This damn region. It hadn’t even been a month, and Worryn was already sick of it. It was the fucking boonies, in the worst sense. Sure, the cities were big, and at least they spoke civilized fucking Galarian, but what kind of primitive backwater didn’t have Arceus-damned Ditto cells in this day and age?

  It made his preferred training method much harder.

  And riskier too. If he couldn’t discipline Mayal properly, she might start getting some ideas, and he couldn’t have that.

  Already, she did a shit job of listening to him. If she was just better, he wouldn’t have had to run away from his damn brother.

  What Worryn wouldn’t do to be able to return to Unova. Unfortunately, it wasn’t safe there anymore. Coups were risky like that.

  He needed a place to marshall his power and start recollecting resources. At least no one out here in the ass-end of nowhere would recognize him. And the chances of someone from home coming to look for him were even lower.

  Not that Ferrum was all that far from Unova, geographically speaking. That was worth acknowledging. Pursuers could get here fast. The physical proximity to his home region was a double-edged sword. Still, it was what allowed him to get here so quickly after things went sour, so it was still working out for him on the balance.

  Plus, from a political perspective, this stupid region was so far off of people’s radar as to be invisible. No one had only ever heard of Ferrum except as a curiosity due to their battling style, or as a source of cheap iron that could be used to bypass Sinnoh’s monopoly on the resource. So, wealthy, ignored, and close enough to home to get news about what was going on. All in all, the perfect place to lay low and build up his strength.

  Plus, once Worryn got ahold of this region’s damn AR-gear, he wouldn’t have to worry about Mayal ignoring his orders ever again.

  At least these freaks got that right. Why work with a Pokémon when you could dominate them? Take over their body, and use it for yourself? What a brilliant idea. Truly, pearls could be found amongst the mud.

  Soon, his fake papers would get processed, and he could start participating in these so-called Ferrum Battles. It wouldn’t be too difficult to get a nice, cushy position after stomping these idiots, and then he could start really making money.

  After that, once his war chest was nice and cushioned, he could begin the process of retaking his place as the rightful head of the family. He’d have to work fast, before his idiot brother threw all their family’s fortunes away.

  The elders had made a bad bet with that moron, and it was only a matter of time before he proved it by making one himself. Worryn would need to step in before that happened. For the good of the family, of course.

  -

  “I’m getting tired of waiting, Purson, and so is the rest of the board.” Pick’s impatient voice came through the phone’s receiver, low and growling, like a Mabosstiff. The old man sort of resembled that particular breed, as a matter of fact. All drooping skin and graying hair.

  Not that Purson could see the bastard. The fossil refused to use video calls. Didn’t think they were secure, for whatever reason.

  It was easy enough to play along with the moron’s paranoia, so Purson indulged him, speaking through a landline installed on his desk, specifically for these conversations. “Soon, my impatient friend,” Purson reassured the old man. “Almost everything is in place, we just need to wait for the right opportunities to tie up a few more loose ends.”

  “Opportunities come to those who make them!” Pick all but shouted, the imperious tone of his voice ruined by the tinny quality of the ancient telephone. “While we sit around on our hands, we risk losing our window to act!”

  “We only get one chance at this. We need to make sure nothing can stand in our way,” Purson explained patiently. “I assure you Pick, there’s no risk in waiting a little. Better to be cautious here, so close to the end. Acting recklessly could cost us everything. If we manufacture the necessary incidents, they may get traced back to us and,” Purson made an exploding motion with his hands, before realizing to his annoyance that the gesture was lost on the oblivious fossil on the other end of the line, “poof. All our hard work goes up in smoke.”

  “And how long will it take for these incidents to manifest?” Pick interrogated, “we don’t have another ten years, Purson.”

  “Surely not that long. Why, I expect that most of what we need will occur over the next year or two. Three at the longest.”

  Pick practically growled. “It had better. The board pulled a lot of strings to get you where you are, Purson, and we expect a return on our investment.”

  “And you’ll have one. Just a little more patience, I promise,” Purson practically purred. “Soon, everything will be ready. Just you wait.”

  “Fine. I’ll call you again next quarter. And I expect at least some forward progress by then, understand?”

  Purson looked out over Neos’ skyline, working his jaw. “Of course,” he said, finally, “I’m sure I’ll have great news for you. Now, I really must go. Duty calls.” He resisted the urge to slam the handset down, and instead returned it, gently, to its cradle.

  He felt his hands clenching, and unclenching. Conversations with the board always left him stressed out, dealing with imbeciles put an unbearable tension in Purson’s shoulders.

  He took a deep breath, then another, letting the tautness drain from his muscles. “Always a delight, isn’t he?”

  Purson’s question was directed at the other occupant of his office, who was minding her business in front of the virtual fireplace. The flickering screen had a heater behind it that simulated a real fire with frightening accuracy, and his darling partner indulged in it whenever the opportunity presented itself.

  She turned to look at him, her unamused eyes clearly asking why he was bothering her with his trivial complaints.

  “Because I needs vent to someone, my dear, and who else could I trust, but you?”

  The overgrown salamander rolled her eyes, but the gesture was affectionate. She flicked her glowing tail disdainfully, expressing her lack of concern for whether or not he trusted her.

  “Sure, act like this doesn’t concern you, but your interests are on the line just as much as mine, my dear. We’re in this together,” Purson reasoned.

  The Pokémon let out her harsh, croaking laugh. One of her mates startled, afraid of the noise. She often made it while– disciplining them, so his fear was well-founded. The reaction only got her to laugh harder.

  Purson suppressed a grin. Such a delight, his darling partner. “Oh go ahead dear, laugh it up.” He turned back to stare out at Neos city, the glimmering lights of a million lives stretching out before him. “Soon, we’ll see who’s laughing in the end, now won’t we?”

  -

  “Alright Mask, let’s win this.”

  The grasshopper Pokémon looked up at him, determination flashing in his orange gaze.

  Some people thought that the face of a Lokix was unreadable. Brent knew that those people just didn’t pay enough attention. It was in the glint in the corner of the eye, in the way their antennae twisted just so. Lokix were just as expressive as any other person or Pokémon.

  People underestimated them in other ways. Just because they evolved from a pest species, Lokix were often derided, and denounced. People hated Nymble, though, not for unfounded reasons. Few Pokémon could destroy a crop as effectively as a swarm of Nymble, a combination of their natural evasiveness paired with their similarly in-born voraciousness.

  They needed that hunger, though, if they were going to increase their size. A Nymble needed to stockpile the energy necessary to grow more than fifteen-fold during its evolution. Few wild specimens ever had that opportunity.

  Mask knew he was lucky to be a trained Pokémon, and he was determined not to squander the opportunity.

  Unlike many Battle Pokémon, Brent’s partner was wild born and raised. The Battle Trainer had caught the Bug-type himself, on his parents farm outside of Tellur Town. And now look at them, a pest and a farmer’s son, competing in Ferrum Stadium.

  “And in this Red League Match, Brent Wilson and Bria Mathers will compete for the honor of participating in this year’s promotion tourney! Both challengers are only three points away from securing their place among the competitors this spring! Please, welcome them both to the stage!”

  The roar of the crowd was their queue. Brent donned his visor, and started striding through the tunnel, out towards the field. His path intersected with another trainer’s, a young girl in a rock-gray hoodie, criss-crossed with cuts and rents. The pattern conspicuously matched the pattern of scars and scrapes that decorated the armor of the Tyranitar marching next to her.

  “Farm boy,” the teen muttered under her breath, as a greeting.

  “Iron Spoon,” he replied. There was no real heat in the insults, but it was customary. You couldn’t not trash talk your opponent. What would that say about you?

  “Done after this year, right?” Bria, like her older sister, tended to be a trainer of few words.

  Brent nodded, stiffly. “Last chance for me and Mask,” he forced a laugh. “Sorry, bur we need this, so we won’t be able to go easy on you.”

  The girl scoffed, “same to you, old man.”

  No more words were exchanged. They didn’t need any.

  -

  The sun beat down, painting the world outside the tunnel in vibrant colors. Not that Brent could see most of them. His world was dyed in the hues of orange filtered through his AR visor. Still, he could feel it, the burning rays beating down on him as the four of them stepped out into the stadium.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  The noise was overwhelming. Brent wouldn’t ever get used to it, the sheer scale of the stadium, and the crowds it hosted. The spectators thundered from the distant stands, and cheesy theme music blared at ear-destroying decibels from carefully placed speakers spread throughout the arena.

  The bridge connecting the main pitch to the competitors' entrance swayed as a gentle breeze came pouring off of the sacred lake. The water pulsed and thrummed beneath their little group of four, but none of them took any notice of it as they approached their places on the main stage

  Brent felt his eyes inevitably pulled towards the Great Synergy Stone, set on the podium off on the other side of the stadium. Even from here, he could feel the waves of empowering energy coming off of it. He and Lokix would be in top form for this battle. And so would their opponents.

  Brent wouldn’t have it any other way.

  A Magnemite bearing a camera buzzed the stage, and he flashed it a smile as Bria waved. Their partners walked on, descending the steps to the pitch proper, taking their respective places on either side of the field. Bria’s Tyranitar dwarfed Mask, casting a shadow in the evening sun that almost reached all the way across the arena. Lokix were pretty large as far as bug species went, but a Tyranitar made the Bug-type look as small as his tinier contemporaries.

  It wouldn’t matter. They’d taken down bigger.

  “Trainers, are you ready!?” the Announcer shouted, his voice pouring out of the loudspeakers over the roar of the crowd.

  Both Brent and Tera held up a fist in acknowledgement, and the assembled spectators grew even noisier.

  “Partners!?” Mask and Tyranitar nodded, though neither’s eyes left the other, their intense staredown sending roiling waves of energy across the field.

  A barrier rose up, and the Announcer screamed, “Then it’s time to Synergize! AR on!”

  Brent slammed the heel of his palm to the button on the side of his visor. The mask-like plastic, painted so that it resembled Mask’s face, turned opaque, and after a few seconds, a countdown started, red numbers flashing, dropping down.

  Five.

  Four.

  Three.

  Brent felt a familiar pull, and tugged back. His mind slammed into Mask’s, and there was a brief moment of searing pain as their thoughts synchronized. Synergizing with Bug-types could be… challenging. Their thought processes were often very different from a human’s. It didn’t matter, though. Brent and Mask didn’t need to think. Just act.

  Two became one, and then became so much more.

  The Hero had arrived.

  They stood in the center of the arena, all extraneous worries and concerns discarded. There was them, and their opponent. Nothing else mattered.

  The Announcer started counting down. The Hero felt every muscle in their body tense. On the other side of the field, the Tyrant reared up, their claws splaying out in a savage display. They let out a terrible roar that the Hero matched, running their arms over the spiny knobs on their back legs to generate a horrendous shrieking.

  The countdown hit zero, and they all tore into motion.

  The Tyrant sprinted forward, tearing down the pitch towards them at speeds that should have been impossible for a monster of that size. Their rocky armor was covered in scintillating shimmers of orange light, the characteristic corona of a Giga Impact.

  The Hero moved. Matching that attack would be stupidity, so they did something smart. Their rear legs slammed into the pitch with a terrible crack. The force of it ejected them high into the air, above the Tyrant’s charge, right towards the top of the barrier. They twisted, letting their rear legs cushion their impact with the glowing projection, and then pushing off of it, right at their enemy. Energy filled their form, and they channeled it into making a strong First Impression.

  The Tyrant wasn’t just waiting for them, however. They skidded, tearing up great gouts of the pitch as they came to a stop near the barrier wall. The towering monstrosity wheeled to face the Hero, no recharging necessary. Not here, with the trainer’s energies bolstering the partner, and the Great Synergy Stone empowering them both.

  It wasn’t in time. The Hero collided with the Tyrant in a massive clash of energies that sent them both staggering back. No chance to continue a combo, it would take more to break the Tyrant’s posture.

  The monstrosity swung back, channeling energy into the ground and causing a pillar to erupt underneath The Hero. The attack was fast, barely a moment to stomp, and then a spire of exploding earth.

  The Hero was airborne again, this time not by choice, and the Tyrant went in to juggle, slamming their tail into the pitch and sweeping a scattershot of stones to bring them back to the ground.

  The Smack Down flew fast, but the Hero wasn’t idle. They could have put up a Protect, but the trainer overrode the instinctual command action, a cunning plan in their mind. Their eyes flashed, energy flowing through them to power a Detect, looking for the way through the storm of avalanche of stone that promised the least damage. They twisted and turned, avoiding the scattershot in a preternatural show of evasion.

  Except for one stone. They let one tiny pebble hit their arm, allowing the energy suffusing it to pour through them.

  Suddenly, their upward momentum flipped, sending the Hero tearing towards the ground.

  The Tyrant wasn’t expecting it. They saw the Detect, expected a full dodge into a reset. Instead, they had an incoming Lokix, energy suffusing their rear legs. They extended the glowing limb, unfurling it with a window-shattering crack. The serrated leg flew in an Axe Kick that took the Tyrant right on the crown of the head.

  The devastating move was a risky maneuver that could end in serious damage to the user, but their gamble paid off, and the Tyrant was sent staggering. They had their window.

  A quick Aerial Ace took them down to ground level in an instant, where they slammed into the Tyrant’s side. Now on solid earth, they could throw themselves into a proper Low Kick, four limbs on the ground, the other two extending out so they could sweep.

  Their blow connected, and the Tyrant came toppling like an avalanche, but the Hero was ready. One kick, two. Why stop at a Double Kick when you could make it three. Four.

  Five.

  Six.

  On a lighter opponent, they might be able to do this indefinitely, but they didn’t quite have the strength to juggle the Tyrant that long. One last kick, and they sent their foe sprawling.

  The monster flew, landing in a heap on the other end of the pitch.

  For a moment, the stadium was silent. One breath, two.

  The Tyrant stood. They didn’t even look particularly tired. Just angry. They raised one foot, lowered it.

  The world turned upside down.

  The annihilated pitch erupted, some kind of combination of Earthquake and Earth Power.

  The Hero was forced to the skies once more, where they were met by an outpouring of Dark-type energy. The Dark Pulse erupted from Tyranitar, not in a beam, but as a flood. There was no dodging it, the best they could do was throw up a hasty Protect. The angry dark energy washed over the barrier, which they had to extend to cover themselves entirely.

  It persisted for a moment, then another, and then finally expired. Even with the Great Synergy Stone empowering them, no competitor could keep up that sort of nova for long.

  Unfortunately, the Tyrant’s attack had persisted long enough for their purposes. When the Protect dropped, the monster was right there. They lashed out, nothing fancy, no technique, just sheer, raw, power.

  The Thrash connected. And again. And Again. No limit, no stopping. Not with trainer empowering partner.

  As they took the blows, the Hero knew with certainty, the rampage wouldn’t end until they were out of syn. Or until they put a stop to it themselves.

  The trainer widened their bond, drawing power from the arena and flooding their connection. The syn erupted around them in a pulse of glowing, rainbow energy that pushed the Tyrant back. The Hero’s rear legs extended, carrying them off the ruined ground, vibrating with barely-contained energy.

  “It’s here!!!” The Announcer howled over the stadium's speakers. “Mask and Brent have entered Burst Mode!”

  They couldn’t give the Tyrant a chance to recover. They tore off the ground, their speeds almost priority as they charged their opponent.

  The monster wasn’t having it.

  Their foe was skilled, for certain. They timed their own Burst Declaration perfectly, interrupting the Hero’s assault.

  They were sent sprawling away, as the Tyrant glowed with rainbow light. Their foe’s form warped and twisted, spines elongating into cruel, twisting points. The monster’s chest glowed red, and a massive horn erupted from their forehead as they let loose another stone-rattling roar.

  The arena literally shook, the waters separating the stands from the stage sloshing as if a storm were writhing above.

  Maybe because one was forming. Streams of sand and gale-force winds erupted from the vents in the Tyrant’s body, whipping up a mass of howling, tearing sediment.

  Rainbow light erupted constantly from both competitors, flashing through the obscuring storm. Neither was yet trained enough to contain it properly. Neither would be able to maintain burst mode for long.

  They both acted.

  The Tyrant was enraged, and the glowing, prismatic Hyper Beam they spat came out faster than any move before.

  It was a good thing that the Hero’s Sucker Punch was faster than that still. They sunk into the shadows on their side of the arena, apparating in the Tyrant’s wake. Usually a trick for ghosts and fiends, but possible for Heros, when sufficiently powered up.

  The Tyrant barely registered the blow, but it got them in close. Small, energy-infused grains buffeted them, here right next to the monster. They couldn’t stay long.

  They Lashed Out.

  The Tyrant responded in kind, both using the weakening effect of the Burst Declare to paradoxically empower their moves.

  The two attacks collided in a flood of Dark-type energy to match the Tyrant’s earlier Dark Pulse.

  Unfortunately for the monster, the Hero had the right tools to combo from here. Fighting energy came pouring from the trainer, sweeping away the dark in a flood of rainbow light. One kick to end this, one tremendous axe-like blow.

  The Hero’s leg went up, and came crashing down.

  Only to be met by a scintillating fist.

  A distant part of the hero’s mind was outraged. The Tyrant had never shown Focus Punch before. They had held it, just for a moment like this. To catch them by surprise.

  It wouldn’t be enough. It couldn’t. They’d come too far.

  The two thunderous blows clashed, waves of rainbow light erupting from the point where chitinous foot met armored fist. There was too much energy. The equilibrium could last only a moment.

  Time for all or nothing. Syn welled up in the Hero, as they prepared to Endure.

  Not a moment too soon. The energy exploded.

  The Hero dug their rear legs into the ruined ground, letting the blast wash over them, waiting, watching.

  There, a glimmering green barrier.

  As expected of the monster, they’d gotten a Protect up. Perfect.

  Their Feint struck true, as they phased through the barrier, appearing on the other side of the Protect, legs extended.

  The Hero read surprise in the Tyrant’s eyes. They could play the waiting game too. Here was the perfect stage for a game-changing move. Their opponents would need to think twice before ever guarding in front of them again.

  The Hero felt their antenna twitch. Satisfaction at a job well done. It was over. After all, there was only one thing faster and more powerful than a Lokix’s rear legs extending.

  With a crack that could put any whip to shame, the Hero’s limbs retracted, smashing into the Tyrant with enough force to lift the monster several feet off the ground.

  The rainbow light faded from both competitors. From the Hero, because they were out of the synergy power needed to maintain Burst Mode.

  For the Tyrant, because they were out of syn entirely.

  The glorious ring of the buzzer confirmed it.

  “And with that incredible Burst Attack, Brent and Mask have done it! They’ve defeated Bria and Monarch! They’ll be advancing on to the promotion tournament!”

  The roar of the crowd had never sounded so sweet.