| Combusken POV |
Okay. Deep breaths.
It's fine. Everything is fine.
The ground is only shaking like a Tauros in a tumble dryer. The sky's turned orange, the water's boiling without a fire type nearby, and all my little feathered instincts are screaming "RUN" louder than the time I accidentally kicked Rio in the face in my sleep.
But no. No, no, no, I'm the Fire Plume. These lunatics listen to me. I can't lose my head—again.
RUMBLE.
…Right. New plan.
"EVERYONE SHUT UP AND GET BEHIND SOMETHING THAT LOOKS STURDY!" I shout at the cult, most of whom are either praying, sobbing, or trying to set a crater on fire.
Then it happens.
The mountain splits.
Like someone just reached up from inside the earth and punched their way out.
A volcanic pillar of flame and molten rock shoots into the sky, carving open the horizon like butter. The tremors become full-body slaps. Heat rolls off in waves, thick enough to taste. And then I see it.
Rising from the glowing chasm like a monster dragged straight out of a fever dream.
Red scales, jagged black lines glowing like magma veins. Claws big enough to uproot a Wailord. Eyes that don't blink—they just glare at the world like it personally offended them.
Groudon.
The Groudon.
The god of magma. The walking extinction-level event. The reason the cult is now screaming, "He rises! Praise the true Fire Lord!" while I seriously consider digging straight down to escape.
Why is it looking straight at me…
Please look away. I don't taste good. I'm spicy in the wrong way!
| Rio POV |
"Yep, that's Groudon alright."
"Honestly? I thought he'd be bigger."
"That's what she said."
HEY. That's my line! Curse you, Nemona! You're not the main character here!
She grins, like she can hear my internal screaming. "So, wanna take the first shot, or can I?"
Unbelievable. She sits on my lightning bird, eats my snacks, steals my jokes—and now she wants to go first?
As if.
I crack my neck with a satisfying pop, signaling Nue to descend. Lightning coils under us, the clouds parting like they know better than to get in the way.
My simple domain unfolds—silent, seamless—shielding us from the heatwave now radiating across the land like a death sentence.
"Make sure to take photos," I say, grinning. "Don't forget to get my good side."
Nemona is already pulling out her RotomPhone, cackling like this is just another weekend picnic. And below us?
A very confused Groudon slowly begins turning its head toward the storm in the sky.
"Sup."
He barely has enough time to process my greeting before I'm inches from his face, a pink aura flaring to life around me—raw, focused power condensed into a single strike. My fist is cocked back with a promise: this will hurt.
Really hurt.
Time slows.
The air between us distorts. Heat and pressure war like opposing tides.
And then—
I punch him in the face.
A shockwave screams across the ruined landscape. Mountains flinch. The ocean halts for a heartbeat. And Groudon?
He blinks.
Then slides back. A lot.
Like through-a-mountain kind of back.
Nemona: "...Did you just punch a god?"
"I don't like how he looked at Combusken."
"You know she's not going to share her food with you for this, right?"
"Yep, matter of fact, she'll definitely blame me somehow. Still worth it. Now fly a bit further, I have a god to suplex."
| Combusken POV |
The earth screamed.
There's no other word for it. One second, Groudon—actual Groudon, Groudon-groudon, the mythical god of volcanoes and tectonic nightmares—is rising from the cracked ground, radiating enough heat to liquefy sanity. The next?
He's gone.
Not disappeared. Just… launched. Horizontally.
Through a mountain.
And the cause? A blur of thunder, bad decisions, and the all-too-familiar sound of a smug bastard yelling "Sup."
Cultist #7: "THE FALSE FIRE LORD STRIKES DOWN THE TRUE ONE!"
Cultist #3: "IS THIS… ASCENSION?!"
Cultist #5: "IS IT A TEST?! IS THIS THE TRIAL BY FLAMES?!"
Cultist #29 (with far too much enthusiasm): "THE FIRE PLUME DECLARES WAR ON THE EARTH LIZARD!"
Cultist #12 (sobbing): "I CAN'T TELL WHICH GOD TO WORSHIP ANYMORE!"
The idiots are panicking. Chanting. Weeping. One's gnawing on a stick like it'll protect him from divine judgment. And me?
I'm actually a little emotional.
Because I know that blur. That ridiculous entrance. That unmistakable crack of static and overconfidence.
Rio.
That dumb dog actually came back.
And he punched Groudon for me.
…I'm not crying, you're crying.
...
WHY IS THE SKY ON FIRE?!
| Rio POV |
I always wondered how hot I could make my own fire.
Never tried it—arson's not something I want on my record.
But facing Groudon? I can just blame him for any damages.
So, which is hotter? My divine flames or Earthzilla's magma?
I take a deep breath, ready to fuel the raging heat around us with everything I've got.
Is it dumb to fight fire with fire in this case? Absolutely.
Will I still do it? Of course!
"A supercharged Fuga coming right up! Watch out, it's hot!"
I grin, watching Groudon open his mouth, probably to roar, blast me out of the sky, or just whine about how unfair this matchup is.
I don't care.
I pull my paw back as the clouds around me ignite in flames. How that's even possible? No clue, I'm not a scientist.
All I know is there's a target down below, and I've got an arrow knocked and ready to fly.
Just as I'm about to give the lizard bellow me the meal of his life, I hear a faint 'whoosh' coming straight towards me, I look to the side as I'm drenched with the world's strongest pressure washer, my fire getting put out due to pure shock.
Since when do people bring water guns to Pokémon fights?
I sputtered, winded and soaked, as the heat vanished like a candle in a storm.
"Seriously?" I gasped, glaring at the culprit.
Emerging from the mist like an oceanic god of calm, Kyogre hovered nearby, eyes narrowed in disapproval, its massive fins flaring as it sprayed a steady stream of water, snuffing out fires left and right.
"I'm trying to stop the fighting, enough with turning the region into a barbecue pit," Kyogre said, voice smooth and calming like distant waves.
Groudon growled in response, flames licking hungrily at its hide, but Kyogre's water held strong, steam hissing where elements clashed.
"Enough with the fire and brimstone," Kyogre continued. "We've both had our naps. It's time to cool off."
Nemona, riding nearby, blinked, dripping wet, before squealing, "Did Kyogre just waterboard you?"
I wiped water from my eyes, trying to glare with some dignity. "More like… hydrating my powers. Thanks, I guess?"
Kyogre's eyes softened, then flicked towards Groudon.
"Listen, big guy," it rumbled. "We had our differences, but now isn't the time to go around throwing temper tantrums"
Groudon huffed, the ground shaking beneath us, but the tension eased as the titans faced off, water and fire balancing like a furious but fragile truce.
I sighed. "Well, that escalated quickly. Or maybe it de-escalated quickly?"
Kyogre smirked (if a whale-shaped sea god can smirk).
"Next time, maybe try talking before the fireworks."
God I want to punch that smirk off...
"Believe me, I do too..."
Did I say that out loud?
"At least there's something we can agree on." I turn towards the frowning Groudon, giving him a nod before I land back down in the plaza in Sootopolis, walking past the chanting Flame Bringer cultists.
The heat's still lingering in the air, smoke curling like lazy spirits over the shattered stones of Sootopolis. Cultists bow as I pass, some still crying, others screaming about divine prophecy, and one guy desperately trying to fry a Magikarp on a stick using ambient divine flames. I don't have the heart to tell him it's not cooked—just really traumatized.
But I'm not focused on them.
I feel her before I see her.
That familiar, chaotic aura—hotter now, sharper. Focused in a way that makes the air itself feel like it's holding its breath.
I round the corner.
And there she is.
No longer Combusken.
No longer the screaming, fire-happy gremlin who hoarded my snacks and shouted at trees.
She stands tall—taller than me now—her feathers sleek and glowing with residual embers, flames licking up her arms in a slow, steady pulse like a heartbeat. Her stance is relaxed, but I can see it. The coiled strength in her legs. The narrowed, calculating look in her eyes. The kind of presence that says: I can and will kick your face in, respectfully.
"…You evolved."
She turns her head toward me, sharp eyes narrowing just slightly. "Took you long enough."
The cultists behind me gasp, several immediately dropping to their knees again.
"THE FIRE PLUME ASCENDS!"
"PRAISE BE TO HER FINAL FORM!"
"DOES SHE STILL EAT SOULS IN THIS FORM OR DO THEY TASTE DIFFERENT NOW?!"
"MY LADY, DO YOU REQUIRE A SNACK OFFERING?!" one screams, holding up a half-melted berry bar.
Blaziken sighs.
I smirk.
Yeah. Still her.
"Missed me?" I ask.
She snorts. "You owe me snacks."
"…Fair." I shrug, then grin wider. "None of us missed you that much, by the way."
She doesn't even hesitate.
"Go fuck yourself."
(To be continued)
Don't you just love happy reunions?
MC: I would rather to keep my food to myself.
Blaziken: OUR food.