Chapter 41: Patricia VS Gwen
The rooftop had emptied slowly, like water draining from a cracked vessel.
Officer Jenny had been the first to leave, her radio crackling with a dispatch call that pulled her back into the city's endless machinery of order and chaos. She'd squeezed Nicola's shoulder once—a brief, firm gesture that said more than words—and then she was gone, her boots echoing down the stairwell.
Samuel had departed next, his Doduo's twin heads drooping with exhaustion, his Bonsly sniffling quietly against his shoulder. He'd offered to stay, but Dariana had shaken her head and told him to get some rest. They'd need clear heads tomorrow, she said. Whatever tomorrow brought.
Now it was just the four of them.
Briv sat on the edge of the rooftop, his legs dangling over the side, Chimchar curled up in his lap with its flame tail dimmed to a gentle glow. Patricia was beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, her Buneary pressed against her hip. Nicola sat a few feet away, her knees drawn up to her chest, Skorupi cradled in her arms despite the poison-type's protests.
Dariana stood at the center of the rooftop, her Gallade beside her, its blade-arms folded across its chest. She was staring at the sky, at the crystal towers piercing the darkness, at the floating bridges that connected Aethelburg's districts like arteries in some vast mechanical beast.
"We should get her to a Pokémon Center," Dariana said quietly, nodding toward Skorupi.
"I know." Nicola's voice was hoarse. "I just... I need a minute."
"You can have as many minutes as you need." Briv shifted, careful not to disturb Chimchar. "We're not going anywhere."
Nicola looked at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face blotchy, but there was something different in her expression now—something softer, more open. The walls she'd spent years building were still there, but they had cracks in them now. Hairline fractures that let the light through.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"For what?"
"For dragging you into this. For making you watch." She swallowed hard. "For being so stupid."
"You weren't stupid." Patricia lifted her head, her blue eyes fierce. "You were brave. There's a difference."
"Was I?" Nicola laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I walked into a trap. I let him bait me. I could have just walked away, but I—"
"You faced him." Dariana turned from the sky, her dark eyes blazing. "You faced the man who hurt you, and you didn't run. You didn't hide. You stood your ground and you fought. That's not stupid. That's the bravest thing I've ever seen."
Nicola's breath hitched. She looked down at Skorupi, at the little poison-type's battered body, at the cracks in its carapace that she'd caused.
"I almost lost you," she whispered.
Skorupi clicked its pincers weakly, the closest thing to reassurance it could manage. Its blue eyes met hers, and there was no accusation in them—only trust. Only loyalty. Only the unshakeable certainty that whatever happened next, they would face it together.
"We should go," Briv said, standing carefully so he wouldn't disturb Chimchar. "There's a Pokémon Center three blocks from here. We can get everyone patched up, get some sleep, figure out what comes next."
"What comes next?" Patricia asked.
The question hung in the air, heavy with implication.
"Jack said he'd be back," Dariana said quietly. "And Heather's still out there. The Eclipse Squad is growing. Something's building, something bigger than any of us realize."
"Then we find out what it is," Briv said. "And we stop it."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." He held out his hand to Nicola. "You in?"
She looked at his hand. At his face. At the four of them—her friends, her allies, her family in everything but blood—waiting for her answer.
Slowly, she reached out and took his hand.
"I'm in."
---
The Pokémon Center was a beacon of light in the darkness, its red roof glowing like a lighthouse against the night sky. The night nurse—a young woman with tired eyes and a kind smile—took one look at Skorupi, Magnemite, and Starly and immediately whisked them away to the back room.
"These will take a few hours," she said. "You're welcome to wait in the lobby. There's coffee in the corner."
They claimed a cluster of seats near the window, where they could watch the city's lights ripple across the canals. Patricia had fallen asleep almost immediately, her head in Briv's lap, her Buneary curled up on her chest. Dariana was scrolling through her phone, her expression dark as she read something that made her jaw tighten.
Briv was too wired to sleep. His mind kept replaying the battle—the way Nicola had fought, the way Jack had smiled, the way Dariana had stepped in at exactly the right moment. Something about it didn't sit right.
"How did you know?" he asked.
Dariana looked up from her phone. "Know what?"
"The rules. The League regulations. You cited the exact section and subsection. You had that ready."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she set her phone down and turned to face him fully.
"Because I've dealt with men like Jack before," she said. "Not exactly the same, but... similar. Men who think they can take what they want because they have power. Men who use rules as weapons and then pretend they don't exist when they're losing."
Briv studied her face. There was something in her eyes—a shadow, a memory—that she usually kept hidden.
"What happened to you?" he asked softly.
Dariana's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "That's a story for another time. Right now, we have bigger problems."
"Like what?"
She picked up her phone and handed it to him. On the screen was a news article, the headline emblazoned in bold red letters:
ECLIPSE SQUAD SPOTTED IN AETHELBURG: RUMORS OF A NEW RECRUITMENT DRIVE SPARK FEAR AND SPECULATION
Briv's blood ran cold.
"There are sightings all over the city," Dariana said. "Roger and Callum were spotted near the eastern docks this afternoon. Heather was seen entering a building in the financial district. And there's something else—something that didn't make the news."
She swiped to a private message, encrypted, from a contact Briv didn't recognize.
"Look at the name at the bottom."
Briv's eyes scanned the text. Then he saw it.
Gwen.
The air left his lungs in a rush.
"She's back?" he said. "She's with them?"
"I don't know." Dariana's voice was tight. "But I intend to find out."
---
They found Gwen two days later, in a hole-in-the-wall café in the old quarter of Aethelburg, where the streets were narrow and the buildings leaned into each other like old friends sharing secrets. She was sitting alone at a corner table, a cup of black coffee in front of her, her short black hair with its turquoise streaks falling across her face as she scrolled through her phone.
She looked exactly the same as the last time they'd seen her—the same dark eyeliner, the same striped sleeves, the same choker around her pale throat. But there was something different in her eyes. Something harder. Something colder.
She looked up as they entered, and her expression flickered—surprise, then wariness, then something that might have been relief.
"You found me," she said.
"Wasn't hard." Briv slid into the seat across from her. "You're not exactly subtle."
"Neither are you." Gwen's gaze moved to Patricia, to Dariana, to Nicola. "I see you brought the whole crew. I'm flattered."
"We need to talk," Patricia said.
"I'm sure you do." Gwen took a sip of her coffee. "Let me guess. You want to know why I'm here. You want to know what I'm doing with the Eclipse Squad. You want to know if I'm a threat."
"Are you?" Nicola asked.
Gwen's lips curved into a smile—not warm, not cold, just... tired. "That depends on your definition of threat."
"I don't have time for games," Briv said. "You were part of Team Beavers. You helped us before, then you disappeared. Now you're back, and there's an Eclipse Squad recruitment drive happening in the same city. That's not a coincidence."
"You're right." Gwen set down her cup. "It's not."
Silence stretched between them.
"I'm not with the Eclipse Squad," Gwen said finally. "But I know some things about them. Things you need to hear."
"Then talk."
"I will." Gwen's gaze moved to Patricia, and something shifted in her expression—something sharper, more focused. "But first, I want something in return."
"What?"
"A battle." Gwen stood, pulling a Poké Ball from her belt. "Three-on-three. You and me, Crownleaf. Right now."
Patricia blinked. "What?"
"You heard me." Gwen's smile widened. "I've been watching you, Patricia. The way you fight. The way you think. You're good—better than you realize. But there's something holding you back. Something that keeps you from reaching your full potential."
"And a battle is going to fix that?"
"A battle is going to show you what you're capable of." Gwen tossed her Poké Ball into the air and caught it. "You accept, I'll tell you everything I know about the Eclipse Squad. Their plans, their members, their weaknesses. Everything."
Patricia looked at Briv. At Nicola. At Dariana.
Then she stood and grabbed her own Poké Ball.
"Deal."
---
They found an abandoned plaza in the old quarter, a circular courtyard surrounded by crumbling statues and overgrown fountains. The perfect place for an unsanctioned battle—hidden enough to avoid attention, open enough to allow their Pokémon room to fight.
Gwen stood at one end of the plaza, her three Poké Balls arranged on her belt, her expression calm and calculating. Patricia stood at the other, her Buneary on her shoulder, her Buizel at her feet, her Gligar hovering above.
"No referee," Gwen said. "No rules beyond the basics. We fight until one of us has no Pokémon left standing."
"Fine by me," Patricia replied.
"Then let's begin." Gwen's first ball opened. "Houndour."
The dark-type materialized in a flash of red light, its black fur gleaming, its orange muzzle wrinkled in a snarl. Houndour was smaller than some of the Pokémon Patricia had faced, but there was nothing small about its presence. Its eyes burned like coals, and when it growled, the sound seemed to come from somewhere deep and primal.
"Buizel," Patricia said. "Let's go."
Her water-type bounded forward, its twin tails swishing, its expression eager. Buizel had been spoiling for a fight all week—Patricia had noticed the way it fidgeted during training, the way it challenged the other Pokémon to sparring matches—and now it finally had one.
"Ember," Gwen commanded.
Houndour's mouth opened, and a stream of fire erupted toward Buizel. But the water-type was already moving—a blur of orange and cream, darting sideways, then forward, then sideways again. The fire passed through empty air.
"Aqua Jet."
Buizel's body became a missile of water, launching itself at Houndour with incredible speed. The impact sent the dark-type tumbling backward, its yelp of surprise cut short by the water splashing across its fur.
But Houndour recovered quickly. It was back on its feet before Buizel could press the advantage, its eyes narrowing, its growl deepening.
"Smog."
The dark cloud erupted from Houndour's mouth, thick and noxious. Buizel coughed, its eyes watering, its movements slowing as the poison seeped into its lungs.
"Quick Attack," Patricia ordered. "Get above it."
Buizel launched itself upward, escaping the smog's reach, and then came down hard on Houndour's back. The dark-type collapsed under the impact, but it didn't stay down—it twisted, jaws snapping, teeth catching Buizel's tail.
"Fire Fang."
Flames erupted from Houndour's mouth, racing up Buizel's tail. The water-type screamed—a horrible, high-pitched sound—and Patricia felt her heart clench.
"Withdraw! Use Water Gun to put it out!"
Buizel released a torrent of water, dousing the flames on its own tail before they could do lasting damage. But Houndour wasn't done—it lunged forward, jaws still glowing with heat, ready to finish what it had started.
"Counter with Aqua Jet!"
Buizel met Houndour head-on, its water-wreathed body slamming into the dark-type's chest. The force of the collision sent them both tumbling across the plaza, but Buizel recovered first. It stood over Houndour, its water swirling, its eyes blazing with fury.
"Finish it," Patricia said. "Water Gun. Full power."
The torrent struck Houndour square in the face. The dark-type howled, struggling to stay upright, but it was no use—the water was too much, the damage too severe. It collapsed, its fur soaked, its eyes closed.
"Houndour is down," Dariana called from the sidelines. She'd appointed herself referee after all. "Gwen, send out your next Pokémon."
Gwen recalled Houndour with a thoughtful expression. She wasn't angry—if anything, she looked pleased. Like a teacher whose student had just solved a particularly difficult problem.
"Not bad," she said. "But let's see how you handle this. Banette."
The ghost-type materialized with a shriek of unearthly laughter, its zippered mouth stretching into a horrible grin. Banette was a puppet given life—a discarded toy filled with malice and rage—and its presence made the air feel colder, heavier.
Buizel took a step back, its confidence wavering.
"Stay focused," Patricia said. "Buizel, Aqua Jet."
The water-type launched forward—but Banette was faster. It vanished, its body dissolving into shadow, and reappeared behind Buizel with its arms outstretched.
"Knock Off."
The strike hit Buizel from behind, sending the water-type sprawling. It scrambled to its feet, but Banette was already on the move—dancing, twirling, its zipper-mouth opening and closing with a sound like grinding teeth.
"Shadow Ball."
The orb of darkness struck Buizel before Patricia could call a dodge. The water-type staggered, its body flickering with ghostly energy, and Patricia knew she was running out of time.
"Buizel, return!"
She recalled her Pokémon before it could faint. Buizel had fought well—but Banette was on another level.
"Gligar," she said. "Your turn."
Her Gligar appeared in a flash of light, its dark violet wings spreading wide, its yellow eyes fixed on Banette with cold precision. The ground-type had been patient throughout the first match—watching, calculating, learning—and now it was ready.
"Gligar, Sand Attack."
The burst of sand caught Banette in the middle of its dance. The ghost-type screeched, its movements slowing as the sand clogged its joints.
"Shadow Ball."
But Gligar was already airborne. It soared above the orb, its wings catching the wind, and dove toward Banette with its claws extended.
"Faint Attack."
The dark-type move struck Banette square in the chest. The ghost-type staggered, its zipper-mouth rattling with rage, and then it lunged—faster than anything its size should have been capable of.
"Night Shade."
The ghostly energy engulfed Gligar, and the flying-type screamed. But it didn't fall. It broke free, its wings beating furiously, and circled back for another pass.
"It's using its speed," Dariana said quietly. "Banette can't match it in the air."
Patricia nodded. "Gligar, keep moving. Don't give it a target."
The two Pokémon danced through the air, Gligar weaving and diving, Banette lashing out with ghostly attacks and shadowy tendrils. But with every passing second, the ghost-type slowed. The sand in its joints was taking its toll, as was the accumulated damage.
"One more pass," Patricia said. "Faint Attack. Aim for the zipper."
Gligar dove. Banette raised its arms to block—but it was too slow, too damaged, too tired. Gligar's claws found the zipper and ripped it open, and Banette's shriek of rage became something else entirely.
Something like fear.
The ghost-type collapsed, its body flickering, its life force fading. It didn't faint—not exactly—but it was done. It couldn't fight anymore.
"Banette is down," Dariana said. "Gwen, your final Pokémon."
Gwen recalled Banette with an expression that was almost—almost—impressed. She looked at Patricia with new eyes, and for a moment, the coldness in her gaze softened.
"You're better than I thought," she said.
"I've had good teachers," Patricia replied.
Gwen's lips twitched. "Let's see how good. Murkrow."
The dark-flying type appeared with a caw that echoed off the crumbling statues behind them. Murkrow was sleek and black, its feathers shining like oil, its red eyes gleaming with intelligence and cruelty. It didn't wait for a command—it launched itself into the air, wings beating hard, diving toward Gligar with talons extended.
"Wing Attack!"
Gligar twisted, narrowly avoiding the strike. But Murkrow was faster than Banette—smarter too. It anticipated Gligar's dodge, adjusted mid-flight, and came back for another pass.
"Quick Attack!"
The two Pokémon collided in mid-air, talons scraping against claws, feathers flying. Gligar broke away first, its wings tattered, its body covered in scratches. But Murkrow wasn't much better—it had a deep gash along its side, and its right wing was moving slower than the left.
"Gligar, land," Patricia said. "You've done enough."
The ground-type descended, landing unsteadily at Patricia's feet. It had fought bravely—but it was exhausted, and Patricia knew the next round would decide everything.
She recalled Gligar and reached for her final Poké Ball.
"Buneary," she said. "Let's finish this."
Her Buneary hopped forward, its long ears swaying, its eyes bright with determination. It was the smallest Pokémon on the field—Murkrow could have swallowed it whole—but Buneary had never seemed to notice its size. It had the heart of a champion, and Patricia had seen it do impossible things.
"Kick its ass," Briv muttered from the sidelines.
Patricia smiled. "You heard him."
"Tail Whip," she commanded.
Buneary's tail glowed, and it spun once, sending a wave of energy toward Murkrow. The dark-type flinched—just slightly—and Patricia saw her opening.
"Quick Attack. Then Ice Punch."
Buneary launched forward, its body becoming a blur of brown fur. It struck Murkrow's chest, then followed up with a fist wreathed in icy energy. The impact sent the dark-type spinning, its caw of pain echoing through the plaza.
But Murkrow recovered. It always recovered. It was a survivor—a creature of the shadows, patient and persistent.
"Foul Play," Gwen said.
The dark-type move caught Buneary mid-dodge, using its own momentum against it. Buneary tumbled across the plaza, its fur covered in dust, and for a moment, it didn't move.
"Buneary!"
The little rabbit struggled to its feet. Its ears drooped, its eyes were cloudy with pain, but it didn't fall. It looked at Patricia—and there was something in its gaze that made Patricia's heart swell.
It wasn't fear.
It was trust.
"Buneary, use Dizzy Punch."
The attack caught Murkrow off guard. The dark-type had expected another Quick Attack, another Ice Punch, another fast move. But Dizzy Punch was slower—heavier—and it landed with a satisfying thud.
Murkrow staggered, its red eyes crossing slightly, and Buneary pressed the advantage.
"Follow up with Return."
The move powered by Buneary's love for its trainer—by the bond they'd built through every battle, every training session, every quiet moment in between—sent Murkrow flying. The dark-type crashed into one of the crumbling statues, and the stone shattered, falling in chunks around its broken body.
Murkrow didn't get up.
"Winner: Patricia Crownleaf," Dariana said, her voice ringing across the plaza.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Buneary hopped into Patricia's arms, its fluffy body trembling with exhaustion and joy, and Patricia buried her face in its fur and cried.
Gwen was the first to break the silence. She walked across the plaza, her steps measured, her expression unreadable. She stopped in front of Patricia and extended her hand.
"Congratulations," she said. "You earned it."
Patricia looked up, her eyes still wet. She took Gwen's hand and shook it.
"Thank you."
"You want to know about the Eclipse Squad?" Gwen released her hand and stepped back. "I'll tell you. But you're not going to like it."
"We already don't like it," Briv said.
"No." Gwen's smile was thin. "You really don't."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small data chip, its surface etched with the Eclipse Squad's insignia—a crescent moon devouring a star.
"This is everything I know," she said. "Their bases, their members, their plans. But there's one thing you need to understand before you look at it."
"What's that?"
Gwen's eyes met Patricia's, then Briv's, then Nicola's.
"They're not just recruiting. They're preparing for something. Something big. And if we don't stop them..."
She didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't need to.
The weight of her words settled over them like a shroud, heavy with implication and dread. The battle was over. But the war was still coming.
And it was coming for them all.