At first, the Butterfree noticed nothing unusual. But as time passed, Bell grew increasingly uneasy—the unnatural silence mirrored the canyon ambush exactly.
"Something's wrong."
As a Psychic-type, his senses far surpassed his kin's.
Instinct screamed: Danger approaches.
And it was closing in fast.
The prickling sensation intensified. Bell's head snapped up.
Against the twilight, dark shapes streaked toward the clan—Spearow, their silhouettes unmistakable.
"Ambush! Above us!"
Amplifying his voice with Psychic, Bell roared the warning.
No time to explain. He shot upward, eyes blazing pink, wings scattering multicolored powders.
In an instant, a Psychic-powered powder storm erupted toward the Spearow.
Psychic + Triple Powder (Sleep, Poison, Stun)!
A devastating combo he'd mastered for crowd control.
The Spearow faltered momentarily—but Bell hadn't expected a one-hit win.
His goal was simpler: delay them.
SCREECH!
Exposed, the Spearow abandoned stealth and dove.
Bell smirked.
Already, some Spearow were dropping—eyes shut, expressions peaceful.
Sleep status.
Others slowed visibly, their movements jerky (Paralysis) or wincing mid-flight (Poison).
"Attack!"
The elder Butterfree surged forward, unleashing Air Slash barrages.
Gale-force winds staggered the Spearow, a few crashing down fainted.
Bell and the younger Butterfree followed suit, coordinating their assaults.
But battles shift fast.
Though the attacks disrupted the Spearow's momentum, they didn't stop them.
The flock split—some hung back, pelting the Butterfree with long-range moves (Fury Attack, Peck) to disrupt their formations.
The rest dove straight for melee.
As Flying-types, they knew their edge: close-quarters dominance.
And as veteran Bug-hunters, they understood Flying's superiority over Butterfree.
Soon, the first wave broke through.
Claws and beaks tore into Butterfree wings. Outmatched in physical combat, the clan was overwhelmed.
But Bell?
Human cunning outplays bird brains any day.
"Perfect chance to test my new move."
His eyes shimmered. A psychedelic beam lanced out—
Psybeam!
65 base power—stronger than Confusion—and it showed.
One Spearow exploded backward, the blast drawing the flock's attention.
Three more veered toward Bell.
He tensed slightly—these weren't pushovers.
Pokémon: Spearow
Type: Normal/Flying
Level: LV 18
Potential: Red
Ability: Keen Eye
Pokémon: Spearow
Type: Normal/Flying
Level: LV 19
Potential: Red
Ability: Keen Eye
Pokémon: Spearow
Type: Normal/Flying
Level: LV 19
Potential: Orange
Ability: Keen Eye
Two LV 19s, one LV 18.
Bell kited back—as a special attacker, melee was suicide.
Against normal Spearow, he'd maintained distance easily.
But now, type-disadvantaged and outnumbered, pressure mounted.
"Spearow evolve at LV 20, right…?"
The trio chasing him were bulkier than their kin—60 cm bodies (compared to his 160 cm wingspan).
Still, his size granted speed.
"Hmph!"
Creating space, Bell unleashed another Psybeam.
SCREECH!
The LV 18 Spearow twitched mid-dodge—Paralysis struck.
A split-second freeze sealed its fate.
BOOM!
The beam obliterated the Spearow, sending it crashing down.
Bell felt nothing.
This was kill or be killed—no mercy.
His earlier retreat hadn't been aimless. Invisible powders still lingered around him.
Triple Powder was always active.
Poison + Psybeam = guaranteed kill on an LV 18.
The surviving Spearow showed no grief—weakness deserved elimination.
But a prey daring to retaliate? Unforgivable.
Their bodies glowed white.
Bell's eyes narrowed.
Evolution.
He knew this feeling intimately—twice now, he'd experienced that transcendent surge.
Once complete, these wouldn't be Spearow—but Fearow.
And then, even Bell would struggle.
But evolving mid-battle?
"You've got to be kidding me."
His gaze turned icy.
Psybeam charged again—this time, aimed at the glowing forms.
KABOOM!
The blast interrupted their evolution, hurling them backward.
SCREEE—
Their shrieks echoed across the battlefield, drawing stares.
The would-be Fearow writhed—evolution halted, bodies ravaged.
Bell didn't relent.
"Never let enemies breathe."
Another Psybeam—this time, sweeping horizontally—turned the single-target move into an AoE.
The injured Spearow never stood a chance.