Chapter 58: Nicola VS Zoey
Nicola Sunfall woke with the taste of copper in her mouth and the echo of failure still ringing in her ears.
She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling of the inn room she shared with no one, listening to the distant hum of Aethelburg's crystal towers vibrating through the walls. The city never slept—not really. It just shifted from one kind of noise to another, from the clatter of commerce to the whisper of conspiracies, from the roar of crowds to the quiet desperation of people like her.
Two losses.
She'd lost to Raze three days ago—a brutal 3-on-3 that had left her Shieldon cracked and her pride bleeding. Then she'd lost to some no-name trainer from the outskirts, a kid with a Bidoof and a dream who'd gotten lucky with a critical hit.
Luck.
Nicola didn't believe in luck. She believed in preparation, in strategy, in the cold calculus of type matchups and speed tiers. Luck was what people called it when they didn't understand the math.
But the math wasn't adding up anymore.
She sat up, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and reached for her Poké Balls on the nightstand. Six of them, arranged in a neat row. Her team. Her responsibility.
"Today's different," she said to the empty room.
The room didn't answer.
---
The training grounds on the eastern edge of the city were abandoned at dawn.
Nicola liked it that way. No crowds, no distractions, no one to watch her fail. Just her, her Pokémon, and the cold morning air that bit at her skin and kept her sharp.
She released Starly first.
The small bird materialized in a flash of white and gray, its wings already spread, its dark eyes scanning the empty field for threats. It had been with her for three years now—her first Pokémon, her most loyal partner.
"Morning," Nicola said.
Starly chirped once—sharp, alert—and settled on her shoulder. Its talons gripped her jacket with practiced ease.
She released Shieldon next.
The rock-steel type emerged slow and steady, its massive facial shield gleaming in the pale light, its small eyes blinking against the brightness. It didn't move—Shieldon rarely did unless it had to. It just stood there, a living wall, patient and unshakeable.
Snover came last.
The grass-ice type stretched its leafy arms, its breath misting in the cold air. It looked around the empty field with quiet curiosity, its expression calm, almost meditative.
Nicola looked at her three Pokémon.
"We're going to run drills," she said. "Then we're going to find a battle. A real one."
Starly chirped again—eager, impatient.
Shieldon didn't react.
Snover nodded slowly.
---
The drills were brutal.
Nicola pushed Starly through agility courses—sharp turns, sudden dives, precision strikes on moving targets. She pushed Shieldon through endurance tests—sustained hits from Starly's Wing Attack, repeated Iron Defense activations, holding its ground against Snover's Powder Snow.
She pushed Snover through accuracy drills—Ice Shard after Ice Shard, each one aimed at a single leaf on a distant tree. The grass-ice type missed more than it hit, but it never stopped trying.
By the time the sun had fully risen, all three Pokémon were exhausted.
Nicola was too.
She sat on a bench at the edge of the field, her breath fogging in the cold air, her muscles aching from the hours of commands and corrections. Starly perched on her shoulder again, its feathers ruffled, its eyes half-closed.
"You did good," she said.
Starly chirped softly.
"You too," she said to Shieldon and Snover. "Both of you."
Shieldon rumbled—a low, gravelly sound that might have been approval.
Snover just nodded.
---
"You're up early."
Nicola turned.
Zoey stood at the edge of the training grounds, her red hair catching the morning light, her grey eyes warm and curious. She wore her usual outfit—red tube top, green pants, sandals—and her expression was open, friendly, completely unguarded.
Nicola didn't trust unguarded people.
"Couldn't sleep," she said.
"Same." Zoey walked closer, her sandals crunching on the gravel. "I saw you training. You're intense."
"I'm focused."
"There's a difference?"
Nicola's eyes narrowed.
"What do you want?"
Zoey smiled—not offended, not defensive. Just... warm.
"I want to battle you."
---
The words hung in the cold air.
Nicola stared at her.
"Why?"
"Because I've heard about you." Zoey sat on the bench beside her, uninvited. "You're good. Really good. And I want to see how I measure up."
"Against me?"
"Against someone who takes this seriously." Zoey's smile faded, replaced by something quieter, more honest. "I've been training for the League. But I don't know if I'm ready. I need to test myself against someone who won't go easy on me."
Nicola considered this.
"You're with Team Beavers."
"I am."
"Why not battle one of them?"
"Because they would go easy on me." Zoey met her eyes. "You won't."
Nicola looked at her—really looked—and saw something she recognized.
Fear.
Not of losing. Of being unprepared. Of failing when it mattered most.
She understood that fear.
"Three-on-three," Nicola said.
Zoey's face lit up.
"Really?"
"Standard rules. No items. No switching unless a Pokémon faints."
"Deal."
Nicola stood.
"There's an arena near the canal. It's private. We can use it."
"Lead the way."
---
The arena was a converted warehouse—abandoned, forgotten, its walls cracked and its roof half-collapsed. But the floor was solid, the space was open, and the city's noise faded to a distant hum.
It was perfect for a battle no one wanted to watch.
Axel was already there.
Nicola stopped at the entrance.
"What are you doing here?"
"Watching." Axel leaned against a support beam, his arms crossed, his green eyes unreadable. "I heard you two were looking for a place to fight."
"How?"
"I hear everything."
Nicola's jaw tightened.
"You're not refereeing."
"I'm not asking to." Axel pushed off the beam and walked toward them. "But if you want a fair fight, you'll need someone to call it. Or do you trust her to be honest about a double knockout?"
Zoey shifted uncomfortably.
"I would be honest."
"I know." Axel's gaze moved to Nicola. "But would you?"
Nicola didn't answer.
"Fine," she said finally. "You can referee. But stay out of the way."
"I always do."
---
They took their positions at opposite ends of the warehouse floor.
Zoey released first.
"Jigglypuff. Let's go."
The balloon Pokémon materialized in a burst of pink—round, soft, its large blue eyes blinking against the dim light. It looked harmless. It looked cute.
Nicola knew better.
Jigglypuff was a fairy type. Fairy types were dangerous.
"Starly," she said. "You're up."
The bird appeared in a flash of gray and white, its wings spread, its eyes locked on Jigglypuff. It chirped once—sharp, confident—and circled overhead.
Axel raised his hand.
"Three-on-three. No items. No switching unless a Pokémon faints. Begin."
---
Starly moved first.
It dove—fast, precise—its beak glowing with the energy of a Wing Attack. Jigglypuff didn't dodge. It just bounced—lightly, gracefully—and the attack missed by inches.
"Disarming Voice," Zoey said.
Jigglypuff opened its mouth. A wave of pink energy erupted outward—sound made visible, sound made deadly. Starly screeched as the attack hit, its wings faltering.
"Get above it," Nicola said. "Quick Attack."
Starly recovered—fast, faster than Jigglypuff expected—and slammed into the fairy type from above. Jigglypuff bounced backward, its round body absorbing the impact.
"Again!"
Another dive. Another hit. Starly was relentless—striking from angles Jigglypuff couldn't predict, using its speed to stay out of range.
But Jigglypuff wasn't falling.
"Sing," Zoey said.
Jigglypuff began to hum.
The melody was soft. Gentle. Seductive. Starly's movements slowed—its wings growing heavy, its eyes drooping.
"Snap out of it!" Nicola's voice was sharp.
Starly tried—it really did—but the song was too strong. Its wings folded. Its eyes closed.
It fell.
It hit the ground and didn't move.
"Starly is unable to battle," Axel said. "Nicola, send out your next Pokémon."
---
Nicola recalled Starly with a muttered curse.
She'd underestimated Jigglypuff. She wouldn't make that mistake again.
"Shieldon. You're up."
The rock-steel type materialized in a flash of gray—slow, steady, its massive shield gleaming in the dim light. It planted its feet and waited.
Jigglypuff looked at it and bounced nervously.
"Begin," Axel said.
"Disarming Voice!"
Jigglypuff opened its mouth—the pink wave erupting outward—but Shieldon didn't flinch. The attack washed over its armored face and did nothing.
"Flash Cannon," Nicola said.
Shieldon's shield glowed—a bright, silver light—and it released a beam of concentrated steel energy. Jigglypuff tried to dodge, but it was too slow.
The attack hit dead center.
Jigglypuff flew backward—its body tumbling across the concrete—and landed in a heap. It didn't get up.
"Jigglypuff is unable to battle," Axel said. "Zoey, send out your next Pokémon."
---
Zoey recalled Jigglypuff with a calm nod.
"You're good," she said.
"I know."
Zoey reached for her second ball.
"Togetic. Let's go."
The fairy-flying type appeared in a burst of white and red and blue—elegant, graceful, its wings shimmering with an otherworldly light. It hovered above the ground, its eyes kind but watchful.
"Shieldon, stay sharp," Nicola said.
Shieldon rumbled.
"Begin," Axel said.
Togetic moved first.
"Fairy Wind."
The fairy type flapped its wings—a gust of pink energy erupting outward—and Shieldon took the hit. It didn't flinch. It didn't move.
"Is that all?" Nicola said.
"Not even close." Zoey smiled. "Ancient Power."
Togetic's eyes glowed—and the ground beneath Shieldon erupted. Rocks and debris exploded upward, slamming into the rock-steel type from below.
Shieldon staggered.
"Metal Burst!"
Shieldon's body glowed—a dark, metallic light—and it released the damage it had taken back at Togetic. The fairy-flying type screeched as the attack hit, its wings faltering.
"Again! Ancient Power!"
Another eruption. Another hit. Shieldon staggered again.
But it didn't fall.
"Flash Cannon!"
Shieldon's shield blazed—the silver beam erupting outward—and Togetic tried to dodge. It was fast, but not fast enough. The attack clipped its wing, sending it spinning.
"Fairy Wind!"
Togetic recovered—barely—and unleashed another gust. Shieldon took the hit. It didn't flinch.
"Flash Cannon!"
Another beam. Another hit. Togetic was slowing—its movements growing sluggish, its wings heavy.
"Ancient Power!"
One more eruption. Shieldon took it. It didn't fall.
"Flash Cannon."
The final beam hit Togetic dead center. The fairy-flying type tumbled from the sky and hit the ground.
It didn't get up.
"Togetic is unable to battle," Axel said. "Zoey, send out your final Pokémon."
---
Zoey recalled Togetic with a quiet sigh.
"You're really good."
"I know."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
Zoey smiled—a real smile, not forced, not defensive.
"Torkoal. Let's go."
The fire type materialized in a burst of orange and red—massive, slow, its shell smoking, its eyes burning with quiet intensity. It looked at Shieldon and didn't move.
"Begin," Axel said.
"Body Press," Nicola said.
Shieldon lunged—faster than its size suggested—and slammed into Torkoal with its full weight. The fire type grunted, its shell cracking.
But it didn't fall.
"Flamethrower," Zoey said.
Torkoal opened its mouth—a torrent of fire erupting outward—and Shieldon took the hit head-on. The flames washed over its armor, heating the metal until it glowed.
Shieldon staggered.
"Get back!" Nicola's voice was sharp.
Shieldon retreated—slowly, painfully—its armor still glowing with heat.
"Flamethrower again!"
Another torrent. Another hit. Shieldon's legs buckled.
It fell.
It didn't get up.
"Shieldon is unable to battle," Axel said. "Nicola, send out your final Pokémon."
---
Nicola recalled Shieldon with a wave of something that might have been fear.
One left.
She reached for her final ball.
"Snover."
The grass-ice type materialized in a burst of white and green—its breath misting in the cold air, its eyes calm, its posture steady. It looked at Torkoal and didn't flinch.
Torkoal looked back.
"Begin," Axel said.
"Flamethrower," Zoey said.
Torkoal opened its mouth—the fire erupting outward—but Snover was already moving. It raised its arms and unleashed a Powder Snow, the icy mist colliding with the flames and creating a cloud of steam.
"Again!"
Another Flamethrower. Another Powder Snow. The steam thickened.
"Ice Shard!"
Snover hurled a shard of ice through the steam—fast, precise—and it struck Torkoal in the face. The fire type roared.
"Body Slam!"
Torkoal lunged—slower than Shieldon, but heavier—and slammed into Snover with crushing force. The grass-ice type was thrown backward.
It hit the ground.
It didn't get up.
"Get up," Nicola said.
Snover stirred.
Slowly—painfully—it pushed itself to its feet. Its body was trembling. Its breath was shallow. But it stood.
"Powder Snow."
Snover raised its arms—the icy mist erupting outward—and Torkoal took the hit. The fire type slowed, its movements growing sluggish.
"Flamethrower!"
Torkoal opened its mouth—but the flames were weaker now, diminished by the cold. Snover took the hit and didn't flinch.
"Ice Shard!"
Another shard. Another hit. Torkoal roared.
"Again!"
Another shard. Another roar.
"Again!"
Snover was relentless—pouring everything it had into the attack. Torkoal staggered.
"Flamethrower!"
The fire type tried—it really did—but the flames sputtered and died. Torkoal collapsed.
It didn't get up.
"Torkoal is unable to battle," Axel said. "Nicola wins."
---
The warehouse was silent.
Then Zoey laughed.
"That was amazing."
Nicola blinked.
"What?"
"That was amazing." Zoey crossed the floor and offered her hand. "You're incredible. The way you read the battle, the way you adjusted—I've never seen anything like it."
Nicola stared at her hand.
Then she took it.
"You're not bad yourself."
"I lost."
"You pushed me." Nicola's grip tightened. "That's more than most people can say."
Zoey's smile widened.
"Rematch sometime?"
"Anytime."
---
Axel approached.
"Good battle," he said. "Both of you."
Zoey looked at him.
"You're Axel, right? The one with the Rotom?"
"That's me."
"I've heard about you." Zoey tilted her head. "You're one of those trainers who doesn't need a full team. Interesting."
Axel didn't respond.
Zoey shrugged.
"Whatever. Good to meet you."
She walked away, her red hair catching the dim light.
---
Nicola recalled Snover and stood alone in the empty warehouse.
Five wins.
She'd lost to Raze. She'd lost to the no-name kid. But she'd won today. She'd won against someone who pushed her, someone who made her think, someone who made her better.
It wasn't enough.
It was never enough.
But it was something.
---
She found Briv at the inn that evening.
He sat alone at a corner table, a cup of cold coffee in front of him, his eyes distant and unfocused. He looked like shit—hollowed out, exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days.
"Hey," she said.
He looked up.
"Hey."
She sat across from him.
"I won today."
"Good."
"Against Zoey. Three-on-three."
"That's good."
"Briv."
He blinked.
"What?"
"You're not listening."
"I'm listening."
"No, you're not." Nicola leaned forward. "You're thinking about the heist. About Samantha. About whatever the hell is waiting for us beneath that marsh."
Briv didn't answer.
"Look," Nicola said, "I get it. You're scared. You're distracted. You're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders and you don't know how to put it down."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
Briv's jaw tightened.
"What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to say you're struggling." Nicola's voice softened. "I want you to say you need help. I want you to say something that isn't a lie."
Briv looked at her.
For a long moment, he didn't speak.
Then he said, "I'm struggling."
Nicola nodded.
"Okay."
"I need help."
"Okay."
"I don't know what I'm doing."
"Okay."
Briv's hands were shaking.
"I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I'm strong enough. I don't know if I'm the person everyone thinks I am."
Nicola reached across the table and took his hand.
"You don't have to be."
Briv stared at her.
"What?"
"You don't have to be the champion. You don't have to be the hero. You just have to be you." Nicola squeezed his hand. "That's enough. It's always been enough."
Briv's eyes glistened.
"Nicola—"
"Don't." She pulled back. "Don't make this weird."
Briv laughed—a real laugh, the first one she'd heard in days.
"Too late."
Nicola smiled.
"Get some sleep, Ambertone. You look like death."
"I feel like death."
"Then do something about it."
She stood.
"Goodnight, Nicola."
"Goodnight, Briv."
She walked away.
---
The night was cold and clear.
Nicola stood on the balcony of her room, looking out at the crystal towers, the floating bridges, the glowing canals. The city was beautiful. The city was dangerous.
Tomorrow, she would train again.
Tomorrow, she would fight again.
Tomorrow, she would be better.
But tonight, she just stood there.
And for the first time in weeks, she felt like she could breathe.
=====
The cold air of Aethelburg settled into Dariana's bones as she walked the empty streets, her breath misting in the pale morning light. The city was waking around her—shopkeepers unlocking doors, trainers stretching before their morning runs, the distant hum of the crystal towers vibrating through the cobblestones. She pulled her jacket tighter and kept moving.
She hadn't slept.
Not really. Just closed her eyes for a few hours and let her mind drift through fragments of dreams she couldn't hold onto. Every time she started to sink deeper, something pulled her back—a sound, a thought, the weight of everything that was coming.
The heist. The League. The thing beneath the marsh that Briv wouldn't talk about.
She stopped at a fountain in the center of a small plaza, the water frozen at the edges, the statue at its center a relic from a war no one remembered. She sat on the rim and stared at the ice.
"You look like shit."
Dariana turned.
Starfire stood at the edge of the plaza, her fiery-red hair catching the morning light, her orange skin glowing against the gray stone. She wore her usual purple crop-top and mini skirt, her thigh-high boots clicking against the cobblestones as she approached.
"Thanks," Dariana said.
"I mean it." Starfire sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "You look like you haven't slept in days."
"I haven't."
"Bad dreams?"
"Something like that."
Starfire nodded slowly, her green eyes soft with something that might have been understanding. She didn't push. She just sat there, quiet, waiting.
It was one of the things Dariana liked about her.
---
"I heard about your battles," Starfire said eventually.
"Which ones?"
"All of them." Starfire smiled. "You're good. Really good. The way you use Eevee, the way you coordinate with Combee—it's beautiful to watch."
Dariana looked at her.
"You've been watching me?"
"Everyone watches you." Starfire's smile widened. "You're hard to miss."
Dariana didn't know what to say to that.
"I want to battle you," Starfire said.
The words hung in the cold air.
"Why?"
"Because I want to know if I'm good enough." Starfire's expression shifted—the cheerfulness fading, replaced by something quieter, more honest. "The League is in a month. I've been training, but I don't know if I'm ready. I need to test myself against someone who won't hold back."
Dariana considered this.
"You're with Team Beavers."
"I am."
"Why not battle one of them?"
"Because they would hold back." Starfire met her eyes. "You won't."
Dariana looked at her—really looked—and saw something she recognized.
Fear.
Not of losing. Of being unprepared. Of failing when it mattered most.
She understood that fear.
"Three-on-three," Dariana said.
Starfire's face lit up.
"Really?"
"Standard rules. No items. No switching unless a Pokémon faints."
"Deal."
Dariana stood.
"There's an arena near the canal. It's private. We can use it."
"Lead the way."
---
The arena was a converted warehouse—abandoned, forgotten, its walls cracked, its roof half-collapsed. But the floor was solid, the space was open, and the city's noise faded to a distant hum.
Axel was already there.
Dariana stopped at the entrance.
"What are you doing here?"
"Watching." Axel leaned against a support beam, his arms crossed, his green eyes unreadable. "I heard you two were looking for a place to fight."
"How?"
"I hear everything."
Dariana's jaw tightened.
"You're not refereeing."
"I'm not asking to." Axel pushed off the beam and walked toward them. "But if you want a fair fight, you'll need someone to call it. Or do you trust her to be honest about a double knockout?"
Starfire shifted uncomfortably.
"I would be honest."
"I know." Axel's gaze moved to Dariana. "But would you?"
Dariana didn't answer.
"Fine," she said finally. "You can referee. But stay out of the way."
"I always do."
---
They took their positions at opposite ends of the warehouse floor.
Starfire released first.
"Slowpoke. Let's go."
The water-psychic type materialized in a burst of pink—slow, languid, its eyes half-closed, its tail twitching lazily. It looked harmless. It looked stupid.
Dariana knew better.
Slowpoke was slow. But slow didn't mean weak.
"Eevee," she said. "You're up."
The normal type appeared in a flash of brown and cream—small, agile, its bushy tail wagging, its dark eyes bright with curiosity. It looked at Slowpoke and tilted its head.
Axel raised his hand.
"Three-on-three. No items. No switching unless a Pokémon faints. Begin."
---
Eevee moved first.
It lunged—fast, precise—its body glowing with the energy of a Quick Attack. Slowpoke didn't dodge. It just sat there, blinking slowly, its tail twitching.
The attack hit dead center.
Slowpoke didn't flinch.
"Confusion," Starfire said.
Slowpoke's eyes glowed—a faint purple light—and Eevee was lifted off its feet. The normal type yelped as it was thrown across the warehouse, its body slamming into a support beam.
"Get up!" Dariana's voice was sharp.
Eevee scrambled to its feet—shaken, but not broken.
"Sand Attack!"
Eevee kicked up a cloud of dust and debris, obscuring Slowpoke's vision. The water-psychic type blinked, its Confusion faltering.
"Quick Attack!"
Eevee blurred forward—faster than before—and struck Slowpoke from the side. The water-psychic type staggered, its tail twitching with irritation.
"Water Gun," Starfire said.
Slowpoke opened its mouth—a stream of water erupting outward—and Eevee dodged left. The attack missed.
"Again!"
Another stream. Another dodge. Eevee was too fast, too agile.
"Confusion!"
Slowpoke's eyes glowed—but Eevee was already moving, darting behind the water-psychic type before the attack could land.
"Quick Attack!"
Another hit. Another stagger. Slowpoke was slowing—its movements growing sluggish, its eyes drooping.
"Yawn," Starfire said.
Slowpoke opened its mouth—a pink bubble erupting outward—and Eevee couldn't dodge in time. The bubble popped against its fur, and the normal type yawned.
Its eyes drooped.
It fell asleep.
"Eevee!" Dariana's voice cracked.
The normal type didn't respond.
"Dream Eater," Starfire said.
Slowpoke's eyes glowed—a dark, hungry light—and Eevee's body convulsed. The normal type whimpered in its sleep, its energy draining away.
"Wake up!" Dariana shouted.
Eevee didn't wake up.
"Dream Eater again."
Another pulse. Another convulsion. Eevee's breathing grew shallow.
"Return," Dariana said.
She recalled Eevee before the attack could finish.
"Eevee is unable to battle," Axel said. "Dariana, send out your next Pokémon."
---
Dariana's hand shook as she reached for her second ball.
One down.
She'd underestimated Slowpoke. She wouldn't make that mistake again.
"Combee. You're up."
The bug-flying type materialized in a burst of yellow and black—three faces, each with its own expression, its wings buzzing with nervous energy. It hovered above the ground, its eyes darting between Dariana and Slowpoke.
"Begin," Axel said.
"Confusion," Starfire said.
Slowpoke's eyes glowed—but Combee was already moving, its three bodies splitting apart and reforming in a dizzying pattern. The attack missed.
"Gust!"
Combee flapped its wings—a burst of wind erupting outward—and Slowpoke was pushed backward. The water-psychic type slid across the concrete, its tail scraping against the floor.
"Water Gun!"
Slowpoke opened its mouth—but Combee was too fast, darting above the attack and countering with another Gust. Slowpoke staggered.
"Confusion!"
Another glow. Another miss. Combee was relentless—striking from angles Slowpoke couldn't track, using its three bodies to confuse and overwhelm.
"Yawn!"
Slowpoke opened its mouth—the pink bubble erupting outward—but Combee dodged left, and the attack missed.
"Gust!"
Another burst of wind. Another stagger. Slowpoke's eyes drooped.
It fell.
It didn't get up.
"Slowpoke is unable to battle," Axel said. "Starfire, send out your next Pokémon."
---
Starfire recalled Slowpoke with a calm nod.
"You're good," she said.
"I know."
Starfire reached for her second ball.
"Xatu. Let's go."
The psychic-flying type appeared in a burst of green and white—tall, elegant, its eyes staring into the distance, its wings shimmering with an otherworldly light. It hovered above the ground, its gaze fixed on something no one else could see.
"Combee, stay sharp," Dariana said.
Combee buzzed nervously.
"Begin," Axel said.
Xatu moved first.
"Psychic."
The attack came without warning—a wave of invisible force erupting outward—and Combee was thrown backward. The bug-flying type screeched, its three faces contorted in pain.
"Gust!"
Combee recovered—barely—and unleashed a burst of wind. Xatu didn't dodge. It just hovered there, its eyes still staring into the distance.
The attack hit.
Xatu didn't flinch.
"Ominous Wind," Starfire said.
Xatu's wings glowed—a dark, ghostly light—and a spectral wind erupted outward. Combee screeched as the attack hit, its movements growing sluggish.
"Again!"
Another wind. Another hit. Combee was faltering.
"Bug Buzz!"
Combee's three faces vibrated—a piercing sound erupting outward—and Xatu finally flinched. The psychic-flying type's eyes snapped into focus, its concentration broken.
"Gust!"
Combee struck again—a burst of wind that sent Xatu spinning. The psychic-flying type recovered, but its movements were slower now, less precise.
"Psychic!"
Another wave. Another hit. Combee was thrown backward.
It hit the ground.
It didn't get up.
"Combee is unable to battle," Axel said. "Dariana, send out your final Pokémon."
---
Dariana recalled Combee with a whispered apology.
One left.
She reached for her final ball.
"Croagunk."
The poison-fighting type materialized in a burst of blue and yellow—wiry, agile, its orange throat sac pulsing, its eyes sharp and calculating. It looked at Xatu and grinned.
Xatu stared back.
"Begin," Axel said.
"Croagunk, Poison Jab!"
Croagunk lunged—fast, precise—its fist glowing with toxic energy. Xatu tried to dodge, but Croagunk was too quick, too unpredictable. The attack hit Xatu's wing.
The psychic-flying type screeched.
"Psychic!"
Xatu's eyes glowed—but Croagunk was already moving, ducking under the attack and countering with a Sucker Punch. Xatu was thrown backward.
"Ominous Wind!"
Xatu's wings glowed—the spectral wind erupting outward—and Croagunk took the hit. The poison-fighting type staggered, but didn't fall.
"Again! Poison Jab!"
Another lunge. Another hit. Xatu was faltering—its movements growing sluggish, its eyes dimming.
"Psychic!"
One more wave. Croagunk took it. It didn't fall.
"Poison Jab!"
The final hit. Xatu tumbled from the sky and hit the ground.
It didn't get up.
"Xatu is unable to battle," Axel said. "Starfire, send out your final Pokémon."
---
Starfire recalled Xatu with a quiet sigh.
"You're really good."
"I know."
Starfire smiled—a real smile, not forced, not defensive.
"Mime Jr. Let's go."
The psychic-fairy type materialized in a burst of pink and blue—small, playful, its eyes bright with mischief. It bounced on its tiny feet, its hands clasped together, its expression one of pure delight.
"Croagunk, stay focused," Dariana said.
Croagunk nodded.
"Begin," Axel said.
Mime Jr. moved first.
"Psybeam!"
The attack came without warning—a rainbow-colored beam erupting outward—and Croagunk was thrown backward. The poison-fighting type skidded across the concrete.
"Poison Jab!"
Croagunk recovered—fast—and lunged at Mime Jr. The psychic-fairy type tried to dodge, but Croagunk was too quick.
The attack hit.
Mime Jr. squeaked in pain.
"Double Slap!"
Mime Jr. recovered—faster than expected—and struck Croagunk with a flurry of slaps. The poison-fighting type staggered.
"Again!"
Another flurry. Another stagger. Croagunk was faltering.
"Poison Jab!"
Croagunk lunged—but Mime Jr. was already moving, darting behind the poison-fighting type before the attack could land.
"Psybeam!"
Another beam. Another hit. Croagunk was thrown backward.
It hit the ground.
It didn't get up.
"Get up," Dariana said.
Croagunk stirred.
Slowly—painfully—it pushed itself to its feet. Its body was trembling. Its breath was shallow. But it stood.
"Poison Jab."
Croagunk lunged—slower now, but still precise—and struck Mime Jr. in the chest. The psychic-fairy type squeaked.
"Psybeam!"
Mime Jr. countered—the rainbow beam erupting outward—and Croagunk took the hit. It didn't fall.
"Poison Jab!"
Another lunge. Another hit. Mime Jr. was faltering.
"Double Slap!"
Mime Jr. tried—it really did—but Croagunk was relentless. The poison-fighting type struck again, and again, and again.
Mime Jr. collapsed.
It didn't get up.
"Mime Jr. is unable to battle," Axel said. "Dariana wins."
---
The warehouse was silent.
Then Starfire laughed.
"That was amazing."
Dariana blinked.
"What?"
"That was amazing." Starfire crossed the floor and offered her hand. "You're incredible. The way you read the battle, the way you adjusted—I've never seen anything like it."
Dariana stared at her hand.
Then she took it.
"You're not bad yourself."
"I lost."
"You pushed me." Dariana's grip tightened. "That's more than most people can say."
Starfire's smile widened.
"Rematch sometime?"
"Anytime."
---
Axel approached.
"Good battle," he said. "Both of you."
Starfire looked at him.
"You're Axel, right? The one with the Rotom?"
"That's me."
"I've heard about you." Starfire tilted her head. "You're one of those trainers who doesn't need a full team. Interesting."
Axel didn't respond.
Starfire shrugged.
"Whatever. Good to meet you."
She walked away, her red hair catching the dim light.
---
Dariana recalled Croagunk and stood alone in the empty warehouse.
Six wins.
She'd lost to Raze. She'd lost to the no-name kid from the outskirts. But she'd won today. She'd won against someone who pushed her, someone who made her think, someone who made her better.
It wasn't enough.
It was never enough.
But it was something.
---
She found Briv at the inn that evening.
He sat alone at a corner table, a cup of cold coffee in front of him, his eyes distant and unfocused. He looked like shit—hollowed out, exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days.
"Hey," she said.
He looked up.
"Hey."
She sat across from him.
"I won today."
"Good."
"Against Starfire. Three-on-three."
"That's good."
"Briv."
He blinked.
"What?"
"You're not listening."
"I'm listening."
"No, you're not." Dariana leaned forward. "You're thinking about the heist. About Samantha. About whatever the hell is waiting for us beneath that marsh."
Briv didn't answer.
"Look," Dariana said, "I get it. You're scared. You're distracted. You're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders and you don't know how to put it down."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
Briv's jaw tightened.
"What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to say you're struggling." Dariana's voice softened. "I want you to say you need help. I want you to say something that isn't a lie."
Briv looked at her.
For a long moment, he didn't speak.
Then he said, "I'm struggling."
Dariana nodded.
"Okay."
"I need help."
"Okay."
"I don't know what I'm doing."
"Okay."
Briv's hands were shaking.
"I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I'm strong enough. I don't know if I'm the person everyone thinks I am."
Dariana reached across the table and took his hand.
"You don't have to be."
Briv stared at her.
"What?"
"You don't have to be the champion. You don't have to be the hero. You just have to be you." Dariana squeezed his hand. "That's enough. It's always been enough."
Briv's eyes glistened.
"Dariana—"
"Don't." She pulled back. "Don't make this weird."
Briv laughed—a real laugh, the first one she'd heard in days.
"Too late."
Dariana smiled.
"Get some sleep, Ambertone. You look like death."
"I feel like death."
"Then do something about it."
She stood.
"Goodnight, Dariana."
"Goodnight, Briv."
She walked away.
---
The night was cold and clear.
Dariana stood on the balcony of her room, looking out at the crystal towers, the floating bridges, the glowing canals. The city was beautiful. The city was dangerous.
Tomorrow, she would train again.
Tomorrow, she would fight again.
Tomorrow, she would be better.
But tonight, she just stood there.
And for the first time in weeks, she felt like she could breathe.