It began with a tremble beneath her claws.
Nestled in a cradle of thick leaves and soft loam, the egg quivered. Dusk had begun its descent, washing the forest in amber light, and Vigoroth hovered over the fragile shell with bright, eager eyes. Her fur bristled with anticipation. The scent of the troop still lingered in the wind, distant and faint, but this moment—this one—was hers alone.
Her claws twitched with restless energy, but she stilled them. The egg cracked, a thin split trailing down its smooth surface. A soft glow pulsed from within. Her heart thundered in her chest—not from agitation, but from something else. Something primal. Joy.
Then it hatched.
The world changed.
The creature that blinked up at her was… wrong.
No. Not wrong. Different.
Large—too large. Twice the size of any newborn Slakoth she had ever seen, even larger than some of her kin. Broad limbs. Claws already dense with bone. Its body, though soft with afterbirth, exuded a weight she couldn't explain. A presence.
And its eyes.
They glowed not with the usual dull, content black of her kind—but red. Crimson, deep as blood and old instinct.
Her breath caught. Her body stiffened. She knew. Every nerve in her screamed the truth even if her mind could not form the word.
An Alpha.
Not just large. Not just strange. A King. Born not to follow, but to rule.
And in that same moment of awe came fear.
Her son's birth was a threat.
Not to her—but to everything else.
The troop would not accept him. Slaking—her leader and mate, their alpha—would see the child as a rival. The others would sense it too. They would fear him. And when Pokémon fear… they attack.
Vigoroth shifted her stance, tail curling tightly around the newborn. He chirped—a soft, dazed sound—and nuzzled against her with blind, innocent affection. He knew nothing. He was nothing yet. Just a baby. Her baby.
But the forest would not care. The world would not care.
Her instincts screamed in conflict. Protect the troop. Protect the species. But another instinct was stronger. Older. Deeper.
Protect your child.
She moved before the sun rose. Slipping away under the veil of darkness, through trees she knew and paths she trusted. Her territory. Her blood. She would carve a new life for her son if she had to rip the world apart to do it.
*
Days passed.
She fed. She fought. She kept her son safe.
He grew faster than she could believe. Stronger. Smarter. Still docile—still content to rest on her back or curl into a ball beside her—but there was a strength in his limbs, a weight to his gaze. A future others would try to destroy.
But they were hidden. For now, they were safe.
Until the air changed.
The wind brought with it a smell she didn't recognize—stale, heavy, sweet with decay and power. She had just returned to their shelter, a hollow beneath thick roots and thornbrush, when the earth trembled.
Then she saw it.
A massive creature lumbered between the trees, half-asleep, nose twitching.
Snorlax.
Her fur stood on end.
She had never seen one here. This forest had its dangers—Arbok nests, roving Mightyena packs—but Snorlax? That was not normal.
And it was moving… toward them.
Food. The berries she'd gathered earlier. The scent must have drawn it in.
She looked at her child. He blinked up at her, licking berry juice from his claws. Unaware. Unafraid.
Vigoroth's muscles tensed. If she were a Slaking, she could fight. But now? She had no chance.
She grunted softly and nudged him. Urged him to move. To run.
He followed.
They darted through underbrush, weaving between roots and rocks. Fast. Silent. But the Snorlax's nose flared. It groaned—then let loose a guttural, hungry roar.
The forest exploded in motion.
Branches cracked behind them as the giant gave chase, plowing through trunks like they were saplings. Vigoroth ran harder, pushing her baby ahead, breath sharp and wild.
This was not a predator's hunt.
This was a bulldozer of hunger, rolling toward them with uncaring force.
And Vigoroth, mother and fighter, made the only choice she could.
She turned.
*
She had no plan at first.
Only run.
The forest was a blur around her as she bounded from root to root, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm in her chest. Her son clung to her back, silent but wide-eyed, sensing the terror in her every breath. She dared not look behind. She didn't need to.
The earth spoke clearly enough—
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The Snorlax wasn't slowing. If anything, it was speeding up.
Her instincts had never failed her before—but this… this was wrong. A Snorlax shouldn't behave like this. They were territorial, yes. Dangerous when disturbed. But relentless? Predatory? Grinning?
Never.
A harsh cry echoed from above. She glanced up just in time to see an Ekans slither down a tree to hide in the thick moss—only for the Snorlax's massive paw to swipe upward mid-run, snatching the serpent clean from the branches. It bit the writhing snake in half with a crunch, never even pausing its pursuit. Its grin widened—lips slick with fresh blood, eyes locked on her.
Was it after her? No.
Its gaze kept shifting to the weight on her back.
To him.
Something inside her twisted. She snarled.
No more running blindly.
If this thing wouldn't stop, then she would drag it to the border. To her troop. Maybe someone would hear her. Maybe Slaking. Maybe anyone.
She veered east, cutting through fern and fog toward familiar scents—markings on trees, claw-scars on bark, tufts of fur left purposefully behind. Territory signs.
As soon as she crossed one of the oldest scent trails, she screamed.
A piercing, guttural cry—part challenge, part plea. She didn't care who heard it. She wanted them to come. Wanted them to know. She threw another call into the canopy, this one louder, rawer.
The Snorlax roared in return.
She set her child down beside a hollow log. "Stay. Hide," she growled through bared teeth. "Don't move."
Then she turned and attacked.
Claws flashing, she leapt in from the side—Fury Swipes aimed at the beast's face. She didn't aim to kill—just to slow. Draw blood. Anger it. Distract it.
The Snorlax grunted, staggered slightly—then lunged with shocking speed.
It anticipated her path.
Her feet hit the dirt but a second too slow, and in that instant, the creature's massive paw snagged her arm. Bones ground beneath its grip. She shrieked and twisted, raking her free hand across its belly in a flurry of slashes—one, two, three! But the strikes barely cut past the fat. The Snorlax just stared, eyes dim, breath huffing in excitement.
It raised her higher.
Then came a cry. Small. Furious.
Slakoth.
Her son had not stayed hidden.
He lunged from the bushes, moving faster than she'd ever seen—claws glinting with a black, unnatural sheen. Night Slash. The sharp edge of it tore into the Snorlax's upper arm—the one holding her.
The beast let out a deep, shocked grunt, and instinctively let go.
She hit the ground in a tumble, half-rolling as her arm throbbed with agony. But she wasn't the only one falling.
The Snorlax turned.
And with speed no creature of its size should possess, it leapt—a blur of bulk and hunger. Its body slammed down with a sound like a boulder dropped from the sky.
Right on top of her son.
CRACK.
She saw him—flung like a leaf into a nearby tree. His back hit bark with a sickening thud, and he slumped into the roots below, unmoving.
A wheeze. A twitch. He was still breathing—but barely.
Paralyzed. Broken.
Her ears filled with static. Her claws dug into the stone beneath her.
And then she screamed.
A cry so sharp and guttural it startled birds from trees, so violent it tore her throat raw. Rage took hold. A mother's rage. It boiled through her veins, overriding pain, overriding fear.
She launched herself at the Snorlax with everything she had.
Now, she wasn't fighting to flee.
Now, she was fighting to kill.
*
The clearing swam in a haze of pain and blood.
Vigoroth staggered back, panting, one eye swollen half shut, her shoulder slick with red. The taste of copper flooded her mouth. She couldn't remember how many times she'd been thrown now. Her legs trembled, her claws shook—but she tried standing, her legs would not work. But she keep trying.
Not for herself.
For him.
Her son still lay crumpled beneath the fallen tree, chest rising in quick, shallow bursts. He hadn't moved since the Body Slam. Her every instinct screamed to run to him, shield him, cradle him. But she couldn't.
The Snorlax is now close enough to her son, it raises its paw for one final blow.
And she had nothing left.
She roared in defiance, trying to rise again—but her muscles failed. Her limbs gave way. The world tilted.
Then… something changed.
A sharp, foreign sound sliced through the clearing. A voice—guttural, human, loud. It wasn't Pokémon. But it wasn't wild, either. It was something else.
And suddenly, a shape burst from the underbrush.
A figure—bipedal, strange, wielding a blade. No scent of fur or claw. No threat she recognized.
But he didn't attack her.
He ran for her child.
Her heart leapt in panic—but froze when she saw the flash of red light.
A Poké Ball?
He threw it, to save her child. The light swallowed the Slakoth whole, drawing him into the capsule before the Snorlax could bring its paw down.
The human turned.
Faced the beast.
Attacked.
Vigoroth could only watch, dumbfounded, as the strange creature fought with reckless fury—striking, ducking, slashing with his axe. He wasn't strong, not like the Snorlax, not even close. But he was fast, clever, unyielding.
And above all—he stood between the monster and her son.
Her chest constricted.
Why?
Why would he fight for them?
She didn't know. She didn't understand humans. She hadn't even noticed this one before. But now… her bloodied heart twisted with a new feeling.
Hope.
Then came the roar.
A deeper one. Familiar.
The earth trembled.
From the far end of the clearing, a shape erupted from the trees—a massive, furred titan with fury in its eyes.
Slaking.
It struck like a landslide, its body colliding with the Snorlax in an explosion of force and bark and broken limbs. The air shuddered from the impact.
And then the trees came alive.
Her kin.
Vigoroths—dozens—howled into the dark as they burst from every side, claws outstretched, eyes blazing. Some tackled the Snorlax directly, others circled, screaming war cries that echoed through the canopy. Slakoth clung to trunks and vines, watching from above, wide-eyed.
The troop had heard her. They had come.
Vigoroth forced herself upright, the numb feeling to her limbs is fading now, stumbling through the underbrush.
Relief flooded her body.
She didn't know the human's name.
Didn't know why he had helped.
But she looked at him—this strange, wild-eyed male with a fire behind his teeth—and in that moment, she didn't care.
He had protected her child when she couldn't.
And for that, she would remember him.