Whumm!
In a flash, the broad palm of Throh slammed down with full force, but it struck nothing but air. Its heavy body leaned forward, momentum wasted. It was not built for agility, relying instead on raw power and crushing force.
At that same time, the psychic ripple faded, and a spring-like leg dropped into the grass. Hitmonlee, its limb severed, recoiled and staggered back.
The confrontation had been so brief that it looked like Shiro had cut its leg clean off in a single blur. But Hitmonlee knew better. That half-second of suspension had felt like an eternity. It wasn't a matter of a slip of the body. Something invisible had blocked its movement.
It was a Pokémon, a master of kicking, and no one knew its limits better than itself.
"Go to hell!" Shiro roared, charging forward. His short blade swung from the right, aiming for Hitmonlee's retreating form.
Beside him, Throh raised its arms, a blinding orange-red energy erupting from its body. Heat radiated off it in waves.
Move: Storm Throw.
A full-force strike, guaranteed to do critical damage.
'G!' Shiro called inwardly, already anticipating the attack.
His blade, following the arc of his body, spun naturally to the left and stabbed straight at Throh's crimson forehead.
Buzz!
The Pokémon's palm froze mid-strike. Shiro stepped on its hand, using it as leverage to spring into the air, narrowly avoiding the kick of another Hitmonlee that came from the side.
His arm drove forward, and the short knife sank into Throh's head.
Shhhk!
The blade slid free, a trail of red blood scattering in its wake.
Seizing the opportunity, he leapt backward, and Throh's body was sent tumbling onto its back from the force.
Then a sudden rush of wind hit Shiro's ears.
Whoosh!
From his peripheral vision, he discovered the Hitmonlee that had struck from the side moments ago had twisted sharply in midair, redirecting ninety degrees and coming for him again.
'What the hell?'
Still airborne, he had no ground to push from, no time to dodge.
'G!' he cried urgently in his mind.
The psychic wave pulsed once more, and the leg stopped a finger's length from his cheek.
He lifted his hand to strike and sever it, but a springing leg also extended from above the fallen Throh.
One Hitmonlee kicking two strikes at once?
Shiro's scalp tingled, then he saw it. Ahead of him, behind Throh's corpse, a sturdy Machoke was holding the previously severed-legged Hitmonlee.
The kick aimed at him belonged to that one-legged Pokémon. Unable to attack effectively on its own, it was now being wielded by Machoke for a direct strike.
Two legs. Two attackers.
But Unown G could only bind one target at a time. The right-side Hitmonlee was frozen, leaving the forward one completely unchecked.
Could he cut it with the knife?
A thousand thoughts shot through Shiro's mind in an instant. His right arm was already raised, blade ready to hit the restrained Hitmonlee. To pull it back and intercept the second strike would take too long. Even if he managed, a short knife was poor defense against the raw force of that kick. If his timing was off, he could easily injure himself.
Or should he use Allister in his left arm as a shield to block it?
The thought barely formed before it vanished; the attack from the front was upon him, and there was no time to hesitate.
He brought his right hand down with full force, shifting his body slightly to the left. The springing leg struck his right rib just as he moved.
A violent shock coursed through him. Pain shot through his bones, and the force sent his body sprawling backward. Yet the blade in his hand had already done its work, slicing diagonally through the right leg of the fully intact Hitmonlee on his right.
He tumbled backward, struggling to keep his legs planted. A surge of metallic, coppery blood welled in his chest. Swallowing hard, he felt his vision blur slightly.
Then, a gentle force caught him just in time, preventing him from slamming into the thick tree behind him. It guided him down the trunk all the way to the base.
It was Unown G's psychic grip.
Shiro leaned on the tree, teeth bared as he spat blood and saliva onto the ground. "Fuck… that really hurts…"
The move had been Low Kick. Its power scaled with the opponent's weight.
If not for the brutal training and resources poured into him, his body wouldn't have withstood it. A single kick like that could have punctured his ribs or lungs.
Now, it seemed the impact had only slightly injured his lung. His ribs were intact, and overall, he was fine.
He glanced down at Allister, still clutching him tightly. He patted the boy's back and then crouched down to set him on the ground.
Allister didn't dare release his hold on Shiro's clothes. He cracked his eyes open and whispered, "Shiro…"
Shiro straightened up, facing forward, then pushed the boy behind him toward a large tree, interrupting him with a firm command.
"Stay here. Don't move."
Allister said nothing, simply pressing tighter on the tree.
Adjusting his breathing, Shiro ignored his slightly aching right lung and slowly began to move forward.
He had been knocked back over ten meters by the kick, but after stopping by the tree, none of the enemies pursued him.
Of the seven Fighting-type Pokémon, two were dead, and four were wounded.
Just the Machoke holding the one-legged Hitmonlee remained fully capable of fighting.
Hitmonlee's kicks relied on the full force of both legs. With one leg, they could only perform straightforward kicks. They couldn't move quickly or use their agile techniques anymore.
As Shiro advanced, Machoke dragged the two crippled Hitmonlees backward. Nearby, the injured Hitmonchan hunched over, hiding behind Machoke. The Sawk that had been slashed in the neck stood at the rear, guarding Kabu.
One man faced seven Fighting-type Pokémon and held the advantage.
At the edge of the forest, Kabu's face twisted. His hands clutched the towel around his neck, knuckles white. He screamed at the Sawk before him, "Attack! All of you! Use your moves! He's wounded! You're Pokémon, what are you afraid of?!"
But Machoke and Hitmonchan continued to retreat, and Sawk would not move.
Kabu couldn't see it, but the Fighting-types could sense something strange about their foe. Especially the two Hitmonlees. Each time they kicked, it felt as if another Pokémon was holding their legs back, preventing them from striking.
And now, all of them were injured…
How were they supposed to fight?
"Saaawk…"
Sawk raised a hand in warning, speaking low to the trainer behind him.
"You want me to run?!" Kabu's voice cracked into a roar. "Either we all die here, or you kill him! There's no other choice!"
His chest heaved violently, yet his legs disobeyed, stepping back despite his words.
Never had he imagined that anyone could face seven Intermediate-level, nearly Advanced-level Fighting-type Pokémon head-on.
In Galar… not even the people from Stow-on-Side Gym could manage that.
**
**
**
Thank you for reading! If you'd like access to extra chapters and want to support my work, you can visit my P@treon:
P@treon/SilverShark769
Vote with Power Stones for Bonus Chapters!
Your support means a lot, thank you!