Despite everything, Beedrill is nevertheless at a disadvantage. Talonflame is simply that much faster. While they might seem evenly matched when they clash, any prolonged confrontation inevitably ends with the wasp on the backfoot, dodging and blocking and looking for a way out. Even now, the bird is flying circles around her, striking with its beak and wings and talons whenever an opening presents itself. It is an untenable state of affairs. If it continues, then defeat is certain.

So, a change of strategy is necessary. The bird may be faster, but it is still a bird. The way it flies is different from how Beedrill does. If it wishes to change direction, it is forced to turn its entire body. While it might have an advantage in speed, that swiftness is far more difficult to control, and that is the flaw in its perfect offense.

As a talon aims to rip her throat out, Beedrill drops down, putting itself directly below the Talonflame. From there, it unleashes a String Shot, seeking to catch its prey in the thread and kill what momentum it has gathered.

Below, the situation is similarly rocky. Now that he has earned the ire of the Corviknight, things will be getting much, much worse for Skeledirge. The strong winds threaten to blow it away entirely, and that could be disastrous. In a last-ditch effort, the Skeledirge lets out a Snarl, aiming to blunt the harsh winds and disorient the Corviknight. Even then, however, he cannot stop the sheer force from pushimg him back and sending him tumbling from his position.

"DRAAAGH!"

The good news is, the artillery fire has paused. The bad news is, it has not stopped. Surely, the Skeledirge will get back up, get back into position, and get back to firing soon. However, the Wind Rage has bought a precious few seconds of relief, and that alone is a plentiful boon.

---

lam logan

"Quagquag!"

With a cheery expression on his face, the Quagsire would follow after Isaac. Of course, he couldn't walk on water, but he was still an adept swimmer. With a hop, the creatured splashed down into the water below, before paddling along after him. Thus, the three would venture onwards, into the strange tunnel...

And it was as they were traversing that mysterious tunnel, deep and dark and flooded and long, that Isaac would make the mistake of asking Quagsire an open-ended question.

"Quag... Quagquagquagquag sire sire quagsire quagquagsire siresirequag quag quag quagquagsire quag! Quagquag siresire quagsire quagquagquagsirequag quag! QUAGSIRE! QUAGQUAG, quagquagquagquagquagsire siresiresiresire quagsire quagsire. Quagsire sire quag sire quag quag sire quag sire! Siresirequag quagsiresire quagquagquag. Quag, quagquagquagquagquag, quag quag quag quag, quagquagquag, quag quag, QUUUUUUUUUUUAG! Sire sire, sire, quag--"

His (potential endless) blabbering is brought to an end as the passage around them begins to shake. At first, the tremors might seem like an earthquake, but when they don't subside, it's clear there's something else going on. Indeed, as man and fish and dinosaur travel further and further into the tunnel, the shaking only grows more and more intense. It isn't long before they arrive at the "end" of the underground pathway and find the source of it all.

A gigantic metal beast, so heavily plated that it might as well be a walking, breathing tank. Claws and horns covered in dirt and sediment, no doubt from ripping and tearing its way through the stone in its way. A selection of limp bodies draped off its soldiers, each of them left black and blue from their bruises. Could this be...?

"AGGGGGGGGGGGROOOOOOOOOOON!"

---

Isaac Merlo

As you hook the crow's Pokeball to your belt, you take a moment to stretch. Arceus, your knees hurt. And you can feel your back acting up, too. Maybe no more sneaking missions from here on out? They don't agree with you.

...You're still very young.

After five minutes of stretching, waiting, sitting down, standing up, stretching again, waiting again, sitting down again, and standing up again, you finally decide to just walk it off. After all, you can't just sit here wait around forever. What, do you think a is Pokemon just going to fall out of the sky?

BONK! You're hit softly on the head, and shortly after, a strange-looking spider tumbles down to the ground below. Huh. Well, you guess you ARE surrounded by a bunch of trees, aren't you? Well, no looking a gift arachnid in the mandibles. Get in the ball, bud!

---

Catching Tarountula
0/4 Safari Balls

CANTO IV; Conquest

---

"AND THE WINNER OF THIS MATCH, THE CHALLENGER, SHREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED ZEPPELIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!"

The announcer's voice still echoes in your head, over and over and over. Even now, as you sit alone in the locker room, you can still feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins. Your fingers trace along the edges of the Grass badge. How much did you struggle to acquire this in your time? How many lost attempts and failed strategies did you burn through? Hours, days, weeks lost here, all in the pursuit of this badge! And now, here you are, having earned it on your first try.

It doesn't feel real. Then again, it isn't real, is it? This is all nothing but a dream. Maybe that's why you can't find it within yourself to be truly excited about this. Your hands are trembling, but you're not excited. Isn't it strange...?

"Hey, stop moping already. You got what you wanted, didn't you? You won!" Wimpod heckles you, oddly mouthy for a creature that's supposedly cowardly. "Meanwhile, you kept sending me out to fight, even though I asked you not to! I'M the one with a reason to be sad here!"

"Mr Wimpod, you are a Pokemon." Pancham plainly states, looking disapprovingly upon the bug. "It is our obligation to fight. If you did not want to participate in Pokemon Battles, you should not have gotten caught by a Pokemon trainer."

"Easy for you to say. I didn't get a choice. He caught me from behind! Meanwhile, you just walked straight up to him and let him catch you!"

"He gave me bamboo."

"Alright, enough already!" You snap at the pair, standing up as you stash the badge into your pocket. It doesn't matter, at least, not yet. Anyone can win one gym badge. You don't have the stats floating in your head, but if you were to guess, more than 80% of trainers get past Turfield. It's MEANT to be a softball. Compared to Hulbury and Motostoke, this is a walk in the park. Maybe what comes next will pose more of a challenge? Maybe that'll get your heart pumping for real? Maybe that'll give this dream some meaning?

Only one way to find out. Picking up your bag, you sling it over your shoulder as you make for the exit, Wimpod and Pancham scurrying behind you. This was just the first step of your conquest. It's time to carry onwards.

It takes a bit for the bite marks on your face to stop bleeding, but as soon as they do, you're back to it! You're on a hot streak now, and nothing is going to stop you from getting it even hotter. Well, except maybe for rabies, but you're not worried about it. They've got a cure for rabies. Probably.

You push the thought out of your mind. Now isn't the time to worry about your health! You've got to make up for lost time! So, you hurry ahead. There's more Pokémon out there, and if you wanna be the very best (like no one ever was), you've gotta catch 'em all.

As you continue to wander through the woods, you hear a song in the distance. Sang by a harsh voice, deep and wistful and ethereal and throaty and scratchy and sharp and overall just awful to listen to. No human on this planet could produce such a nasty sound. Instinctively, you crouch down and grab a Pokeball. This called for a stealth mission.

So, you creep forth, skulking through the underbrush as you finally lay eyes upon the source of the cacophony…

"CAW, caw caw CAW, CAW caw caw, caw CAW!~𝅘𝅥𝅯"

Oh. It's just a big loud bird. Well, fuck it, right? You just caught a bat ten minutes ago, you can't complain. Into the Pokeball it goes!

---

Catching Murkrow.
1/4 Safari Balls remaining.

CANTO III; Aspiration

---

Turfield, the town of farms and folly alike. Every fresh entrant to the Galar League starts their journey here, and while some find instant success, others are greeted by a rude awakening. Some get knocked down only to get right back up again. Others, disillusioned, give up, head back home, and surrender to their average, mediocre lives.

You were the former of the latter. You tripped at the first hurdle about a dozen times before you gave up trying and moved on to Hulbury. It turns out, your lone Toxel could not overcome the combined might if Gossifleur and Eldegoss. It was not to be.

But this time, it'll be different. This time, Toxel will have Wimpod to back him up.

And Honedge. And Salandit. And Pancham and Nincada and Sizzlipede and Corphish and Rookidee and Pawniard and Gastly and Magnemite and--

--Okay, so, turns out, ten year old you was just an idiot. You have like, a whole PC box full of these fuckers! Why didn't you just do this the first time? You're way stronger than you were back then!

But, are you strong enough? You take a deep breath as you step inside the gigantic stadium. A look of determination settles on your face.

You've been given a mulligan. This is a second chance to fulfill your lost dream. This time, you WILL become the Pokémon Champion, and nobody, NOBODY, will stop you.

Okay. Okay! It's not the end of the world! Sure, you're being held captive by this mysterious lifeform, but you've got two powerful and capable allies to back you up. Well, maybe 1.5, but still! Between the two of them, they could surely defeat this unknown foe. After all, it was two against one, and really, how hard could it be to beat up some loose wires?

Scizor rushed forth, delivering an X-Scissor that managed to slice through the rubber casing and the copper strands within. With two swift swipes, the arm holding you was severed, and you fell down to the ground. Hah! Already, you'd managed to cripple this thing, and that was with a paralyzed Scizor! Perhaps you had been overestimating this supposedly "formidable" opponent? Now that it was down an arm, this fight was as good as over. All you had to do was finish it--

SCHWOOP! A clump of wires pulled themselves free from the main body of the being, and after a little reshuffling and reshaping, the arm was as good as new. It was like nothing had even happened to it in the first place. But that didn't mean it was going to forgive and forget.

Electricity gathered within the new arm, and with a mighty CRACK!, it socked Scizor right in the jaw with a Thunder Punch. Not a particularly hard punch, mind, but considering how badly the bug was already suffering, another dosage of electricity could only make things worse. Lucky for you, you had Claydol on your side! Being a ground type, there was nothing that this stupid alien could do to hurt it. No matter how many sparks of electricity it sent forth, the strange effigy stood there, stalwart and unaffected. Scizor might not have been able to hit it, but surely, a devastating Psychic would send this idiot packing--

THWAP! A wiry arm lashed out, and just like that, Claydol was struck by a Power(ful) Whip and sent tumbling down to the ground.

"...What the fuck was that?" You turn to look at Howard and Shred, your fear replaced with a mixture of disappointment, contempt, and resignation. "Is that really the best you could do? We don't know what this thing wants. It could be trying to plug me into a horrible machine that turns my life force into energy! And if that's true, it would mean my life is on the line! Can't you try a little harder when it's a matter of theoretical life and hypothetical d-- WAIT, NO!"

Before you can finish berating your team, the Ultra Beast grabs you once more, before making a mad dash past Howard and Grigori, and out the door. But, wait, this is FAR too mad of a dash! At this rate...

"HOWARD! GREG! HELP! THE CABLE MAN LOST IT! HE'S JUMPING OFF THE CLIFF AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaa...!"

---

Uh oh.
howard slayte Grigori Sokolov

You scoop the Pokeball off the ground, holding it up to eye-level as you admire it. Isn't this just swell? Just a few minutes in, and you're already off to a killer start. If this is the caliber of Pokemon that's hiding out in this neck of the woods, then you've just hit the jackpot! With a nod, you stash the Pokeball away in your jacket pocket, before heading further into the Safari Zone. You better be quick, before any other premium catches are swooped up by other would-be trainers.

So, you trudge further ahead, soon finding yourself deep within a forest. Yeah, there's got to be some good shit in here. Probably a Venusaur or a Scolipede, but you'd settle for a Trevenant or a Pinsir too! You're really not that picky about--

"SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

"GYAH!"

Out from the canopy, a Zubat sweeps down, tiny fangs sinking into your face. You let out a (very manly, very tough) scream as you stumble over backwards, flailing about as you fall backwards.

Hang on, you're getting some weird deja vu here...

Either way, despite his antics, the Zubat is still just a Zubat. With one hand, you snatch it off your face, holding it as one would an ice cream cone. All the while, the bat continued to shriek and squeal, trying its best to break free so that it might continue its mauling of you. Fat chance of that happening, though, because you've got two hands - One to hold the Zubat, and one to hold the Pokeball to catch the Zubat. All it takes is for you to plonk the capture device on the little idiot's head, and just like that, it's a done deal.

---

Catching Zubat.
2/4 Safari Balls used.

CANTO II; STEPPING UP

---

...Course, this didn't go very well for you the first time around, did it?

Shred Zeppelin's road to becoming Pokemon Champion was, like most of Galar's roads, bumpy and uneven and full of potholes. In the eight years you attempted to conquer the circuit, you managed to get two gym badges total. As it turned out, the world was full of prodigies and savants, gifted children who understood Pokemon battling as though it were an art form. While you were struggling to even get paint on the canvas, your peers were creating masterpieces. Among shining lights, you were dull. Among the perfect, you were flawed.

The fun part of the dream is over. Now, you're beyond the nostalgic sights of Spikemunth, and out in the wilderness of Route 9. From here on out, it's a downward slope, a series of continuous rock bottoms and new lows for thirty years straight. Tonight, that's a restless night of sleep. Tomorrow, it'll be sore feet. The day after that, you'll get stung by a Weedle, and so on, and so on.

Well, no point moping about it. If this is how the dream is playing out, you may as well just play along until you wake up. So, you continue to retrace your steps: Walking along until you find a nice empty patch of grass, trying and failing to set up your tent, and settling for setting up on a nearby rock. It all plays out the same, like an echo, or a ripple, or a re-run of an old TV show. Even the smallest details, from the slight mouldiness of the corned beef sandwich you had for dinner, to the brand of the strawberry toothpaste you used to brush your teeth, are exactly the same. Even things you've forgotten are crystal clear.

And yet, it all feels so dull. You sigh as you begin to settle into your sleeping bag. What's the point of reliving the past when you can't change anything...?


"Wim, wim..."

Your jerk upright as you hear a strange, pathetic noise, and lay eyes upon a curious bug, hoovering up the crumbs of your sandwich. This, too, is part of your memory, the first of many botched capture attempts. First, you quietly unzipped your sleeping bag. Second, you crept over to your bag and retrieved an empty Pokeball. Third, you approached it to capture it, only to step on a loose twig. The resulting snap alerted the Wimpod and scared it away into a nearby crevice. You were completely mortified. It was the most embarrassing thing you'd ever experienced, and nobody even saw it. You would've cried yourself to sleep that night if you had slept at all.

But, again, it all repeats itself. One, you get out of your sleeping bag. Two, you retrieve an empty Pokeball from your bag. Three, you approach the bug--

--You stop. In that moment, a single footstep away from a dry and crunchy twig, it occurs to you that you might be giving this dream too much credit. If you were really back in the past, you wouldn't be Shred Zeppelin yet, would you? And you wouldn't be aware that you were dreaming, and you most certainly wouldn't be thinking in the second person. No, though the world is as it was back then, and you are in the body of your old self, you are not a puppet dancing on strings. You are still you. If all of that is true, then surely, surely...?

From your current vantage, you narrow your eyes, line up your throw, and toss the Pokeball, hitting the Wimpod head-on and enveloping it in the red glow of capture. You hold your breath and wait...

Shake.

Shake.

Shake.

CLICK!

Well, isn't this an interesting little development in this tired old story? A smile spreads across your face as you step up, over the twig on the ground and your defied fate alike, and towards your newly captured Pokemon.

As Howard stares into your eyes, you blink. What the fuck is Howard talking about? Just like you practiced? You didn't practice shit! Every time the two of you meet, you're either taking a smoke break, trying to make a quick buck, or being thrust into grave danger. You absolutely would've remembered doing something like a training session! You’re the one with the drug problem - Hell, you did a line of coke before you met up with Grigori just to get into the right mindset - So why is Howard the one who’s hallucinating here?!

Is he gaslighting you? Are you just misunderstanding him? Did it go so badly that you just permanently blocked it from your memory? You keep trying to come up with an explanation for this misconception, but nothing makes any sense.

There’s only one thing to do in this situation.

”Look, Howard…” You begin, moving your phone away from your faces so the following admission isn’t recorded. ”I’m thinking about it, and is now really the time for that? We both worked so hard on it, do we really want to use it here? I know the situation is tense, but be reasonable! The time is not yet right.”

Yeah, you’re going to lie. That’ll definitely get you out of it. Sure, it won’t actually solve the problem, but it’ll be fine! You glance over to the captives. Kazimir Wynter? He looks strong, he can take it. DESIREE BLOOMS? If she can scream that loud, clearly she’s still got plenty of life in her. Eris Halla? You got fucked up way worse than this when you were a kid, and you turned out just fine. Ambrose Hendrix? Honestly, you don’t know what he’s done, but he probably deserves this! Lulu Flint… Lulu Flint… Lulu Flint… Uh oh.

Alright, change of plans.

”Nevermind! The time isn’t right, because it’s more than right - It’s PERFECT!” You call out, dramatically pulling off your sunglasses from your face before tossing your phone over to Grigori Sokolov. ”Record this for me, Grigori. It’s gonna go hard as fuck.”

You point forward, and right on cue, Chester begins to run forward… Wait, you haven’t said anything yet. Does Chester know what the thing is? And actually, why did you even point in the first place? And how did you know pointing was the cue? A realization settles upon you: You don’t know what the thing is, but your soul does. Yes, it all makes sense now. This next attack isn’t just an average technique, but a blessing from your millennia of ancestors, a work of art and warfare engraved into your very DNA!

"HUP!" The Gholdengo hurries along, managing to catch up to the revolving Claydol, before hopping atop it as it spun around and around. "Ladies and gentlemen, ghouls and goblins, children of all ages! Let me ask you all a question: Are you feeling lucky?"

A glorious glow enveloped the ghost, a shining beacon of wealth inequality among the mire of the underwater cave. Throwing his arms up high, the Gholdengo did what he was born to do, and Made It Rain. But, this was no ordinary attack. No, every single coin that burst forth from his body was augmented by the ceaseless rotation of Claydol underneath, making them fire forth three times as fast, hit three times as hard, spin three times as swiftly, and ricochet three times as unpredictably!

As Howard announces your attack, you take your position next to him, back to back, and toss your sunglasses high into the air as you point a finger to the sky.

"SIGNATURE KILL: MURDER ROULETTE!"

---

TL;DR - Howard and Shred perform the coolest fucking combination attack on this entire website and basically, you are fucking stupid.
howard slayte Grigori Sokolov Kazimir Wynter DESIREE BLOOMS Eris Halla Ambrose Hendrix Lulu Flint

"Yeah, boss... We're gonna get him...! He's gonna pay for what he's done...!"

Why? Why would one member of Shred Zeppelin's merry band of misfits betray another of their ilk? Why, of all the Pokemon in this world, was his own Galarian Slowbro conspiring to bring about the death of Chester C. Coins?

It all came back, as it always did, to the Slowpoke Tails. A morbid delicacy, originating from Johto, that involved slicing the tail from a Slowpoke and cooking it to bring out its rich flavour. However, even the very act of making it is a cruelty of the highest order, for slicing off the tail of a Slowpoke is akin to slicing off their very potential. A Slowpoke without a tail can never become a Slowbro, only a Slowking, and a nation born of only kings will never know true joy, for a ruler can know no admiration without subjects, and will never bow their head to another, no matter how worthy they may be.

The snack was quickly made illegal in most regions, but like the forbidden fruit it was, people still sought to taste it. Thus, a booming black market was born, harvesting tails and selling them to any with the money to afford them. A bloody, lucrative business.

This is how Chester C. Coins accrued his fortune: Upon the back of hundreds of Slowpokes without a future. Well, that, and an absolutely horrifying amount of sweatshops, but the Galarian Slowbro only cared about one of those things. He didn't care if that ghoulish millionaire was selling sweat! He had to pay, and the price was flesh and blood!

"Alright... Here goes..." The Slowbro amped himself up as he approached the steel vat. "Gyrgh... Gyeaurgh... GYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEURGH!!!"

Unlike many Poison types, Galarian Slowbro vomit wasn't actually poisonous. Their toxicity actually came from the Shellder upon their arms, which were the actually poisonous part of their body. What that means is that in addition to the several gallons of sludge and acid and venom swirling about, there was also just some normal animal bile. Still, he tried his best, didn't he? That had to count for something.

SCHLOOP! Shortly after the Slowbro had finished retching, a blast of the potent poison from a Shell Side Arm fired out from the Shellder, before plopping into the vat. Did that count as the Shellder vomiting? Hard to say, but either way, the poison was now far more potent, and far, far, FAR more disgusting.

And thus, Brutus looks upon the knife in his hand, and he smiles, for the end of the tyrant looms ever closer...

---

Hyakkaryōran Tsubaki howard slayte Navy Yumi Hasegawa @milo Mirabella Fontaine DEREK HOFFMAN

It might have missed its mark, but that did not mean that Basculegion was at a disadvantage. Much the opposite: Since his Aqua Jet never hit, that meant he still had plenty of momentum to work with. Enough that by abandoning that same rushing water, he could leap high enough to avoid the dangerous Thunderbolt, before quickly diving back down into the nearby sea.

In that brief moment of peace, Laurence would take the time to scan his surroundings, but with the few seconds he had, his search would come up short. Aside from the obviously domesticated fish, there was no sign of an enemy trainer at a glance. Could they have somehow hidden themselves in the surroundings? Or were they out of reach, out in the water or on some faraway cliff? There were plenty of questions raised, and frightfully little time to answer them, for the Basculegion was already back on the offensive.

The beast would burst out from the sea once more, but this time, it was not upon a jet of water. Instead, they sacrificed their speed for power, opening their jaws wide as they sought to Crunch down on the head of the Electivire. While the type match-up might've been disadvtanageous, it seemed that nothing short of defeat would dissuade it.

"BAS! CU! LEGION!"

---

Laurence Anderson

CANTO I; REMINISCENCE

---

Your name is Paul Meatles. You live in a cramped apartment on Brunel Road, in the city of Spikemunth, with your mother, your father, your brother, and your sister. You're just an ordinary boy. You attend Spikemunth Primary School, and you eke out meagre grades. You have friends, but you couldn't be called popular. If you vanished off the face of the world today, the world would not miss you. Except, all that is about to change, because today is the 25th of December, your birthday, and you just turned ten years old. Today is the day that you pack your bags, walk out the front door, and set out on your grand Pokemon adventure.

You remember it like it was yesterday: The day your life really, truly started. You might have been born ten years earlier, but until you were handed the Pokeball with Toxel in it, you weren't truly alive. The day you began to shed the cocoon of your old identity, and blossom into the butterfly of your new self.

And, if you're being completely honest, it's where you peaked. It all goes downhill from here. It'll never be as good as this again.

Still, you suppose it's nice. You used to hate this place, but once upon a time, you had a dream that Spikemunth was reduced to ruins. After that, it soothes your soul to walk these streets again, as they once were. Is this what they mean when they say "absence makes the heart grow fonder"?

A sense of deja vu settles upon you as you retrace the steps you took decades go. It isn't unpleasant. Not yet, anyway. After all, this is still your dream. You'll find a way to fuck things up.

But, for now, you're content to walk both the uneven pavement as you would memory lane, avoiding all the cracks and gaps. Though it might seem it, you are not walking aimlessly. No, though blurred by the haze of your memories, you know that right now, you are walking the same path as you did thirty years ago, on that dark and chilly Christmas night.

The path of Shred Zeppelin, the Pokemon Champion of the Galar Region.