The lance was unwieldy at his side, a burden rather than a crutch. Distant as a scream from the ground floor he heard the tip grate off the Aggron’s armor, leaving barely a scratch, before the full weight of Bastiodon crashed through.

To use the weapon, he would need to find a weakness.

Pried up by inches, Kinley felt his foreclaws leave the ground. His eyes flashed. His heart stilled.

Somewhere far away, he could hear the crowd was cheering.

And the world spun, his riveted neck holding firm despite the sudden torque of steel and gravity that threatened to snap it from the force. A smaller Pokémon might have rolled, tumbled; Kinley merely slid. The geometric plane of his faceplate struck the arena like the side of an anvil, triggering a cloud of dust and exhaled breath. A ringing sound emanated from the impact, leaving aftertones reverberating in the air.

Sides heaving, the Bastiodon’s plated body shuddered from the fall—but the shaking didn’t stop. The ringing sound continued. A ripple traveled through the fallen fossil like an earthquake, from the tip of his stumpy tail back up his spine.

He unlocked his jaws and released a METAL BURST.

His short, peaked tail, lacking the trails and ridges on the rest of his body, proved difficult to grab. Stainless-steel claws slipped like gauntlets on a sword blade as the Bastiodon thrust back gravity and reared onto his stumpy legs, the sheer weight of his bulwark skull bearing him around.

When your head weighed the same amount as a fortress gate, inertia did most of the work.

He crashed down to four legs again. The ground reverberated as Kinley, now facing Aggron again, slammed his massive head forward like a two-ton door in the other Pokemon's face. It was mostly a defensive move, a warning to back off-- it had been clever for his foe to come in close. Without the momentum of a charge, the HEAVY SLAM lacked his strength from before.

The world didn't make flesh and blood like Bastiodon anymore. He was a bastion of defense, a fortress in his own right. When his kind had lined up side by side, shoulder to shoulder, not even a Tyrantrum could break their line.

But time had blown away like sediment, and the great herds walked no more.

Your will is strong, bright-eye, he said, as soft as sand. His flat yellow gaze locked with his foe as he drove to push him back, to topple the intricate work of living flesh and concrete. He was a bulldozer at a demolition site, and this skyscraper was due to come down. But this world hasn't changed. Will isn't enough. It never was. 

A soldier struggled alone on an empty plain.

Who did he fight for?

Fingernails of rock scraped Kinley’s armored belly, catching him like fistfuls of broken claws. He bellowed, low and grating. Breaking shale swamped his footing like quicksand and he staggered, struggling to stand his ground when that ground itself spat back at every turn.

Kinley shut his eyes, iron shutters slamming down to arrowslits. His smooth, unbroken face held firm against the Iron Head, twin spears not even denting his bulwark brow.

He held his ground.

He held, and yet, Garth held him fast. He held, pinned and cornered by the spurs which bristled from the dust.

Gray and grim, he weathered the attack.

He was cornered, but he would not crack.

The onslaught was brutal. Piano keys of rock hammered at his belly like a vicious chorus line, the thud and crash of battle humming ever-louder in his ears. Soundproof wasn't enough. Kinley wasn't enough.

No... 

He staggered as a grave of sharp-edged headstones grew up to meet him-- no. They were more like trees, sprouting from saplings to sequoias in mere seconds. This world that should have been his-- it was too fast, too large, too great for him now. Kinley trailed vapor from his iron jaws, trapped inside a pyre of shifting rock that struck and pummeled every plate and bone.

No more...

But it was too soon to give up-- on this world, on this life, on this battle.

The stone forest ruptured like a breaking dam. Shards of silicate shrapnel exploded from the impact as yellow eyes burned from the rising dust, his face-shield bright as silver. His ribs rose and fell with breath, with exertion.

I am not... dead... yet.

The giant trembled, and his massive head thundered down to rest.

Some mess he'd been sent into, aye? Lip curling, the Slowbro slouched forward towards his new opponent, back hunched and sidearm swinging low. His armor chimed and rattled with each step, though he could barely hear it over the crowd still cheering for the two titans who'd gone before him.

Fuck those guys.

He didn't play so nice.

Hey, hey. Listen up. He fired his Shellder two or three times into the air for attention, eyes narrowed. The shot fell upwards, then back to earth in a shower of water droplets. A murmur of excitement swept through the audience at the localized storm which brewed above the armored Pokemon, wind and rain intensifying. Water beaded and rolled off his helm, splattering at his feet.

In the shadow of the thunderhead, eyes narrowed, Lachlan pointed his sidearm at his enemy and smirked.

What's that behind you, mate?

He fired.

Weak? Squishy? Why, you--

Lachlan's head snapped back, rocked by the psychic force that resonated through his skull like an airhorn only he could hear. Unlike his fallen teammate, he was not soundproof. Had his sidearm not been affixed to his hand, he would have dropped it to clutch his head. His consciousness twisted.

The world spun like a disc and the Slowbro came to again, rain splattering across his visor. He was laying flat on his back on the ground, looking up at static stormclouds. Rain dripped in his eyes and he slammed a fist into the ground to push himself back up, giving pause to a human referee who had been counting down to a knockout by default. The crowd, which had been muttering in discontent, stirred again to cheer the armored Slowbro on.

Son of a bitch! he rasped, arm shaking as he raised his Shellder to point at Nix again with trembling aim. Tough talk or not, Lachlan was shaken. He'd never had someone get in his head like that before. Get fried, you oversized egg yolk.

Two powerful missiles of scalding-hot water launched from the spiral shell, arching towards the Hypno. 

What the hell was going on? The Slowbro narrowed his eyes, squinting through the slits in his visor up at the rippling clouds where his opponent had disappeared. He pointed his sidearm at the sky, lips curling in an ugly grimace. Show yourself, bastard, he grated, naked tail thumping against the ground. 

He was half expecting some kind of attack to fall out of thin air, so he was lucky that when it did, it was something he could handle. Normally, a rain of vicious needles would have been a huge problem for his soft, stabbable pink body-- but he had something special. 

He had armor, baby.

That all you got? he hollered, quills pinging off his sidearm as he shielded his eyes from the assault. You think you're so big and bad shooting at me from up there, mate, but just wait til I get a bead on--

Armor went both ways. It turned out it was not only effective at repelling Pin Missiles, but was also very heavy, angular, and being hit by a speeding bolt of it coming out of the sky damn near killed him. 

Struck by what felt like a fuckin' car compactor, Lachlan swore half his bones broke on the spot. His own set of armor provided an all-new kitchen set of stainless steel surfaces for him to slam bodily against. Anything that normally would have bounced, clashed. Anything that would have absorbed shock cracked. 

Holy shit. Holy shit. Helmet torn off in the impact, eyes red-rimmed and chestplate so dented as to be concave, Lachlan reared up like the survivor of a spaceship crash, gasping for air. You-- whatever. See you in hell.

The water which had been pooling around the arena from the rain swelled, swirling together to form a great wave of silt and sediment. See how well this asshole swam in that precious armor! Clutching one arm, teeth gritted, the Slowbro stamped one foot and brought the surge down.