Chapter 12: Reunion with the Bad Boys
The new weight on Briv’s belt, the one that held Piplup’s quiet, tentative trust, felt like a secret shield as they navigated the less-traveled canals of Aethelburg. Axel had insisted on moving again, this time to a rented barge tucked away in a watery alley where the glowing algae clung thick to ancient stonework. The air was cool and damp, smelling of wet rock and distant blooms. It was a far cry from the city’s radiant heart, a hiding place that felt both clever and desperately fragile.
“He’s too quiet,” Dariana murmured, her eyes on Piplup. The little penguin stood at the barge’s edge, staring into the shimmering green water, its posture less despondent than before, but still wrapped in a profound, watchful silence. It had accepted a berry from Briv but hadn’t yet met Chimchar’s playful, chattering attempts at friendship.
“He’s processing,” Briv said, his voice low. “A year is a long time to be alone.” He watched Chimchar finally give up and start juggling pebbles with its feet, the normalcy of the act a comfort.
Axel was below deck, presumably communicating with Rotom or one of his cryptic contacts. Patricia and Nicola were sitting on a worn bench, quietly discussing type advantages, their conversation a soft, focused hum. For a moment, with the gentle lap of water against the hull, it almost felt peaceful. It was a lie, of course, but a comforting one.
The sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps on the cobblestone path above the canal cut through the illusion. Two figures, silhouetted against the hazy glow of the city’s artificial dusk, stopped directly opposite their barge.
“Well, well. Look what the Meowth dragged in,” a familiar, sneering voice called down.
Briv’s head snapped up. Patricia and Nicola fell silent. Dariana shifted her weight, her hand drifting instinctively to Gallade’s Poké Ball.
The two figures descended a short flight of mossy steps to the water’s edge, coming into the full, garish light of a nearby canal lamp. It was Roger and Callum. But they were… remade.
The spiky-haired, arrogant rock fan and the loud, defiant punk from the League were gone, replaced by harder, sharper versions. Roger’s arms, once bare, were now sleeved in black ink that swirled into jagged, abstract patterns, and a silver bar pierced his eyebrow. Callum’s purple hair was shaved on one side, revealing a intricate tattoo of a serpent coiled around his ear, and a cluster of rings adorned his lip. Their clothes were darker, more tactical, but it was the insignias stitched over their hearts that made Briv’s blood run cold: a stylized, black sun eclipsed by a crescent moon. The Eclipse Squad emblem.
“Roger? Callum?” Briv said, the names feeling strange on his tongue. “What… what is this?”
“A promotion,” Roger said, his voice dripping with a newfound, practiced contempt. He spread his arms, showcasing the tattoos, the piercings, the uniform. “We got tired of playing by the rules for scraps of recognition. The League is a joke. A circus for washed-up champions and their fan clubs.” His eyes, sharp and mocking, landed on Briv.
Callum chuckled, a low, unpleasant sound. “Yeah, remember how they cheered for you, Ambertone? The ‘funny and smart guy’.” He made air quotes, the rings on his fingers glinting. “We lost to you. We remember that. They offered us a way to never lose again.”
Piplup had gone completely still, its back to the newcomers, but its small head was tilted, listening. Chimchar had stopped juggling, its flame tail burning a steady, intense blue.
“They offered you what?” Patricia asked, her voice tight with a mix of anger and disbelief. “The chance to bolt metal onto living Pokémon? To torture them for power?”
Roger’s smirk didn’t falter. “They offered us evolution. Real power. Not this sentimental bond crap you’re always preaching. They cut away the weakness. In a Pokémon. In a person.” He tapped his own temple. “They showed us what matters. Strength. Control. And yeah, revenge.”
The word hung in the damp air, toxic and final.
“Revenge for what?” Nicola shot back, stepping forward, her own competitive fire igniting. “For losing a fair battle? You joined these… these monsters because your pride got hurt?”
“It’s not about pride, Sunfall. It’s about potential,” Callum said, his gaze sweeping over their group with naked disdain. “Look at you. Hiding on a smelly barge. Jumping at shadows. Champions? You’re prey. And we’re the hunters now.”
Briv felt a hot flush of anger rise in his chest, burning away the initial shock. “Get lost, Callum. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t we?” Roger took a step closer, the toe of his boot almost touching the water. “We know you tangled with Samantha. And lived. For now. That puts a big target on you. And we just volunteered to be the ones to paint it.”
He looked directly at Briv, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. “Our new boss, Niklaus, he’s very interested in you. Thinks you’ve got… spirit. He’s looking forward to breaking it. We’re going to be the warm-up act.”
The threat was direct, personal. It wasn’t the vague menace of a shadowy organization anymore; it was the focused hatred of people they knew, weaponized and given a uniform.
“You’re insane,” Dariana stated, her voice cold and flat. “You’ve sold yourselves to psychopaths.”
“We’ve bought our way to the top,” Callum corrected. He pointed a finger, jabbing it toward each of them. “We’ll be seeing you. Soon. It’s gonna be a real League reunion. And this time, there won’t be any judges to save you.”
With a final, shared laugh that echoed unnaturally in the confined space, the two turned and climbed back up the steps, their forms swallowed by the gloom of the overpass.
Silence descended, heavier and more profound than before. The gentle lapping of the water now sounded like a countdown.
Nicola was the first to speak, her voice a strained whisper. “They… they were at the Indigo Plateau with us. We had lunch with them after the quarter-finals.”
Patricia wrapped her arms around herself, a shiver running through her despite the warm air. “They joined them. They actually joined them.”
The reality of it was a physical blow. The Eclipse Squad wasn’t just a faceless enemy in the shadows anymore. It had a face. Two of them. Faces they had laughed with, competed against, known. The organization had roots, and they were digging into the very soil of their past, twisting old rivalries into something dark and vengeful.
Briv looked down at Piplup. The small Pokémon had finally turned around. Its deep, sorrowful eyes were no longer on the water, but on the spot where Roger and Callum had stood. There was a new understanding in its gaze, a bleak recognition of the world it had just re-entered—a world where bonds could be shattered and old allies could become hunters.
The fragile trust he had built with Piplup now felt like the most valuable thing in the world, and the most terrifyingly exposed. The battle lines had not just been drawn; they had been personalized.
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The battle lines had not just been drawn; they had been personalized. The encounter with Roger and Callum left a chemical taste of dread in the air, a lingering poison that their hideout on the barge couldn’t filter out. Piplup remained a small, blue statue of apprehension, its earlier progress seemingly frozen by the newcomers’ venom.
“We can’t stay here,” Axel stated, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. He emerged from below deck, his expression grim. “Rotom picked up their comms chatter. They were scouts. They’ve marked the location.”
“So we run again?” Nicola snapped, frustration boiling over. “That’s the grand strategy? Just keep moving until they corner us in a dead end?”
“The strategy is to not get cornered in the first place,” Axel shot back, his green eyes narrowing. “They know this city’s underbelly better than we do. Our advantage was secrecy. They just stripped it.” He grabbed his bag. “We’re leaving. Now. Through the old canal works.”
The old canal works were a labyrinth of crumbling brick and stagnant water, a skeleton of the city’s past buried beneath its shining streets. The air was thick with the smell of decay and the distant, rhythmic dripping of water. Their footsteps echoed ominously in the vast, dark tunnels, the only light coming from the soft glow of the canals and the occasional flicker from Rotom, who zipped ahead to scout the path.
They moved in a tight, silent group, their senses stretched thin. Every scuttling sound from a shadowy alcove made them jump. Patricia held Buneary close, its long ears twitching at every noise. Briv kept his hand on Piplup’s ball, as if the physical contact could transmit some reassurance through the plastic shell.
After what felt like an hour of tense navigation, they found a rusty metal ladder leading up to a street-level grate. Axel gestured for silence, listening intently before pushing it open a crack. The familiar sounds of a bustling city square flooded in—a jarring return to normality.
“Clear,” he muttered, and they climbed out into a relatively quiet plaza nestled between Aethelburg’s towering spires. The sun was high, casting dappled light through the leaves of ornate trees. It was a picture of peace.
The peace shattered in an instant.
“Well, look who it is. The sewer rats have surfaced.”
Officer Jenny stood in the center of the plaza, her teal hair pulled back in its severe ponytail, her uniform crisp and authoritative. She had one hand on her hip, the other resting on Arcanine’s massive, warm flank. The majestic Pokémon stood alert, its fiery mane flickering gently, its intelligent eyes fixed on the two figures blocking the plaza’s main exit.
Roger and Callum stood there, arms crossed, identical smirks plastered on their faces. The Eclipse Squad insignia on their chests seemed to absorb the sunlight.
“Officer,” Roger said, his tone mockingly polite. “Fancy meeting you here. We were just enjoying the day.”
“You’re violating your parole, Roger,” Jenny’s voice was like steel. “And you, Callum, are wanted for questioning in three districts. You’re both coming with me.”
Callum laughed, a sharp, barking sound that held no humor. “Or what? You’ll write us a ticket? We’re not playing your little cop games anymore, Jenny.”
Jenny’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t a game. You’re under arrest.”
“We challenge you,” Roger said, the words dropping into the plaza like stones. “A Pokémon battle. Right here, right now. Official League rules. Or are you too much of a coward to defend your authority?”
It was a trap, blatant and brutal. A public challenge from a licensed trainer, even a disgraced one, couldn’t be ignored by an officer without losing all credibility. The few civilians in the plaza had stopped to watch, their expressions a mix of curiosity and alarm.
Jenny’s eyes flickered toward Briv’s group for a fraction of a second, a silent warning to stay out of it. She was boxed in. “I accept,” she said, her voice carrying across the square. “But when you lose, you come quietly.”
“Oh, we won’t lose,” Callum said, pulling a Poké Ball from his belt. It was a modified model, black with a pulsating red ring around the center. “Electivire. Let’s remind everyone what real power looks like.”
The massive Electric-type materialized with a ground-shaking thud. It was larger than any Electivire Briv had ever seen, its yellow and black hide crisscrossed with thin, silvery scars. Its eyes glowed with a faint, unnatural red light, and the plugs on its back crackled with barely restrained voltage. This was no wild Pokémon; it was a veteran of countless, brutal fights.
“Arcanine,” Jenny commanded, her voice steady. “Stand ready!”
The battle began not with a flurry of movement, but with a palpable shift in the air. Electivire didn’t wait for an order. It simply stomped the ground, and a wave of raw electricity, a Discharge, erupted from its body in a blinding, deafening cascade.
Arcanine roared, a sound of defiance and pain, as the volts wracked its body. It shook off the paralysis, its own mane flaring brighter, and lunged forward with impossible speed, fangs bared in a powerful Fire Fang.
Electivire took the hit, the fire sizzling against its hide, and grinned. It grabbed Arcanine by the scruff of the neck with one powerful hand. With the other, it delivered a Thunder Punch directly into the Noble Pokémon’s side.
The crack of impact was sickening. Arcanine yelped, a short, pained sound, and was thrown back, skidding across the cobblestones.
“It’s too strong,” Dariana whispered, her strategist’s mind analyzing the hopeless mismatch. “It’s not just levels. It’s… optimized for damage. There’s no defense, only attack.”
“Arcanine, Extreme Speed!” Jenny yelled, a note of desperation creeping into her voice.
Arcanine became a blur of orange and flame, striking Electivire from the side. The Electric-type staggered but didn’t fall. It turned, its red eyes locking onto its target with cold precision.
“Wild Charge,” Callum said, his voice calm, almost bored.
Electivire became a comet of pure, self-destructive lightning. It slammed into Arcanine with the force of a train, the resulting explosion of light and sound forcing the onlookers to shield their eyes. When the glare faded, Arcanine was on its side, breathing in ragged, shuddering gasps. Its magnificent fur was scorched and smoking.
Jenny stared, her professional composure shattered. “Arcanine… return.” She reached for its Poké Ball.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Roger tutted, stepping forward. “Official League challenge. Victory rights. The winner has claim to the loser’s Pokémon. It’s in the rulebook, Officer. Page forty-two, I believe.”
“That’s for voluntary exchanges between trainers, you bastard!” Nicola shouted, unable to stay silent any longer.
“The law’s the law,” Callum sneered. “You lost. We claim the Arcanine.”
Jenny stood frozen, her hand hovering over the Poké Ball. This was an perversion of everything the rules stood for, a legalistic knife twisted by monsters.
Roger didn’t wait for her response. He pulled a device from his pocket. It was a sinister-looking contraption of black metal and glowing violet energy, shaped like a twisted claw. An Extractor.
“No!” Jenny screamed, lunging forward.
It was too late. Roger aimed the device at the injured, helpless Arcanine. A beam of violent purple light shot out, enveloping the Pokémon. Arcanine’s body convulsed, its pained whimpers turning into a silent scream as its form was dissolved not into the friendly red energy of a Poké Ball, but into a screaming vortex of violet light that was violently sucked into the device.
The light vanished. The plaza was silent. Arcanine was gone.
The Extractor glowed with a sickening inner light, a prison containing a beloved partner. Roger attached it to his belt with a satisfied click.
Officer Jenny didn’t make a sound. She simply dropped to her knees, her hands empty at her sides. She stared at the spot where Arcanine had lain, her face a mask of utter devastation. The strong, authoritative guardian of order was gone, replaced by a hollowed-out woman, broken by a loss so profound it was physical.
Callum looked down at her, his expression one of pure contempt. “Thanks for the new Pokémon, Officer. We’ll put it to better use than you ever did.”
With that, the two turned and walked casually away, melting into the flow of the city as if they hadn’t just committed a public act of soul-murder.
The small crowd dispersed quickly, unnerved and fearful. The plaza was empty save for Briv, his friends, and the kneeling form of Officer Jenny.
Axel was the first to move, his face a storm of cold fury. He knelt beside Jenny, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. She didn’t acknowledge it.
Briv felt a hot, sharp clarity cut through his fear. He saw Piplup’s ball on his belt, a symbol of a bond rescued from despair. He saw the empty space where Arcanine had been, a bond violently stolen. This wasn’t about badges or glory or even just survival anymore.
Patricia was crying silent tears, her hand over her mouth. Dariana’s knuckles were white where she gripped the railing. Nicola looked like she wanted to set the entire city on fire.
Briv walked over and stood next to Axel, looking down at the broken officer. He then looked at his friends, meeting each of their eyes. The shared horror forged a new resolve, a cold, hard knot of purpose in his chest.
“We’re not just going to hide,” Briv said, his voice low but unwavering. “We’re not just going to survive.” He looked in the direction Roger and Callum had gone, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “We’re going to get Arcanine back. And then we’re going to dismantle that entire sick organization, piece by piece.”
It was a vow, spoken into the silence left by a stolen friend. The game was over. This was war.