Pokémon Legendary: An Adult Pokémon Story
Copyright© 2025 by Subconscious_P
Chapter 17
Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 17 - An adult semi-erotic Pokémon story set in a more realistic and brutal Pokémon world. Follow a Pokémon Region Champion as he and his rivals race to unlock the secrets of Legendary and mythical Pokémon while facing an unknown threat unlike anything he's faced before. Our champion and rivals will put their lives on the line as they face lethal puzzles, god-tier Pokemon, a deadly stalker, an evil alliance, and the the most powerful trainers in the world. This story is not meant for commercial use.
Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Fan Fiction Cheating White Female Oral Sex Tit-Fucking Public Sex
The door slid shut with a soft pneumatic hiss. Phillip lay back against the raised hospital bed, pale but conscious, one leg suspended in a stabilizing brace. A faint ache pulsed through his thigh deep and insistent, like his body reminding him it had almost failed him.
The nurse offered a reassuring nod as she adjusted the IV line. Beside her, Blissey hummed gently, its round hands glowing faintly as the last of the restorative energy settled into Phillip’s muscles.
“This should accelerate tissue regeneration,” the nurse said. “No walking on that leg for at least a few days, even if you feel better, and don’t be a hero.”
Phillip let out a dry breath. “Too late.”
The nurse cracked a smile despite herself. Blissey gave a soft, encouraging chirp, then followed her out. The room went quiet.
Phoebe sat beside the bed, elbows on her knees, fingers laced tight. She hadn’t really relaxed since Spear Pillar. She’d just gone still, like a bow pulled too far back.
Phillip broke the silence first. “So ... bullet wound. Kidnapped. Legendaries stolen. Honestly? Not our worst week.”
Phoebe didn’t laugh. She reached into her jacket and pulled out her PokéNav, thumb hovering over the contact list longer than necessary. Then she tapped.
The projected holo screen appeared and split. Professor Oak appeared first, concern already written across his face. A second later, Professor Rowan joined the call, posture rigid, eyes sharp.
“Phoebe. Phillip.” Oak leaned closer to the camera. “We got your message. What happened?”
Phoebe inhaled slowly. “Cyrus.”
Rowan’s expression hardened instantly. “Explain.”
Phillip shifted carefully. “It was a trap at Spear Pillar. He used a local religious nut to bait us. Blackmail, and as you know, we brought Dialga and Palkia.”
Oak closed his eyes for half a second. “Cyrus took them from you, didn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Phoebe said somberly, “It was the best lead we had since we’d been here in Sinnoh. A distortion. Something the Syndicate might chase. It seemed legit when we heard it.”
Rowan spoke, quiet and lethal. “But when you got there, Cyrus was waiting.”
Phillip nodded. “Tasers. Disruptor tech. Full extraction team. He interrogated us about Giratina.”
Oak’s breath hitched. “He shot you?”
Phillip nodded and glanced down at the brace. “When I told him to go to hell.”
Phoebe’s jaw tightened. “Uxie and Azelf intervened before he could finish it.”
“Uxie and Azelf came and rescued you?” Rowan asked, “That must mean your bond with them remains strong since you rescued them years ago.”
“That’s basically what they communicated to us once they got us out of there.” Phoebe said.
Rowan leaned back, processing. “So, Cyrus now has Dialga and Palkia.”
“Yes,” Phoebe said. “And he wanted Giratina too.”
Silence stretched across the call.
Oak finally spoke. “Then the question isn’t if he plans to use them.”
Rowan nodded grimly. “It’s how.”
Oak rubbed his temples. “Last time, he tried to erase spirit and build a world of cold logic. No emotion. No suffering.”
“And Giratina intervened,” Phoebe said.
“Yes,” Rowan replied. “Which raises the concern that this time, he wants Giratina neutralized ... or controlled.”
Phillip frowned. “Or used.”
Oak’s eyes lifted sharply. “Or ... he’s holding Dialga and Palkia as leverage.”
Phoebe’s stomach sank. “For Arceus.”
No one contradicted her.
Rowan exhaled slowly. “If Cyrus believes Arceus can be summoned—”
“—then Dialga and Palkia aren’t the endgame,” Oak finished. “They’re the key.”
Phillip shifted, pain flaring briefly. “And if Giratina interferes again?”
Rowan’s voice dropped. “Then Cyrus would want it bound. Or removed.”
Phoebe leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair. “So, he’s either rebuilding his old dream ... or aiming higher.”
Oak looked directly at them. “And Ghetsis?”
“He called during the standoff,” Phoebe said. “Cyrus ignored him.”
Rowan’s brow furrowed. “That’s ... not insignificant.”
Oak nodded slowly. “This alliance may be fracturing faster than we thought.”
Another pause.
Then Oak’s gaze softened, just slightly. “Why isn’t Ace on this call?”
Phoebe and Phillip exchanged a look.
Phillip answered first. “He’s ... not exactly in fighting shape.”
Phoebe swallowed. “He’s still hospitalized in Calypso from catching Zeraora in his last match. Cracked ribs, bruised sternum, and shoulder damage. He just survived a Divine Challenge match.”
Oak’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You didn’t want to burden him.”
“No,” Phoebe said quietly. “We didn’t.”
Rowan shook his head once. “He will be furious if you don’t tell him.”
Phillip winced. “Yeah. That tracks.”
Oak’s tone was gentle, but firm. “Ace has never been protected by silence. Only by truth.”
Phoebe closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded. “We’ll tell him.”
Rowan leaned forward. “Good. Because whether he likes it or not ... this involves him now.”
The weight of that settled heavily in the room.
Oak straightened. “Rest. Both of you. We’ll begin contingency planning immediately.”
Rowan’s gaze lingered on Phillip. “Heal first. Then we move.”
The call ended. Phoebe lowered the PokéNav and stared at the blank screen.
Phillip broke the silence with a tired smirk. “So ... when Ace finds out Cyrus has two Demi-gods and shot me?”
Phoebe stood, walked to the window, and looked out over Veilstone’s lights.
“He’s going to lose his shit,” she said flatly.
Phillip exhaled. “Yeah.”
She turned back toward him, eyes burning with resolve.
“And then,” she added, “he’s going to want to do something about it.”
The underwater base hummed with a constant, low-frequency thrum, pressure shields flexing against the ocean above, generators breathing like some enormous, submerged beast.
Cyrus stood alone at the central platform, coat immaculate despite the salt-heavy air, hands folded behind his back as holographic readouts scrolled past: temporal stability metrics, spatial anchors, containment integrity.
Dialga and Palkia. Both signatures pulsed steadily in adjacent containment fields.
Footsteps echoed behind him, sounding unhurried and deliberate.
“You ignored my call.”
Ghetsis’ voice carried without being raised.
Cyrus didn’t turn. “I was occupied.”
A pause. Then, unexpectedly, Ghetsis let out a soft chuckle.
“That much was obvious.”
Cyrus finally faced him.
Ghetsis stood with one hand clutching his cane and the other concealed under his cloak as usual. His expression was not furious ... but rather, amused. Almost pleased. His sharp eyes flicked briefly toward the containment displays before returning to Cyrus.
“You succeeded,” Ghetsis continued. “You acquired Dialga and Palkia without alerting Interpol, without triggering guardian retaliation, and without destabilizing the region.”
Cyrus frowned slightly. “Efficiency was required.”
“Yes,” Ghetsis said smoothly. “And brutality.”
Cyrus stiffened, not at the word, but at the tone.
“You shot one of them,” Ghetsis went on. “Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t posture. You applied pain to extract information.”
Cyrus’ eyes narrowed. “He refused to cooperate.”
“And so, you reminded him of consequence,” Ghetsis said approvingly. “That is the Cyrus I remember.”
Cyrus studied him carefully now. “You are not angry that I acted without authorization.”
Ghetsis smiled thinly. “Authorization is for subordinates. Results are for leaders.”
He stepped closer, voice lowering.
“You forced confirmation that Giratina is contained. You narrowed its location to a controlled academic facility, and you reminded Phoebe Hallow and Phillip Cole that idealism bleeds.”
Cyrus said nothing.
Ghetsis circled him slowly. “You also demonstrated something else.”
“What,” Cyrus asked coolly.
“That you are no longer haunted by the last failure,” Ghetsis replied. “The hesitation. The doubt. The belief that you needed perfection before action.”
He stopped directly in front of Cyrus.
“You acted.”
Cyrus’ jaw tightened. “Giratina interfered last time.”
“And this time,” Ghetsis said, eyes gleaming, “you intend to remove that variable.”
Cyrus didn’t deny it.
“I will not allow chaos to undermine order again,” he said flatly.
Ghetsis nodded. “Excellent.”
He gestured toward the containment fields. “Dialga and Palkia are tools. Levers. Necessary ... but not sufficient.”
Cyrus’ gaze flicked briefly to the displays. “Then you agree they are not the end.”
“Oh no,” Ghetsis said softly. “They are the invitation.”
Cyrus turned fully toward him. “You truly believe Arceus can be summoned.”
Ghetsis’ smile widened just enough to be unsettling. “I believe Arceus can be provoked.”
Silence pressed between them.
“And Giratina?” Cyrus asked.
Ghetsis’ eyes hardened. “The shadow either bows ... or is caged.”
Cyrus inclined his head once. Not in agreement but in alignment.
“You did well,” Ghetsis concluded. “You reminded the world why your name still carries weight.”
He turned to leave, then paused.
“Oh, and Cyrus?”
“Yes.”
“Next time I call,” Ghetsis said pleasantly, “feel free to ignore it again ... so long as the blood keeps flowing in the right direction.”
He walked away, footsteps fading into the hum of the base.
Cyrus remained where he was, staring at the twin gods suspended in light.
Order required sacrifice, and this time..., he would not be interrupted.
Ace’s hospital room was dim, curtains half-drawn against the Calypso sun. Monitors hummed quietly at his bedside. His left arm was still immobilized, ribs wrapped tight, the dull ache in his chest never quite letting him forget how close he’d come to not being here.
His PokéNav vibrated on the tray beside him.
He answered without thinking.
“Hey.”
Phoebe’s face filled the holo projection screen. Phillip was beside her, propped awkwardly in a hospital bed, pale, leg heavily bandaged.
Ace’s brow furrowed instantly.
“ ... Why are you two in a hospital?”
There was a beat. Just long enough to be bad.
Phoebe inhaled. “Ace ... listen. We followed a lead in Sinnoh. An old man in Eterna City talking about a portal above Spear Pillar.”
Ace straightened slightly. “A portal?”
“We didn’t see anything,” Phillip said. His voice was tight, clipped. “But it was a setup.”
Ace’s jaw clenched. “Setup by who?”
Phoebe didn’t hesitate. “Cyrus.”
The name landed like a dropped plate.
Ace’s eyes went cold. “What happened?”
Phillip glanced at Phoebe, then back to the screen. “He ambushed us at Spear Pillar. Used a disruptor to lock our Poké Balls. Then took two of them.”
Ace felt something twist in his gut. “Which ones.”
Phoebe swallowed. “We brought Dialga and Palkia.”
For half a second, Ace didn’t react. Then...
“YOU DID WHAT?!”
The monitors spiked as Ace surged upright, pain flaring hard enough to make his vision white at the edges.
“You ... Phoebe, Phillip ... are you out of your goddamn minds?!” he snapped. “You took Dialga and Palkia to Spear Pillar?!”
“Ace—” Phoebe started.
“No. No, don’t ‘Ace’ me,” he shot back, breathing hard. “That’s not a lead, that’s a fucking invitation!”
Phillip’s jaw tightened. “We didn’t know Cyrus was involved.”
“You didn’t need to,” Ace said. “That place is a magnet for every lunatic with a god complex and a death wish!”
Phoebe pushed back. “We’ve been chasing nothing for weeks. This was the first real signal of activity we’ve seen since leaving Calypso.”
“And now Cyrus has two more legendary Pokémon,” Ace fired back. “Great job narrowing it down!”
Silence stretched.
Then Phillip spoke quietly. “He shot me, Ace.”
Ace froze. “ ... What?”
Phillip shifted slightly, pain flashing across his face. “Interrogation. Wanted Giratina’s location. When we didn’t talk—”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. Ace’s hands curled into fists against the sheets.
“He pulled a sidearm,” Phoebe said, voice shaking despite her control. “He would’ve killed Phillip if Uxie and Azelf hadn’t intervened.”
Ace’s expression changed to a more curious look.
“Uxie and Azelf showed up?”
“Yeah,” Phillip answered, “They saved our asses. Apparently, they somehow had been watching us since we arrived back in Sinnoh. They told us they remembered what we did for them all those years ago when we rescued them from Team Galactic.
“Well thank goodness they did.” Ace responded.
Then something dark settled behind Ace’s eyes.
“So, Cyrus shot you,” Ace repeated, low. “And now he has Dialga and Palkia.”
Phillip nodded once. “Yeah.”
Ace exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing himself back against the bed before his injuries could make the decision for him. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but far more dangerous.
“Okay,” he said. “Everyone still breathing is the important part.”
Phoebe blinked. “You’re ... not going to yell more?”
“Oh, I’m furious,” Ace replied flatly. “But yelling won’t rewind time.”
He looked between them through the screen.
“We shouldn’t have to worry about Giratina falling into the wrong hands.” Ace said calmly, pensively looking off camera.
Phillip scrunched his face in confusion. “Why’s that? Giratina is with Professor Oak, right?”
Ace looked back at the screen. “The Ultra Ball I used to capture Giratina is at Oak’s lab ... but Giratina itself is not there.”
Phillip’s eyes lit up and he smacked his head.
“Of course! You left Giratina in the Distortion World! You even told us that before we hunted the Regis! Can’t believe I forgot!”
“Yeah, I totally forgot that too.” Phoebe chimed, “Wait, does Oak know that?”
Ace smiled softly. “Of course he does, but I asked him to keep that under wraps, and he agreed that it was safer that way.”
Phoebe and Phillip looked at each other, then back at the screen.
“You’re something else, man.” Phillip said, chuckling.
“Still, this is probably a good thing,” Phoebe added, “The less people that know, the better.”
Yes, but with Cyrus targeting Giratina ... the professors are now at risk. They need to take extra precautions to either protect themselves or hide until we get a handle on this.”
“Shit. You’re right!” Phillip exclaimed. “They need to be ready in case any of these nutjobs come for them.”
“True ... but also, I find it odd that Cyrus doesn’t know that Giratina was left in the Distortion World...” Phoebe mused, “Wasn’t he trapped there for years? Surely, he would’ve seen it.”
“Time doesn’t flow in the Distortion World.” Ace reminded her. “For us, it was years, but for him it may have seemed much different. He may have isolated himself to the point where Giratina never ventured to the part of the Distortion World where he resided. Who knows?”
Ace exhaled. “So, this isn’t checkmate ... yet.”
Phillip frowned. “Ace, he has Dialga and Palkia. That’s not a ‘yet’ problem.”
Ace’s mouth tightened.
“No,” he agreed. “This is a now problem.”
He glanced briefly toward the window, toward the ocean, toward a challenge that already wanted him dead. He turned back towards the holo projection.
“Listen,” Ace said, locking eyes with them. “If Cyrus was going to use Dialga and Palkia the same way he did last time, then he would’ve done it already, which makes me think he and the other crime lords have something else in mind.”
“But what though?” Phoebe asked.
“On the airship, Ghetsis talked about controlling as many legendaries as possible.” Phillip said thoughtfully.
“Yeah, but ultimately, they want Arceus...” Ace replied.
Phoebe pondered for a second before straightening up.
“Maybe it’s a contingency,” she said, “Maybe they’re trying to mass legendary Pokémon as a way of combatting Arceus if they are unable to control it.”
“I think you’re right Phoebs.” Ace replied. “Arceus has always been the end goal for Ghetsis, but he still needs the Azure flute for that.”
“Which is why you need to keep battling in the Divine Challenge.” Phoebe said unexpectedly.
Phillip turned and stared at her. Ace looked intently at the camera, clearly surprised.
“Phoebs...”
“Listen,” Phoebe went on, exhaling as she did, “I know I gave you shit before for continuing this death tournament, but after what Phillip and I just went through, I see now that you’d be just as much at risk doing what we’re doing ... EXCEPT,” she looked sharply at the camera, “You have more control over the outcome of your situation, Ace, because you’re arguably the best battler in the world.”
Ace chuckled. “I love how you said ‘arguably’”.
Phoebe smiled. “That’s because I know I can still beat you.”
“And me.” Phillip chimed.
“Sure, whatever,” Phoebe said, waving her hand dismissively, “My point is, finish what you started. Get your hands on that Azure Flute in the Divine Vault and let no one else touch it. I believe now that the world is safer with the flute in your possession than it is in that vault.”
Ace looked at the camera warmly. “That means a lot, Phoebs.”
“Look we fucked up,” Phillip added, “But make no mistake, Phoebe and I will get Dialga and Palkia back, and they will not catch us off guard again.”
Ace smiled harder. “I believe you. I’m sorry that I yelled earlier. Arceus knows I’ve made dumb mistakes.”
“Damn right you have!” Phillip replied.
They all laughed at that.
“Heal up, Bighead.” Ace said to Phillip, smiling.
“Right back ‘atchu, asshat.” Phillip responded, smiling back.
By the end of the week, Ace had been transferred to the newly built Maria Bella Medical Center for his continued recovery. The room he was in smelled faintly of antiseptic and salt air.
Ace lay flat on his back, ribs wrapped tight, left arm secured in a sling that felt more like a leash than support. The monitors beside his bed hummed softly and steadily. He hated how calm everything sounded. Calm meant waiting.
A soft hmm-hmm broke the silence.
The Chansey at his bedside tilted its head, eyes gentle but assessing, one hand resting lightly against Ace’s chest. A warm pulse spread outward from its palm. It wasn’t dramatic or glowing, but a deep, steady warmth that seeped into bone and muscle like heat soaking into cold stone.
Ace exhaled despite himself.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That helps.”
Chansey smiled. It always did.
Across the room, an Audino stood perfectly still, ear-tendrils extended, eyes closed. It wasn’t watching Ace, it was listening to the uneven cadence of his healing ribs, the faint grind of inflammation in his shoulder, and the micro-tremor in his heartbeat whenever he shifted too fast.
Audino’s eyes opened. It shook its head once.
Ace scowled. “I didn’t even move.”
Audino tapped its foot. The message was clear: you were about to.
Day 3 of Recovery: Ace sat upright for the first time. It felt like someone had stacked bricks on his chest.
A Comfey drifted lazily around his shoulders, its floral ring brushing his neck, releasing a faint, herbal scent that slowed his breathing whether he liked it or not. His pain didn’t disappear, but it dulled, softened, and became manageable instead of all-consuming.
Sleep came easier that night. For the first time since the arena, he didn’t dream of falling.
Day 6 of Recovery: Physical therapy was slow, controlled, and a bit humiliating.
A Machoke stood behind him, not lifting or pushing, but stabilizing with its hands hovering inches from Ace’s torso as he carefully rotated his shoulder under supervision.
“Range of motion, not strength,” the physical therapist Keith said for the fifth time.
Ace grit his teeth and obeyed. Audino clicked its tongue sharply when his breath hitched.
“Alright, alright,” Ace muttered. “I hear you.”
He hated that it was right.
Day 9 of Recovery: The bruising faded from violent purple to sickly yellow.
Chansey rotated Heal Pulse treatments now using short, regulated bursts spaced carefully apart. No overuse or shortcuts. Ace learned quickly that too much healing at once left him nauseous, dizzy, and shaky. Biology still mattered, Pokémon or not.
An Indeedee joined sessions quietly, barely noticeable as it smoothed stress spikes and kept Ace from spiraling when frustration crept in. Ace noticed the difference most when it wasn’t there.
Day 12 of Recovery: Ace stood unassisted. His ribs protested. His shoulder burned. His leg felt solid, but not trustworthy.
Audino stepped directly into his path.
Ace sighed. “I’m not running.”
Audino didn’t move.
“I’m not sparring.”
Still nothing.
Ace clenched his jaw. “ ... I’m just checking balance.”
Audino raised one brow. They stared at each other, and Ace lost.
Day 14 of Recovery: Ace sat on the edge of the bed, feet on for the first time. The room felt different now. It felt smaller and more temporary.
Chansey finished a final check, pressing its hands gently to his side. The warmth came, familiar now, like reassurance instead of rescue.
Audino listened longer than usual. Finally, it stepped back.
There was a third-party doctor present that Ace was recently referred to early on. Her name was Dr. Natalie Weitzman, a 30-year-old doctor with long, straight dark brown hair that fell smoothly past her shoulders, who specialized in bone and muscle recovery. She had been kind enough to come visit Ace at Maria Bella General instead of making him come to her offsite office location despite her busy patient schedule. Dr. Weitzman was quite brilliant in her field and fairly young for a doctor with her kind of experience. She wasn’t afraid to look good while doing her job either.
Her skin was smooth and tanned with a warm glow, complemented by subtle contouring and a natural flush on her cheeks. She had full, plump lips coated in a glossy nude-pink shade, underneath her white lab coat, she wore a fitted navy-blue buttoned-down shirt, a short grey pencil skirt, and black high-heeled pumps with red bottoms. Her fingernails were manicured with medium-length almond shaped acrylic painted a nude color.
Dr. Weitzman cleared her throat. “Structurally, you’re improving fast. Faster than expected.”
Ace’s eyes sharpened. “So—”
“But,” she continued calmly, “your ribs are not fully knit. Your shoulder will fail under repeated impact. You can function. You cannot absorb punishment.”
Ace nodded once. He’d already known.
“You push too hard,” she added, “and we reset the clock.”
Silence. Then Ace stood slowly, carefully, and controlled.
“I’m not rushing back,” he said quietly. “I just need to be ready.”
Ace exhaled. Two weeks in, he wasn’t healed, but he was healing, and for the first time, he wasn’t trying to outrun it.
At Pacifidlog town in Hoenn, the sea was calm.
Fishing boats bobbed gently against their moorings, wooden walkways creaking as the town eased into its evening rhythm. Lanterns flickered to life one by one. Waves lapped lazily against the pylons holding Pacifidlog aloft.
Then the sky darkened with weight. The air thickened, pressure dropping so fast that ears popped across the town. The ocean beneath the platforms began to churn, rippling outward in widening circles like something massive was turning beneath the surface.
Then someone screamed. The water exploded. Kyogre erupted from the sea in a wall of black and blue, its massive body blotting out the horizon as rain detonated from the sky all at once slamming into the ocean and town in sheets so dense visibility dropped to nothing.
Wind howled between buildings. Waves surged up and over the platforms, tearing loose boats like toys.
Sirens wailed, and above it all, Kyogre roared in command.
Below the surface, the Team Aqua submarine’s observation deck was silent except for the hum of engines and the steady pulse of the control lattice.
Archie stood with his hands braced against the glass, eyes fixed on the chaos above. Rain lashed the surface so hard it blurred the image into streaks of white and gray.
Kyogre responded instantly to every command. Precipitation increased, a tidal surge rose by thirty percent, and sustained winds buffeted the buildings. Perfect compliance.
One of the operatives swallowed. “Archie ... the town—”
“I know,” Archie said calmly.
Another wave rolled through Pacifidlog, snapping pylons and tossing buildings sideways. The sea swallowed half the eastern platforms in seconds.
“This isn’t about destruction,” Archie continued. “It’s about certainty.”
Kyogre turned sharply without hesitation on command, redirecting a massive swell directly through the town center. Structures folded like wet cardboard.
Archie smiled.
“It obeys orders through the signal,” he said softly. “That’s all I needed to know.”
Up above, news choppers circled at a distance, cameras shaking violently as the storm tried to tear them from the sky.
“This is not a weather anomaly,” the reporter shouted over the roar. “I repeat, this is NOT a natural disaster—”
The camera caught Kyogre’s silhouette rising through the rain.
“Oh my God...”
The feed went global. Screens lit up across regions, gyms, labs, hospitals, and living rooms.
Kyogre dominated every broadcast. Pacifidlog was vanishing beneath the onslaught of water and wind.
Ace watched from his hospital bed, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
Elsewhere, Phillip stared at the screen from Veilstone, blood draining from his face. Beside him, Phoebe didn’t blink.
In Pallet Town, Professor Oak stood frozen, hands gripping the edge of a console.
Rowan, who was in town visiting Professor Oak, stood next to him looking sharply at the screen.
“Archie,” Rowan said quietly. “Looks like he’s gone rogue.”
“No,” Oak replied. “He’s announcing himself.”
The holo-call snapped open, and faces appeared one by one, overlapping feeds of devastation playing behind them.
“That’s Kyogre,” Phillip said hoarsely. “Under control, you see the yellow eyes?”
Ace’s voice cut in sharp. “Where is this?”
“Hoenn,” Phoebe answered immediately. “Pacifidlog Town.”
Silence. Then Phillip spoke, already shifting his weight off the chair.
“We’re closest.”
Phoebe nodded. “We move now.”
Ace surged forward instinctively then winced slightly as a prickle pain flared through his ribs. “I’m coming.”
“No,” Oak snapped.
“Absolutely not,” Rowan added.
Phoebe didn’t soften it. “Ace, you’re benched.”
Ace glared at the screen. “People are dying, and I feel a lot better.”
“And you will be dead too if you try to play hero with cracked ribs and a half-set shoulder,” Phillip shot back. “That doesn’t help anyone.”
Ace clenched his fists. “Kyogre doesn’t answer to reason.”
“No,” Phoebe said. “But it might answer to us.”
She met Ace’s eyes through the holo.
“You stop the endgame. We stop the bleeding.”
Ace held their gaze, then finally exhaled sharply looking furious.
“Come back alive.”
Phillip smirked grimly. “Always do.”
Minutes later, wind tore past them as they mounted up, rain already sweeping in from the forming supercell offshore.
Phillip swung into position, leg stiff but locked, jaw set through the pain. Phoebe adjusted her grip, eyes fixed on the dark horizon where the storm pulsed like a living thing.
Behind them, the holo-call remained open with Ace watching, powerless and burning.
“Be careful,” Oak said quietly.
Phoebe didn’t look back. “No promises.”
They launched into the storm. The holo call ended.
The submarine trembled as the ocean above raged.
Alarms pulsed low, steady, and controlled. The kind of sound that meant systems were stressed but still obeying.
Shelly’s fingers danced across the console. “Kyogre is responding cleanly to recall parameters. We can disengage in sixty seconds.”
Archie didn’t answer.
He stood at the forward viewport, rain hammering the surface so hard it blurred the line between sky and sea. Pacifidlog was ruined behind the storm half submerged and with lights flickering through sheets of water.
“Sensors just picked something up,” Shelly added, tone sharpening. “Two fast-moving signal registers. Airborne.”
Archie turned slowly. “Trainers?”
Shelly nodded. “High-output signatures. One fire-type carrier. One ... steel-psychic. Flying.”
She pulled the feed up.
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