric-steel type's body crackled.
A bolt of lightning erupted from its body—a lance of pure energy that screamed across the arena and hit Skarmory square in the chest. The steel-flying type staggered, its metallic feathers smoking, its body trembling.
"Good," Nicola said. "Again."
Magnezone fired.
Another bolt. Another impact. Skarmory reeled, its wings flailing, its golden eyes blazing with fury.
"Skarmory. Roost."
The steel-flying type's body glowed.
Its wounds healed. Its feathers smoothed. Its body strengthened.
Nicola's jaw tightened.
"Roost," she said. "Of course."
"You expected something else?"
"I expected you to fight. Not stall."
Drew smiled. "Stalling is fighting. It's just a different kind."
"Skarmory. Steel Wing."
The steel-flying type lunged.
It crossed the arena in a blur of silver and crimson, its wings glowing with metallic energy. It hit Magnezone square in the chest—once, twice—and the electric-steel type staggered backward, its body sparking.
"Magnezone. Thunder Wave."
The electric-steel type's body crackled.
A wave of electricity erupted from its body—not a bolt, not a lance, but a field, a pulse, a wave of paralysis. It hit Skarmory square in the chest, and the steel-flying type shuddered, its movements slowing, its body locking.
"Good," Nicola said. "Now. Thunderbolt."
Magnezone fired.
The bolt hit Skarmory square in the chest. The steel-flying type screamed, its body convulsing, its wings flailing.
"Skarmory. Roost."
The steel-flying type tried.
But its body wouldn't move. The paralysis held. The electricity crackled.
"Again," Nicola said.
Magnezone fired.
Another bolt. Another impact. Skarmory crumpled, its body hitting the earth with a crack.
"SKARMORY IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! MAGNEZONE WINS THE FIRST ROUND!"
The crowd erupted.
Nicola pumped her fist. "That's how we do it!"
Drew recalled Skarmory.
Her expression didn't change.
"Acceptable," she said. "You've exceeded my expectations."
"I'm just getting started."
"You shouldn't." Drew reached for her second Poké Ball. "Because now I'm going to show you the difference between us."
She threw.
"Umbreon."
The dark type materialized in a swirl of black and gold. It was sleek—elegant, its fur shimmering like oil on water, its golden rings glowing with soft light. It didn't move. Didn't attack. It simply stood there, its red eyes fixed on Magnezone with predatory focus.
Nicola's blood ran cold.
"Umbreon," she whispered.
She had seen this Pokémon before. Had watched it dismantle Samuel's Hippowdon. Had watched it heal itself with Moonlight, poison its opponents with Toxic, tear through defenses with Foul Play.
It was the reason Niklaus had won.
And now Drew was using it.
"Problem?" Drew asked.
"No," Nicola said. But her voice was tight. Her hands were shaking.
"Then you won't mind if I continue." Drew raised her hand. "Umbreon. Toxic."
The dark type's body glowed.
But Magnezone was already moving.
It dodged—faster than anything its size should have been able to move—and the poison missed. It hit the earth behind it, sizzling, spreading.
"Good," Nicola said. "Now. Thunderbolt."
Magnezone fired.
The bolt hit Umbreon square in the chest. The dark type staggered, its body crackling, its rings flickering.
"Umbreon. Moonlight."
The dark type's body glowed.
The clouds above parted. Moonlight streamed down from the sky—impossible, given the arena's roof—and bathed Umbreon in silver light. The dark type's wounds healed. Its body strengthened. Its eyes blazed.
Nicola's jaw tightened.
"Thunderbolt," she said.
Magnezone fired.
But Umbreon was already moving.
It flowed like shadow, like smoke, like something that didn't obey the laws of physics. It dodged every bolt, every lance, every pulse of electricity.
"Umbreon. Foul Play."
The dark type's body glowed.
It twisted—using Magnezone's own strength against it—and the electric-steel type was thrown across the arena. Magnezone hit the barrier with a crack, its body sparking, its single red eye flickering.
"Magnezone!" Nicola shouted.
The electric-steel type tried to rise.
But Umbreon was already there.
"Umbreon. Toxic."
The dark type's fangs sank into Magnezone's body.
Poison flooded its veins.
The electric-steel type screamed.
"Magnezone! Thunderbolt!"
Magnezone tried.
But its body wouldn't move. The poison was spreading. Its systems were failing. It raised its head and fired—one last bolt, one last surge of defiance—and then it collapsed.
"MAGNEZONE IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! UMBREON WINS THE SECOND ROUND!"
The crowd erupted.
Nicola recalled Magnezone.
Her hands were still.
Her eyes were dry.
But something in her chest was cracking.
"Not bad," Drew said.
"Shut up."
"Excuse me?"
"I said shut up." Nicola reached for her second Poké Ball. "You haven't won yet."
She threw.
"Bastiodon."
The rock-steel type materialized in a burst of gray and blue. It was massive—easily the largest Pokémon on the field—its shield-like face gleaming, its sturdy body planted firmly on the earth. It raised its head and roared, and the sound was like an avalanche.
Drew's eyes flickered.
"Interesting," she said. "You're using Bastiodon as your anchor."
"Bastiodon is my anchor," Nicola said. "And he's going to bury your Umbreon."
"We'll see."
"Bastiodon. Iron Defense."
The rock-steel type's body glowed.
Its armor thickened. Its defenses strengthened. Its body became a fortress.
"Umbreon. Toxic."
The dark type's body glowed.
But the poison hit Bastiodon's armor and sizzled, spreading across the surface without penetrating. The rock-steel type didn't flinch.
"Good," Nicola said. "Now. Metal Burst."
Bastiodon's body glowed.
A wave of metallic energy erupted from its body—not an attack, but a reflection, a mirror, a response. It hit Umbreon square in the chest, and the dark type staggered, its body sparking, its rings flickering.
"Umbreon. Moonlight."
The dark type's body glowed.
The clouds above parted. Moonlight streamed down. Umbreon's wounds healed.
But Bastiodon was already moving.
"Metal Burst," Nicola said.
Bastiodon fired.
Another wave. Another reflection. Umbreon staggered, its body crackling, its healing undone.
"Again," Nicola said.
Bastiodon fired.
Umbreon crumpled.
"UMBREON IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! BASTIODON WINS THE THIRD ROUND!"
The crowd erupted.
Nicola pumped her fist. "Yeah! That's what I'm talking about!"
Drew recalled Umbreon.
Her expression didn't change.
But something shifted in her eyes. Something cold. Something calculating. Something that made Nicola's blood run cold.
"Impressive," Drew said. "You've forced me to use my final Pokémon."
"Damn right I have."
"Unfortunately for you..." Drew reached for her final Poké Ball. "...my final Pokémon is the reason I'm going to win this tournament."
She threw.
"Togekiss."
The fairy-flying type materialized in a swirl of white and blue. It was elegant—majestic, its body gleaming like fresh snow, its wings spreading wide. It didn't move. Didn't attack. It simply hovered there, its serene eyes fixed on Bastiodon with calm confidence.
The air shifted.
Something cold. Something ancient. Something that made Nicola's skin prickle.
"Togekiss," she whispered.
She had seen this Pokémon before. Had watched it dismantle opponents with Air Slash, with Dazzling Gleam, with Aura Sphere. It was Drew's signature. Her ace. Her final weapon.
"Problem?" Drew asked.
"No," Nicola said. But her voice was tight. Her hands were shaking.
"Then you won't mind if I continue." Drew raised her hand. "Togekiss. Aura Sphere."
The fairy-flying type's body glowed.
A sphere of pure energy erupted from its body—small, dense, impossibly fast. It screamed across the arena and hit Bastiodon square in the chest. The rock-steel type staggered, its armor cracking, its body trembling.
"Bastiodon! Iron Defense!"
The rock-steel type's body glowed.
But Togekiss was already moving.
It flowed like wind, like light, like something that didn't obey the laws of physics. It dodged every attack, every wave, every pulse of metallic energy.
"Togekiss. Air Slash."
The fairy-flying type's wings glowed.
A blade of wind erupted from its body—sharp, invisible, impossibly fast. It hit Bastiodon square in the chest, and the rock-steel type staggered, its armor cracking, its body failing.
"Bastiodon! Metal Burst!"
Bastiodon's body glowed.
It fired—one last wave, one last reflection—but Togekiss was already gone. The attack missed. The rock-steel type stumbled. And then Togekiss was behind it, its wings glowing, its body blazing.
"Togekiss. Dazzling Gleam."
The fairy-flying type's body erupted.
A wave of light—pure, blinding, devastating—engulfed Bastiodon completely. The rock-steel type screamed, its body convulsing, its armor shattering.
"BASTIODON IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! TOGEKISS WINS THE FOURTH ROUND!"
The crowd erupted.
Nicola recalled Bastiodon.
Her hands were still.
Her eyes were dry.
But something in her chest was breaking.
"Not bad," Drew said.
"Shut up."
"Excuse me?"
"I said shut up." Nicola reached for her final Poké Ball. "You haven't won yet."
She threw.
"Staravia."
The normal-flying type materialized in a burst of gray and white. It was medium-sized—sleek, its plumage gleaming, its crest sharp, its eyes bright with determination. It didn't move. Didn't attack. It simply stood there, its wings folded, its body tense.
"Staravia," Drew said. "Interesting choice."
"He's my partner," Nicola said. "And he's going to bury your Togekiss."
"We'll see."
"Staravia. Brave Bird."
The normal-flying type's body glowed.
It erupted—a blur of gray and white, a missile of momentum. It crossed the arena in a heartbeat and hit Togekiss square in the chest. The fairy-flying type staggered, its body sparking, its wings flailing.
"Togekiss. Air Slash."
The fairy-flying type's wings glowed.
But Staravia was already moving.
It dodged—faster than anything its size should have been able to move—and the wind blade missed. It hit the barrier behind it, shattering against the glass.
"Staravia. Double Team."
The normal-flying type's body glowed.
Copies of Staravia materialized—dozens, hundreds, a cloud of gray and white. They swirled around Togekiss, their wings flapping, their eyes blazing.
"Togekiss. Dazzling Gleam."
The fairy-flying type's body erupted.
A wave of light—pure, blinding, devastating—engulfed the copies. They vanished, one by one, their forms dissolving into nothing.
But Staravia was already gone.
It appeared behind Togekiss—faster than thought, faster than light—and its talons raked across the fairy-flying type's back. Togekiss screamed, its body spinning, its wings flailing.
"Good," Nicola said. "Again."
Staravia attacked.
It was relentless—a blur of gray and white, a storm of wings and talons. It hit Togekiss again and again, its body blazing with Brave Bird, its eyes burning with fury.
"Togekiss. Aura Sphere."
The fairy-flying type's body glowed.
But Staravia was ready.
It dodged—faster than anything its size should have been able to move—and the sphere missed. It hit the barrier behind it, exploding against the glass.
"Staravia. Brave Bird!"
The normal-flying type's body erupted.
It crossed the arena in a heartbeat and hit Togekiss square in the chest. The fairy-flying type screamed, its body convulsing, its wings failing.
And then—
Something happened.
Staravia's body glowed.
Not with attack, not with defense, not with any technique Nicola had ever seen. It glowed with something deeper. Something ancient. Something that pulsed in its blood and burned in its bones.
It was evolving.
The light intensified—blinding, brilliant, impossibly bright. The crowd gasped. Drew's eyes widened. Nicola's heart stopped.
And then—
The light faded.
Staraptor stood where Staravia had been.
It was massive—far larger than Staravia, its body muscular, its wings wide, its crest sharp as a blade. Its eyes burned with new power, new rage, new purpose.
It was beautiful. It was terrifying. It was perfect.
"Staraptor," Nicola whispered.
The normal-flying type's body glowed.
It didn't wait for orders. Didn't wait for commands. It simply moved—faster than anything on the field, faster than anything Nicola had ever seen—and its talons raked across Togekiss's chest.
The fairy-flying type screamed.
"Staraptor! Brave Bird!"
The normal-flying type's body erupted.
It crossed the arena in a heartbeat and hit Togekiss square in the chest. The fairy-flying type flew backward, its body hitting the barrier with a crack, and crumpled.
"TOGEKISS IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! STARAPTOR WINS THE MATCH!"
The crowd erupted.
Nicola stood on her platform.
Her hands were shaking.
Her eyes were wet.
But she was smiling.
She had won.
Drew recalled Togekiss.
Her expression didn't change.
But something shifted in her eyes. Something cold. Something calculating. Something that made Nicola's blood run cold.
"Impressive," Drew said. "You've exceeded my expectations."
"I know."
"You shouldn't." Drew turned and walked off her platform. "Because now you know the truth."
"What truth?"
Drew stopped.
She didn't turn around.
"That no matter how hard you try," she said, "no matter how much you prepare, no matter how much you believe in yourself..." She paused. "You will never be good enough."
She disappeared into the tunnel.
Nicola stood on her platform.
Her hands were still shaking.
But she was still smiling.
She had won.
And that was enough.
=====
The crowd's roar still echoed in Nicola's ears as she walked off the platform. Her legs felt like water. Her heart hammered against her ribs. But she was smiling—really smiling—for the first time since the tournament began.
Staraptor walked beside her, its massive wings folded against its body, its eyes still burning with the fire of evolution. It kept glancing at her, as if asking: did I do good? Did I make you proud?
She reached out and ran her fingers through its feathers.
"You were perfect," she said.
The tunnel swallowed them whole.
Briv caught up with her in the corridor. Patricia was right behind him, her blonde hair bouncing with each step, her blue eyes wide with something that looked like relief.
"That was incredible," Briv said.
"I know."
"Staravia evolving mid-battle? That's—"
"I know."
"The way he just—"
"I know." Nicola turned to face him. Her smile was still there, but it was softer now, less triumphant. "You don't have to tell me. I was there."
Briv laughed. "Fair enough."
Patricia stepped forward. "How do you feel?"
"Exhausted. Wired. Like I just ran a marathon and won." Nicola paused. "Also like I might throw up."
"That's normal."
"Is it?"
Patricia nodded. "After my match, I couldn't eat for two hours. My hands wouldn't stop shaking."
"My hands are still shaking."
They stood in the corridor together, three trainers in the glow of the arena's distant lights. The crowd's noise filtered through the walls—muffled, rhythmic, like the heartbeat of something enormous.
Dariana appeared from the shadows. Her dark eyes were bright, her lips curved in a smile that was both proud and knowing.
"Staraptor," she said. "That's a beautiful thing."
"He's beautiful," Nicola said.
"No—I mean the evolution. The timing. The way it happened." Dariana stepped closer. "That's not luck, Nicola. That's bond."
Nicola looked at her.
"Staravia evolved because he trusted you. Because he knew—on some level—that you needed him to be more." Dariana paused. "That's rare."
"I know."
"You don't have to keep saying that."
"I know." Nicola laughed. "Sorry. I'm still processing."
They stood together in the corridor, and for a moment, nobody spoke. The tournament raged on beyond the walls. The crowd cheered for warriors they would never meet. The world kept spinning.
But here, in this quiet space, there was only them.
The screens flickered.
Briv saw it first—the names materializing in letters of gold and crimson.
BIANCA VERSUS MERT
His blood ran cold.
"Mert," he said.
Patricia looked at the screen. Her face went pale.
"Who's Mert?" Nicola asked.
"A monster," Dariana said.
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Briv had heard stories. Whispered rumors. Drunken confessions from trainers who had faced Mert in the qualifying rounds and barely escaped with their dignity intact. The man was fifty-four years old—old enough to be their father—but he fought like a man half his age and twice as cruel.
He was tall. Broad. Heavy with muscle and fat and something darker. He drank before matches. Sometimes during. He called his opponents names—vulgar, degrading, designed to wound.
And his Pokémon fought the same way he did. Brutal. Relentless. Without mercy.
"Bianca's fighting him," Briv said.
"Bianca can handle herself," Nicola said.
"Can she?"
Nicola didn't answer.
The arena screens shifted again.
GWEN VERSUS JOHN
"Gwen," Patricia said. "Team Beavers."
"And John Alburth," Dariana said. "Pokémon researcher. Scientist. Kay's father."
Briv's jaw tightened.
He knew John. Had met him at a symposium last year. The man was brilliant—genuinely brilliant—but cold. Clinical. He treated Pokémon like specimens, like equations to be solved.
"He's not like Mert," Patricia said. "He's not cruel."
"No," Briv said. "But he's not kind either."
The announcer's voice boomed across the stadium.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THE FINAL TWO MATCHES OF ROUND THIRTY-TWO!"
The crowd erupted.
"FIRST! BIANCA VERSUS MERT!"
Briv's stomach twisted.
He didn't know Bianca well. Had met her once, briefly, at a party Dariana had thrown. She was a psychologist—young, kind, with wavy blonde hair and a smile that made you feel like everything was going to be okay.
She didn't belong in the same arena as Mert.
But she walked out anyway.
Bianca emerged from the west tunnel.
She moved with quiet confidence—her blonde hair pulled back, her dark eyes steady, her white and blue trainer's outfit clean and pressed. She looked calm. Composed. Professional.
She didn't look afraid.
Mert emerged from the east tunnel.
He was enormous—easily six-foot-four, his body a monument to excess. His shirt strained against his gut. His face was flushed with drink. His eyes were small, mean, and fixed on Bianca with something that made Briv's skin crawl.
He was smiling.
It wasn't a nice smile.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer said. "This 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."
Bianca reached for her first Poké Ball.
Mert laughed. It was a wet, ugly sound.
"Ready to lose, sweetheart?"
Bianca didn't flinch.
"I'm ready to battle," she said. "Are you?"
Mert's smile widened.
"BEGIN!"
Bianca threw first.
"Musharna."
The psychic type materialized in a swirl of pink and purple. It was round—soft, its body floating gently above the earth, its dreamy eyes half-closed. It looked harmless. Peaceful. Like something that belonged in a nursery, not a battlefield.
Mert laughed again.
"That's your Pokémon? A fucking pillow?"
Bianca didn't respond.
Mert threw.
" Krookodile."
The ground-dark type materialized in a burst of crimson and black. It was massive—its jaws wide, its scales gleaming, its eyes burning with predatory hunger. It landed on the earth with a thud that shook the arena.
"Krookodile. Crunch."
The ground-dark type lunged.
But Musharna was already moving.
It floated—not fast, not dramatic, but just fast enough. The Crunch missed. The ground-dark type's jaws snapped shut on empty air.
"Musharna. Psychic."
The psychic type's body glowed.
A wave of invisible energy erupted from its body—a pulse, a pressure, a force that hit Krookodile square in the chest. The ground-dark type staggered, its body trembling, its eyes crossing.
"The fuck?" Mert snarled.
"Again," Bianca said.
Musharna fired.
Another wave. Another pulse. Krookodile reeled, its body sparking, its jaws snapping at nothing.
"Krookodile! Earthquake!"
The ground-dark type's legs glowed.
It stomped—once, twice—and the arena shook. Cracks spread across the earth. Barriers flickered. The crowd screamed.
But Musharna didn't fall.
It floated. Calm. Untouched.
"Psychic," Bianca said.
Musharna fired.
The wave hit Krookodile square in the chest. The ground-dark type screamed, its body convulsing, its eyes rolling back.
"KROOKODILE IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! MUSHARNA WINS THE FIRST ROUND!"
The crowd erupted.
Mert recalled Krookodile.
His face was purple with rage.
"You fucking bitch," he spat.
Bianca didn't flinch.
"I'm sorry," she said. "But I don't speak to people who call me names."
She reached for her second Poké Ball.
Mert was already throwing.
"Scrafty!"
The dark-fighting type materialized in a burst of orange and black. It was lean—aggressive, its crest raised, its fists clenched, its eyes blazing with fury. It didn't wait for orders. It simply charged.
"Scrafty! High Jump Kick!"
The dark-fighting type lunged.
But Musharna was ready.
"Psychic."
The wave hit Scrafty mid-air, and the dark-fighting type was thrown backward. It hit the barrier with a crack, its body sparking, its crest drooping.
"Scrafty! Crunch!"
The dark-fighting type tried.
But Musharna was already moving.
"Psychic," Bianca said.
The wave hit Scrafty square in the chest. The dark-fighting type screamed, its body convulsing, its eyes rolling back.
"SCRAFTY IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! MUSHARNA WINS THE SECOND ROUND!"
The crowd erupted.
Mert recalled Scrafty.
His hands were shaking.
"You—" he started.
"I know," Bianca said. "I'm a bitch. I'm a whore. I'm whatever else you want to call me." She paused. "But I'm also winning."
She reached for her final Poké Ball.
Mert threw his.
"Sharpedo!"
The water-dark type materialized in a burst of blue and crimson. It was sleek—predatory, its jaws wide, its teeth jagged, its eyes burning with malice. It didn't wait. It simply attacked.
"Sharpedo! Crunch!"
The water-dark type lunged.
But Bianca was ready.
"Musharna. Psychic."
The wave hit Sharpedo mid-air. The water-dark type was thrown backward, its body sparking, its jaws snapping at nothing.
"Again," Bianca said.
Musharna fired.
Another wave. Another pulse. Sharpedo reeled, its body trembling, its eyes crossing.
"Sharpedo! Hydro Pump!"
The water-dark type's mouth opened.
A torrent of water erupted from its body—a jet, a lance, a force that hit Musharna square in the chest. The psychic type staggered, its body flickering, its eyes dimming.
But it didn't fall.
"Good," Bianca said. "Now. Dream Eater."
Musharna's body glowed.
A wave of dark energy erupted from its body—a pulse, a hunger, a force that hit Sharpedo square in the chest. The water-dark type screamed, its body convulsing, its energy draining.
"SHARPEDO IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! MUSHARNA WINS THE MATCH!"
The crowd erupted.
Bianca recalled Musharna.
She didn't pump her fist. Didn't shout. Didn't gloat. She simply looked at Mert—calm, steady, unafraid—and smiled.
"Good match," she said.
Mert stood on his platform.
His face was purple. His hands were shaking. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air.
"You—" he started.
"Goodbye," Bianca said.
She turned and walked off the platform.
Mert stood there for a long moment. Then he turned and stormed into his tunnel, his footsteps echoing like thunder.
The crowd cheered.
Briv watched from the stands.
His hands were shaking.
"Remind me," he said, "never to get on Bianca's bad side."
Patricia laughed. "She's a psychologist. She probably knows exactly how to destroy you."
"That's terrifying."
"That's impressive."
Dariana nodded. "Mert's been bullying opponents for years. She just dismantled him without breaking a sweat."
"She didn't even use her other two Pokémon."
"Didn't need to."
They watched as the screens flickered again.
GWEN VERSUS JOHN
"Last match," Nicola said.
"Thank the gods," Briv said.
The crowd settled.
Gwen emerged from the west tunnel.
She moved like shadow—slow, deliberate, her black hair streaked with turquoise swaying with each step. Her dark clothing blended with the tunnel's gloom. Her kohl-lined eyes were sharp, thoughtful, watching everything.
She didn't smile. She didn't wave. She simply walked to her platform and stood there, waiting.
John emerged from the east tunnel.
He moved like precision—calm, measured, his gray hair slicked back, his glasses gleaming under the arena lights. His white lab coat was immaculate. His expression was clinical.
He looked at Gwen like she was a puzzle to be solved.
"Trainers," the announcer said. "This will be a three-on-three match. Begin!"
Gwen threw first.
"Crobat."
The poison-flying type materialized in a burst of purple and blue. It was sleek—elegant, its wings spreading wide, its fangs gleaming, its eyes bright with intelligence. It didn't move. Didn't attack. It simply hovered there, waiting.
John nodded.
"Probopass."
The rock-steel type materialized in a burst of gray and red. It was massive—its body gleaming, its magnetic nose pulsing, its iron-filing mustache twitching. It hovered above the earth, its small floating units orbiting it like moons.
Gwen's jaw tightened.
"Probopass," she said. "Defensive. Slow."
"Correct," John said. "But not slow enough."
"Probopass. Thunder Wave."
The rock-steel type's body glowed.
But Crobat was already moving.
It dodged—faster than anything its size should have been able to move—and the wave missed. It hit the barrier behind it, crackling against the glass.
"Crobat. Confuse Ray."
The poison-flying type's body glowed.
A beam of light erupted from its eyes—soft, shimmering, hypnotic. It hit Probopass square in the face, and the rock-steel type shuddered, its magnetic field flickering.
"Probopass. Power Gem."
The rock-steel type tried.
But its body wouldn't cooperate. The confusion held. The magnetic field warped. The attack missed.
"Crobat. Air Slash."
The poison-flying type's wings glowed.
A blade of wind erupted from its body—sharp, invisible, impossibly fast. It hit Probopass square in the chest, and the rock-steel type staggered, its body sparking.
"Interesting," John said. "You're using status moves to disable my defenses."
"Something like that," Gwen said.
"Then you've already lost."
Probopass's body glowed.
The confusion faded. The magnetic field stabilized. The rock-steel type's eyes burned with renewed focus.
"Probopass. Flash Cannon."
A beam of silver energy erupted from its body—a lance of light that screamed across the arena and hit Crobat square in the chest. The poison-flying type flew backward, its body smoking, its wings flailing.
"Crobat!" Gwen shouted.
The poison-flying type tried to rise.
But Probopass was already attacking.
"Power Gem."
The rock-steel type fired.
Another sphere. Another impact. Crobat crumpled.
"CROBAT IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! PROBOPASS WINS THE FIRST ROUND!"
The crowd murmured.
Gwen recalled Crobat.
Her hands were steady.
"Not bad," she said.
"I know."
"But not good enough." Gwen reached for her second Poké Ball. "Not yet."
She threw.
"Absol."
The dark type materialized in a burst of white and black. It was elegant—sleek, its fur gleaming, its horn sharp, its eyes burning with quiet intelligence. It didn't move. Didn't attack. It simply stood there, watching.
John's eyes narrowed.
"Absol," he said. "The disaster Pokémon. Interesting choice."
"He's my partner," Gwen said. "And he's going to bury your Probopass."
"We'll see."
"Absol. Night Slash."
The dark type lunged.
It crossed the arena in a blur of white and black, its horn glowing with dark energy. It hit Probopass square in the chest, and the rock-steel type staggered, its body sparking.
"Probopass. Flash Cannon."
The rock-steel type's body glowed.
But Absol was already moving.
It dodged—faster than anything its size should have been able to move—and the beam missed. It hit the barrier behind it, exploding against the glass.
"Absol. Psycho Cut."
The dark type's horn glowed.
A blade of psychic energy erupted from its body—sharp, invisible, impossibly fast. It hit Probopass square in the chest, and the rock-steel type screamed, its body convulsing.
"PROBOPASS IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! ABSOL WINS THE SECOND ROUND!"
The crowd erupted.
John recalled Probopass.
His expression didn't change.
"Impressive," he said. "You've exceeded my expectations."
"I know."
"You shouldn't." John reached for his second Poké Ball. "Because now I'm going to show you the difference between us."
He threw.
"Magnezone."
The electric-steel type materialized in a burst of gray and red. It hovered above the earth, its saucer-shaped body gleaming, its single red eye fixed on Absol.
Gwen's jaw tightened.
"Magnezone," she said. "Electric-steel. Resistant to dark."
"Correct," John said. "But not resistant enough."
"Magnezone. Thunderbolt."
The electric-steel type's body crackled.
A bolt of lightning erupted from its body—a lance of pure energy that screamed across the arena and hit Absol square in the chest. The dark type staggered, its body sparking, its fur standing on end.
"Absol! Night Slash!"
The dark type tried.
But Magnezone was already moving.
It dodged—faster than anything its size should have been able to move—and the attack missed. It hit the barrier behind it, shattering against the glass.
"Magnezone. Flash Cannon."
The electric-steel type's body glowed.
A beam of silver energy erupted from its body—a lance of light that screamed across the arena and hit Absol square in the chest. The dark type flew backward, its body smoking, its eyes dimming.
"Absol!" Gwen shouted.
The dark type tried to rise.
But Magnezone was already attacking.
"Thunderbolt."
The bolt hit Absol square in the chest. The dark type screamed, its body convulsing, its eyes rolling back.
"ABSOL IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! MAGNEZONE WINS THE THIRD ROUND!"
The crowd murmured.
Gwen recalled Absol.
Her hands were shaking.
But her eyes were dry.
"Not bad," John said.
"Shut up."
"Excuse me?"
"I said shut up." Gwen reached for her final Poké Ball. "You haven't won yet."
She threw.
"Umbreon."
The dark type materialized in a swirl of black and gold. It was sleek—elegant, its fur shimmering like oil on water, its golden rings glowing with soft light. It didn't move. Didn't attack. It simply stood there, its red eyes fixed on Magnezone.
John's eyes widened.
"Umbreon," he said. "The moonlight Pokémon."
"He's my partner," Gwen said. "And he's going to bury your Magnezone."
"We'll see."
"Umbreon. Toxic."
The dark type's body glowed.
But Magnezone was already moving.
It dodged—faster than anything its size should have been able to move—and the poison missed. It hit the earth behind it, sizzling, spreading.
"Magnezone. Thunderbolt."
The electric-steel type's body crackled.
A bolt of lightning erupted from its body—a lance of pure energy that screamed across the arena and hit Umbreon square in the chest. The dark type staggered, its body sparking, its rings flickering.
"Umbreon. Moonlight."
The dark type's body glowed.
The clouds above parted. Moonlight streamed down from the sky—impossible, given the arena's roof—and bathed Umbreon in silver light. The dark type's wounds healed. Its body strengthened. Its eyes blazed.
"Interesting," John said. "You're using healing to counter my offense."
"Something like that," Gwen said.
"Then you've already lost."
Magnezone's body glowed.
"Flash Cannon."
A beam of silver energy erupted from its body—a lance of light that screamed across the arena and hit Umbreon square in the chest. The dark type flew backward, its body smoking, its rings flickering.
But Umbreon didn't fall.
It rose—slowly, painfully, but it rose.
"Umbreon. Foul Play."
The dark type's body glowed.
It twisted—using Magnezone's own strength against it—and the electric-steel type was thrown across the arena. Magnezone hit the barrier with a crack, its body sparking, its single red eye flickering.
"Good," Gwen said. "Again."
Umbreon attacked.
It was relentless—a blur of black and gold, a storm of fangs and claws. It hit Magnezone again and again, its body blazing with dark energy, its eyes burning with fury.
"Magnezone! Thunderbolt!"
The electric-steel type tried.
But Umbreon was ready.
It dodged—faster than anything its size should have been able to move—and the bolt missed. It hit the barrier behind it, exploding against the glass.
"Umbreon. Foul Play!"
The dark type's body glowed.
It twisted—using Magnezone's own strength against it—and the electric-steel type was thrown across the arena. Magnezone hit the barrier with a crack, its body convulsing, its eye dimming.
"MAGNEZONE IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! UMBREON WINS THE MATCH!"
The crowd erupted.
Gwen stood on her platform.
Her hands were still shaking.
But she was smiling.
She had won.
John recalled Magnezone.
His expression didn't change.
But something shifted in his eyes. Something cold. Something calculating. Something that made Gwen's blood run cold.
"Impressive," he said. "You've exceeded my expectations."
"I know."
"You shouldn't." John turned and walked off his platform. "Because now you know the truth."
"What truth?"
John stopped.
He didn't turn around.
"That no matter how hard you try," he said, "no matter how much you prepare, no matter how much you believe in yourself..." He paused. "You will never be good enough."
He disappeared into the tunnel.
Gwen stood on her platform.
Her hands were still shaking.
But she was still smiling.
She had won.
And that was enough.
The crowd's roar faded into a dull hum. The arena lights dimmed. The screens flickered one last time, displaying the updated bracket.
ROUND OF SIXTEEN
The names scrolled across the screen—survivors of the gauntlet, warriors who had clawed their way through blood and sweat and tears.
Briv saw Patricia's name. Nicola's name. Dariana's name.
And then he saw the others.
Niklaus Eterngust. Chigusa. Ennui. Malva.