Rustle… rustle…
The branches and leaves that had been piled up were pulled aside with force, revealing what lay beneath.
"This..." Just seeing half of the machine made Shiro's pupils contract sharply.
It was shaped like a massive cone, with a large section of translucent glass at the center. Inside, immersed in some kind of liquid, was a Pokémon dressed like a noblewoman, with tight robes clinging to its tall frame, a high hat crowning its head.
Hatterene.
But this one was huge, standing nearly three meters tall, larger than any ordinary ones of its kind. Its entire body was pierced with dense clusters of tubes. In the middle of its chest, two clawlike instruments were driven deep into its flesh, drawing something out from within.
An Elite-level Hatterene.
And it was being used as fuel for the machine.
"The energy and psychic power drain fast... when it runs out, it dies. Hah, what a waste of money. Thanks to Macro Cosmos' black market though... more than sixty million Pokédollars for a brainwashed Pokémon. Too expensive." Kabu's voice sounded as he stepped out from the shrubs, standing at a safe distance.
Shiro pushed Allister behind him and fixed his gaze on the red-robed figures around them.
Kabu shook his head slowly. "Sixty million Pokédollars. That's enough to raise a perfectly normal Pokémon to Gym-level at least. But this brainwashed fuel... could it even win against a proper Gym-level Pokémon? Such bad luck."
As he spoke, the other red-robed figures advanced, stepping deeper into the forest.
"You've made the wrong choice, Shiro," Kabu said with faint regret. "That kid still has to die, but you can live. What you'll live as though... that's another matter."
Shiro ignored his rambling. His eyes stayed locked on the red-robed figure he had slashed earlier.
Blue blood.
That figure pressed a hand to its throat and tore off its hood.
Blue-skinned, with a body like a human's, clad in a light blue and black karate gi… it was a Sawk.
Shiro gave it a swift once-over.
Level 28. Within the Intermediate-level range.
The psychic waves funneled through Hatterene could suppress Pokémon between Advanced-level and Champion-level, which was level 31 to 69.
The effect seemed especially strong against Ghost- and Psychic-types.
Neither he nor Allister had any lower-level Pokémon exposed outside their Poké Balls, so they had no other option. Kabu, however, had prepared ahead of time. He brought several Fighting-types, perfect for field combat against a trainer. And there were seven of them.
Carrying Allister with him made the situation even worse.
Shiro's chest tightened. He called out in his mind, 'A! G! Drakloak?'
Ahead, the seven red-robed Fighting-type Pokémon drew closer. Then, faintly, Unown G's voice answered, 'I… borrowed a bit of A's psychic power while it's asleep… but it's not enough for Teleport. I can only use telekinesis to briefly help you.'
Relief rushed through him, and he asked quickly, 'How many times can you use it?'
'As long as they're within two meters, I can restrict one of them. And I can do it as many times as needed…' Unown G replied.
Two meters…
Shiro gauged the distance to the approaching Pokémon. That gave him some confidence.
Who here wasn't Fighting-type?'
He glanced back at Allister pressed against the machine.
It had to be fast.
The nearest red-robed figure, the one at the far left edge, was about five meters away.
Swish!
Leaves and branches scraped against Shiro's clothes and trouser legs as he leapt left, lowering his body, charging at the closest Pokémon.
In less than a second, he was upon it. His short blade drove straight for his opponent's face.
At such close range, he saw it clearly: the target was a Machoke.
The Pokémon instinctively leaned its body backward. It had also seen its fellow Sawk get slashed and bleeding, so it wasn't about to underestimate Shiro's strike.
"Chooooke!"
It let out a low growl. While Shiro leaned forward to extend the reach of his stab, Machoke's arms swelled, swinging upward in a horizontal hug to intercept.
Vital Throw. A move guaranteed to hit after the opponent attacks. To a normal human, that grapple would be enough to snap the waist in half.
But Shiro didn't dodge. He had long planned to show an opening to counterattack.
'G!'
The call had barely left his thoughts when Machoke felt something strange. Its arms, still hanging in midair, seemed to slam into an impossibly hard wall… its move had failed?
The Pokémon froze in confusion.
"Die!"
Shiro twisted his wrist down, flipping the blade. The short knife stabbed directly into Machoke's exposed throat.
Its muscles had been trained to the hardness of iron, but the weapon in Shiro's hand was no ordinary blade. Forged with Macro Cosmos' advanced technology, it cut through steel with ease. And the point of impact, the throat, was fatal.
Machoke tried to pull back its arms to block, but they wouldn't move. In its terrified eyes, the blade pierced effortlessly through its flesh and was quickly withdrawn.
Thud!
Machoke's corpse collapsed to the ground. Simultaneously, Shiro stepped back, narrowly avoiding a punch from a Hitmonchan.
Hitmonchan's eyes widened as Shiro dodged and countered faster than it expected. His blade swept again, cutting across its arm before it could pull away. Blood ran down the wound.
He rushed back to Allister's side.
The six remaining Fighting-types all stopped in place. Machoke's body lay sprawled before them, and Hitmonchan on the left edge cradled its injured arm, inching back. The Sawk that had taken a cut to the neck lingered at the rear.
Pokémon might be hardier than humans, but a pierced throat or punctured chest still meant death.
"Stubborn fool!" Kabu's face lost all its calm. His voice rose in a furious roar. "Go! All of you! Surround him! Grab the kid and crush him! What's the matter, can't you handle one man carrying dead weight?!"
But as his shout faded, the forest fell into tense silence.
One second. Two seconds.
Then everything moved at once.
Pokémon and trainers surged forward.
Shiro didn't leave Allister alone. His left arm hooked tightly around the boy's waist, lifting him as he sprinted toward the left flank.
In only two steps they clashed. Hitmonchan, already injured, retreated.
Behind it, a Throh thrust out its broad, calloused hands, aiming to seize the incoming blade head-on.
To the right, a Hitmonlee raised its long, segmented leg. Its limbs, coiled like springs, stretched unnaturally as it launched a deadly kick for Shiro's head.
'Right side!' he barked inwardly.
Throh was before him, but Hitmonlee was more dangerous. Its reach, speed, and spring-loaded kicks could kill him easily.
He feinted at Throh, pulling his blade back and stepping sharply to the side. The knife turned, slicing toward Hitmonlee's outstretched leg.
A psychic ripple brushed the air. Hitmonlee faltered. Its leg, stretched midair, locked for an instant.
Slash!
Shiro's blade cut clean through the suspended springlike limb.
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