She was speed incarnate.
She was fury honed into a single blade.
She was the edge of a storm, descending without mercy.
The wooden floor beneath her vanished. So did the stares of a few children, the stench of sweat, even the voice of her Chosen.
The only thing left was her opponent.
The wretched bug stood before her, calm and as steady as an old oak. Its wings buzzed once, sharp and shrill, before settling. A warning.
Good. She would strip that pride away from it.
With a blur of silver, she closed the distance. Her claws were already swinging—left, right, twist, underhand—each movement sharper than the last. The air screamed as her scratches carved through it.
The bug didn't pause.
It sidestepped, and her attack met only the open air.
So she'd missed, so what? She whirled, not one to ever stop with a singular attack.
Then she missed again.
And again.
And… again?!
Zangoose spun mid-swing, her tail lashing to stabilize. Her momentum didn't slow—it shifted, redirected, like water flowing over stone.
She crouched low and launched herself at his knees. A feint. At the last instant, she twisted, claws aimed for his throat.
Blocked.
Horn met claw. The ringing impact pulsed up her bones. He didn't even reel—just pivoted and brought his arm down like a hammer.
She was gone before it landed.
Her claws dug deep, gouging into the polished boards as she slid backwards. The resistance slowed her, steadied her in place.
She crouched low again—eyes sharp, tail lashing.
With a leer, she let her Aura flare into action, a violent shimmer around her body. There was no technique behind it, just pure intent.
A wave of bloodlust that warned it of its impending doom.
The lowly bug didn't even flinch.
He wasn't mocking her, she could tell. He seemed to genuinely think he was worthy enough to give her a few lessons through their spar.
And that—
That infuriated her.
Her rage boiled—not just hot, but deep. It coiled around her bones like smoke, seeped into her veins like venom. Her fangs bared, not in anger, but in something deeper.
Hatred.
She was Zangoose.
If she were to claim the second strongest in the world, then who would ever dare to claim first?
And this beetle thought they were equals?
She felt her blood stir. Her claws tingled—no, ached. The urge to mangle, to maim, to hurt roared through her.
She fed it.
Her Aura twisted. No longer silver—now dark, jagged, snarling. It coalesced around her claws like fog with teeth, crackling, pulsing with malevolence.
She vanished.
One moment crouched.
The next—already swinging.
A single strike to cut through the world.
"FALL!"
The shadows ripped through the air like a curtain being shredded—an invisible force that distorted light and sound. The ground beneath surely trembled in anticipation of the strike's devastation, and every muscle in her body screamed with the promise of ruin.
Her claws, wreathed in that malevolent dark aura, sliced forward with unstoppable momentum.
And then—
Her blades met the bug's forearms.
And stopped.
The deafening crack of the clash echoed through the dojo, and the jagged shadows sputtered, disintegrating into nothingness.
Incomprehension flooded her eyes.
How?
Blocked? Her strongest attack… blocked?
Before she could process, the bug simply grabbed her arm, tilted its head and charged. Its massive horn gleamed with green light, becoming a club of pure force.
[Megahorn]
Somehow, she knew its name. Though no one had spoken it aloud, the technique rang in her mind like a verdict.
The impact hit her like a mountain. She went flying, skidding across the polished floor.
Was her own fury that unrefined? That a mere bug's basic attack could brand its name into her mind… while her own attacks remained nameless?
She scrambled up.
Chest heaving.
Lips pulled back in a snarl.
Eyes ablaze with confusion, humiliation, and boiling rage. That same dark energy built up inside her, fueled by her indignance.
She was going to snap. Lash out. Froth and tear at everything—
But her Chosen was already moving.
"Alright, that's enough of that," Jasiir said, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. "No need to get knocked out in a spar, Zangoose."
Her pride bristled at the words, as if her loss had been a certainty, but her body slowly relaxed against him.
This... this was just a momentary setback. This bug—no, Heracross—were not her equal. He was simply an obstacle to be overcome.
No, not just overcome, but slashed into pieces.
Her Aura stirred within her, locking her thoughts into place. Resolve filled every strand of fur on her body as she made her declaration:
Together—with her Chosen—she would rip, tear, cut, and cleave through any obstacles that came their way!
Until there was nothing left but the path forward!
--------
I sat her down in my lap, gently, letting her relax even further in my embrace. Softly, I ran my hand through her fur and smoothed over her still ruffled look.
For a moment, we just sat there quietly.
Evidently, though, she didn't stop glaring at Brawly's Heracross. Yet, instead of the rage I felt in her bond previously, there was something more akin to… determined radiating in our bond.
So I moved on.
"Okay… so let's see," I muttered aloud. "You led with Quick Attack into Scratch, I'm pretty sure. Feint, after that. Then you definitely used Leer. And that last move was…"
I trailed off, frowning.
"That last one was… it was…"
"Night Slash," Brawly supplied, still standing a few paces off. His hands were behind his head, grinning like he'd been waiting for the cue.
I looked up at him.
Night Slash. The Dark-type was supposedly called the 'evil' type in Japanese, right? Then a slashing attack powered by vicious intent sounded about right.
Still…
I glanced at Heracross, who was calm throughout the entire fight and still hadn't shown any emotion. Or maybe it was just hard to tell its emotions because it's a bug Pokémon?
"I don't get it," I said, slowly. "That Night Slash she used… it was pretty strong, yeah. But it didn't—" I hesitated, searching for the word. "—it didn't resonate like his did."
I gestured toward Heracross. "When he used Megahorn, I could almost…"
"Feel it?" Brawly interrupted, grin deepening. "Yeah. That's 'cause you did."
I blinked. "So… what, Heracross just has better Aura control or something?"
"Not quite," Brawly said, strolling over now, still loose and casual. "Hera does have solid control, for sure. But he's also just way more dialed in on that one move than Zangoose is on any of hers. There's like, stages to mastering a move and he's pretty good at that one."
He paused, then looked down at Zangoose with a sheepish grin. "No offense, Zangoose."
She responded with a growl.
Brawly chuckled, then held up a hand, ticking off on his fingers as he talked.
"Basically? The first stage is… innate. Kinda like, raw, untrained instinct. All Pokémon seem to start like this. It's like some guy just throwin' haymakers 'cause he's angry, you feel me?"
Another finger.
"Second stage is technique. That's when you actually figure out how to throw a clean punch. It's more about the most efficient way to go about the move than anything."
A third.
"And the third stage? That's intent. This one's gnarly, bro—it's when the move's so clean and so precise, the second you see it, you know what it is. Like… you see a tree, you know it's a tree. You see Megahorn? You know it's Megahorn."
He pointed at Heracross, who remained unmoved.
"There's a fourth stage past that, but yeah, my boy's sittin' pretty at stage three with Megahorn."
I furrowed my brow, still watching Heracross.
"But… wait. I thought you said Heracross was a baby? How the hell does a baby Pokémon already have a move that powerful? And that refined?"
"To be totally real with you?" Brawly said, shrugging. "I got no clue. He popped outta the egg already knowin' it. Just went straight for it. No stumbles. No warm-up. Just boom—Megahorn."
My eyebrows climbed.
"Is that… normal?"
"Pfft, not even close, dude," Brawly laughed. "Everybody I've asked has just said he's a really talented Heracross."
I let that hang in the air for a moment.
Suddenly, Zangoose stopped glaring at Heracross with a huff, finally settling down into my lap fully. I scratched behind her ear absently, my thoughts drifting.
So this world had move mastery on top of everything else?
Granted, it didn't seem to be that complicated, but that was still another layer added to the complexity of training Pokémon.
At this point, how would I even have time to train a second Pokémon?
I looked up at Brawly, who was still looking down at me, patiently waiting for me to finish thinking.
'That's how I'm gonna do it. With help.'
"…I think I'll be back tomorrow," I said, half to Brawly, half to myself.
He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," I said. "You wouldn't mind if we did this again at the same time tomorrow? And I wanna start working out too, so I wouldn't mind coming here for that as well."
Brawly grinned. "Sounds good to me! The dojo's open whenever you need it, man."
I rose to my feet with Zangoose still in my arms, her body heavier now, like the fight had burned off the rage, leaving only the feeling of exhaustion and a determination to do better next time.
That determination resonated with me through our bond.
We had a lot of work to do.