The dream lingered in his mind like smoke refusing to dissipate.
He sat at the edge of the summit plateau, watching the sunrise paint the clouds below in shades of coral and gold, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The image of the three legendary birds merging into a single, impossible creature kept replaying behind his eyes—their forms blending, their powers combining, their very essences fusing into something that had never existed before.
Fusion.
The word felt strange even thinking it, like a forbidden concept that shouldn't be spoken aloud. In his previous life, fusion had been the domain of fan games and unofficial romhacks, creative exercises by passionate fans who imagined what might happen if the boundaries between Pokémon species could be broken. It wasn't canon. It wasn't real.
But then again, neither was he. A dead man living in the body of a fictional character, commanding Pokémon that shouldn't exist, wielding powers that defied all logic and reason. If the rules of his original world no longer applied, who was to say what was and wasn't possible here?
The partner Pikachu sat in his lap, unusually quiet, as if sensing the weight of his contemplation. Its ears twitched occasionally, tracking sounds that human ears couldn't detect, but its attention remained focused on him.
He thought about the dream again. The fire that had surrounded them, transformative rather than destructive. The way his Pokémon had changed, evolved, become something more than the sum of their parts. And at the center of it all, the fusion—three becoming one, impossibility made manifest.
Was it a vision of the future? A message from whatever power had brought him to this world? Or simply the random firing of neurons in a sleeping brain, meaningless imagery that his waking mind was trying to invest with significance?
He didn't know. But he couldn't shake the feeling that the dream had meant something.
What if it's possible? The thought crystallized in his mind with sudden clarity. What if fusion isn't just a fan creation, but a real phenomenon that no one has ever attempted?
The idea was absurd. Pokémon didn't fuse. They evolved, they Mega Evolved, they transformed through various means, but they didn't merge with other Pokémon to become new creatures. It violated everything that was understood about Pokémon biology and the nature of species themselves.
And yet...
Mega Evolution had once seemed impossible too. The idea that a Pokémon could temporarily evolve beyond its final form, accessing reserves of power that defied conventional understanding—it had been revolutionary when first discovered. Z-Moves channeled the bond between trainer and Pokémon into attacks of devastating power. Dynamaxing allowed Pokémon to grow to enormous size and unlock new abilities.
Each of these phenomena had seemed impossible before someone proved otherwise. Each had been dismissed as fantasy until a breakthrough revealed the underlying truth.
Why should fusion be any different?
He stood abruptly, startling the partner Pikachu, which scrambled to maintain its balance on his shoulder. His mind was made up. He needed to explore this possibility, no matter how remote. And the only way to do that was to ask the Pokémon themselves.
He made his way to the training plateau, the wide clearing where he had spent so many hours pushing his team to their limits. The sun was fully risen now, its light harsh and brilliant against the snow-covered landscape.
He released Articuno first.
The legendary bird materialized in a burst of crystalline light, its massive wings spreading wide as it adjusted to the open air. Ice crystals formed in the air around it, the temperature dropping noticeably in its presence. It let out a musical cry, pleased to be released, its ancient eyes turning toward him with familiar affection.
He approached slowly, respectfully, meeting the ice-type's gaze with the same intensity he had shown during their bonding session days ago. Then he did something he had never done before.
He tried to convey the concept of fusion.
It wasn't easy. Fusion was an abstract idea, difficult to express through the emotions and images that constituted Pokémon communication. He showed Articuno the dream—the three birds circling, their forms blurring, their essences merging into something new. He tried to convey the question underlying the vision: Is this possible? Can you become one with your siblings?
Articuno's reaction was immediate and dramatic.
The legendary bird went completely still, its wings freezing mid-beat, its eyes widening with something that looked almost like shock. For a long moment, it simply stared at him, processing the impossible thing he had just suggested.
Then, slowly, a new emotion began to filter through their bond. Not rejection or dismissal, as he had half-expected, but something far more surprising.
Curiosity. And beneath that, a tentative, almost fragile hope.
Articuno had thought about this before, he realized with a start. Perhaps not in the same terms, not with the same clarity, but the idea of merging with its siblings—of becoming something greater than the sum of their parts—had crossed its ancient mind at some point during its millennia of existence.
It had simply never imagined that anyone would ask.
He released Zapdos next.
The electric-type burst from its ball with its characteristic crack of thunder, lightning arcing from its jagged feathers in every direction. It was wild energy personified, barely contained chaos given form—the perfect contrast to Articuno's serene stillness.
Zapdos's reaction to the fusion concept was even more intense than Articuno's. The legendary bird's electricity spiked dramatically, creating a localized storm around its body, as the implications of what he was suggesting sank in. Through their bond, he felt a surge of fierce excitement—Zapdos was a creature of action, of impulse, and the idea of accessing new power through unprecedented means appealed to its aggressive nature.
But there was something else too. Something that surprised him.
Loneliness.
Zapdos had spent millennia as the Titan of Lightning, feared and respected but ultimately isolated. Its volatile nature made it difficult for other Pokémon to approach, and its power made it a target for trainers seeking legendary captures. It had fought alone, lived alone, existed alone for longer than most civilizations had endured.
The thought of merging with its siblings—of becoming one with creatures who truly understood what it meant to be a legendary bird—touched something deep in Zapdos's being. Not just the promise of power, but the promise of connection.
Moltres descended from the sky before he could release it, having sensed the gathering of its siblings from whatever high altitude perch it had claimed. The fire-type landed with its characteristic grace, flames dancing around its body in patterns that seemed almost celebratory.
When he conveyed the fusion concept to Moltres, the response was different from the others. Where Articuno had shown cautious hope and Zapdos fierce excitement, Moltres radiated something that felt almost like relief.
Through their bond, he glimpsed the fire-type's deepest desire: to protect. Moltres loved the world—loved it with a passion that burned as hot as its flames—and it had always feared that its power alone wouldn't be enough to save it when true danger arose. The thought of combining with its siblings, of creating something with enough power to face any threat, resonated with Moltres on a fundamental level.
The three legendary birds stood before him now, their different elements creating a strange harmony in the air around them. Ice and lightning and fire, cold and storm and heat, mixing and mingling in ways that should have been destructive but instead felt almost... balanced.
He looked at each of them in turn, trying to gauge their collective response. Is this possible? he asked again, projecting the question through his bond with all three simultaneously.
The answer came not in words, but in a unified surge of emotion. Uncertainty, yes—none of them knew if fusion was actually achievable. But also determination. Also willingness to try.
And underlying it all, something that made his heart swell with unexpected emotion.
Trust.
They trusted him. These ancient, powerful beings, each older than recorded human history, trusted him enough to attempt the impossible simply because he asked.
Articuno stood apart from its siblings for a moment, its crystalline eyes fixed on the trainer who had just proposed something unprecedented. The ice-type's mind drifted backward, through centuries of memory, to the moment when everything had changed.
It remembered the cave at the heart of the Seafoam Islands, where it had dwelt for millennia undisturbed. The cold there had been perfect—absolute, eternal, a reflection of Articuno's own essence. Humans came sometimes, seeking the legendary bird, but none had ever been worthy of its attention. They brought fire and fighting and the desperate hope of capture, and Articuno turned them all away with blizzards that buried their ambitions in snow.
Then Red had come.
The boy—for he had been just a boy then, barely ten years old—had entered the caves without fanfare or announcement. He hadn't shouted challenges or made bold declarations. He had simply walked, his small form navigating the treacherous ice with a focus that bordered on meditation.
Articuno had watched from the shadows, curious despite itself. Most challengers announced their presence immediately, eager to begin the battle they had trained for. This one was different. This one moved through the frozen labyrinth as if he belonged there, as if the cold was not an enemy to be endured but a companion to be embraced.
When they finally faced each other—the Titan of Ice and the silent boy from Pallet Town—Articuno had expected the usual pattern. Pokéballs thrown, attacks exchanged, the desperate struggle of capture and resistance.
Instead, Red had simply stood there. Looking at Articuno with eyes that held no aggression, no greed, no desire to possess. Just... understanding. An acknowledgment of what Articuno was and a respect for its right to exist unmolested.
Then, slowly, Red had raised one hand. Not to throw a Pokéball, but simply to offer it. An invitation rather than a demand.
Articuno had been so surprised that it almost attacked out of pure reflex. Millennia of experience had taught it that humans only wanted one thing from legendary Pokémon. They wanted to capture, to control, to add to their collections of tamed beasts.
But this boy wanted something else. Articuno could feel it through the strange connection that was forming between them—a bond that had no right to exist but was growing stronger with each passing moment.
He wanted a partner. A friend. Someone who would choose to be by his side, not because they were forced, but because they wanted to be.
The battle that followed had been the most unusual of Articuno's long existence. Red's Pokémon were strong—incredibly strong for their age—but more than that, they were coordinated. They worked together with a precision that spoke of deep bonds and absolute trust. Each attack complemented the others, each defense covered gaps that individual Pokémon would have left exposed.
Articuno had fought back with everything it had. Blizzards and Ice Beams, Sheer Colds and Hurricanes. The cave had shaken with the force of their clash, ice formations that had stood for centuries shattering under the power of their exchanges.
In the end, Articuno had fallen. Not from lack of power—it could have continued fighting for hours—but from choice. It had recognized something in Red that it had never seen in any human before: the capacity to be worthy.
When the Pokéball had touched its form, when the capture had pulled it inside, Articuno had not resisted. It had accepted, embraced, welcomed the bond that would tie it to this strange, silent boy.
And it had never regretted that choice. Not once in all the years since.
Now, standing on the frozen summit of Mt. Silver, Articuno looked at the trainer who had earned its loyalty and felt something it rarely experienced: conviction.
He was asking the impossible. Asking the legendary birds to attempt something that had never been done, that violated every understood law of Pokémon existence.
And Articuno would try anyway.
Because that was what trust meant. That was what loyalty demanded. If its trainer believed fusion was possible, then Articuno would fight to make it possible, even if the attempt destroyed it.
Some things were worth more than survival.
Zapdos crackled with barely contained energy as it contemplated the question its trainer had posed. The Titan of Lightning was not a patient creature—eons of existence hadn't changed its fundamental nature—but even it recognized the significance of this moment.
Fusion. Becoming one with its siblings. The very concept made Zapdos's feathers stand on end with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
It remembered its own capture with the kind of vivid detail that most memories lacked. The Power Plant had been its domain for centuries—a place of endless energy, of flowing electrons and crackling machinery that had grown up around it like a temple built for an unwitting god. Humans had come and gone, worshipping the power it represented, building generators and transformers that fed on the ambient electricity it produced.
When Red arrived, Zapdos had been in a particularly volatile mood. Storms had been raging across Kanto for weeks, and the legendary bird had felt each lightning strike as an extension of its own being. It had been connected to the tempest, one with the fury of the sky, and it had resented the intrusion of this small human into its sanctuary.
The battle had been unlike any Zapdos had experienced before.
Red's Pokémon had been ready for an electric-type opponent. Ground-type moves, protective barriers, strategies designed to minimize Zapdos's advantages. But more than that, they had been fearless. They had faced the Titan of Lightning without hesitation, attacking and defending with a coordination that made Zapdos feel, for the first time in millennia, genuinely challenged.
The boy himself had been infuriating. He didn't react to Zapdos's displays of power—the thunderclaps that should have sent him cowering, the lightning strikes that should have made him flee. He just stood there, silent and calm, directing his team with gestures and glances that somehow conveyed everything that needed to be said.
Zapdos had fought with increasing desperation, throwing more and more power at this obstinate human and his absurdly loyal Pokémon. It had called down lightning strong enough to melt steel, had generated electromagnetic pulses that should have disabled every electronic device in the region.
Nothing worked. The boy kept coming, his Pokémon kept fighting, and slowly—impossibly—Zapdos had been worn down.
When the capture finally came, Zapdos had expected to feel rage. It had expected to struggle against the Pokéball's containment, to fight the bond that was being forced upon it. Instead, it had felt something it barely recognized.
Peace.
For the first time in centuries, the constant storm inside Zapdos had quieted. The bond with Red was like a lightning rod, grounding the excess energy that had always made the legendary bird so volatile. It could still access its full power, could still call upon the fury of the storm when needed, but it was no longer consumed by it.
Red had given Zapdos something it hadn't even known it was missing: control.
In the years since, that bond had only grown stronger. Zapdos had watched Red battle his way to the championship, had stood beside him against Giovanni and Team Rocket, had been there when he made the decision to retreat to Mt. Silver. Through it all, the connection between them had deepened, evolved, become something that transcended the normal relationship between trainer and Pokémon.
And now Red was asking for more. Asking Zapdos to merge with its siblings, to attempt something that might be impossible, to reach for a height that no Pokémon had ever achieved.
Of course Zapdos would try. How could it not?
This trainer had given it peace. Had given it purpose. Had looked at the Titan of Lightning and seen not a beast to be feared, but a partner to be trusted.
For that, Zapdos would attempt anything. Even the impossible.
Moltres's flames burned brighter as it contemplated the fusion concept, its ancient mind turning over implications and possibilities with the careful consideration that characterized its nature.
Of the three legendary birds, Moltres was the most philosophical. Where Articuno found peace in stillness and Zapdos found joy in action, Moltres found meaning in purpose. The Titan of Fire existed to protect, to nurture, to ensure that the flame of life continued burning even in the darkest times.
It remembered the mountain where Red had found it—Victory Road's hidden passages, deep in the earth where volcanic heat created an environment that most creatures couldn't survive. Moltres had claimed that space as its sanctuary, a place where it could rest and recover between its eternal cycles of watching over the world.
When the human had appeared, Moltres's first instinct had been protective rather than aggressive. The boy was small, fragile, utterly vulnerable in an environment that would kill most humans within hours. The heat alone should have been lethal, the toxic gases should have rendered him unconscious, the unstable ground should have swallowed him into the magma below.
And yet he walked on, seemingly unaffected by conditions that would have destroyed any normal person.
Moltres had watched from the shadows, fascinated by this impossibility. The boy moved with absolute confidence, his Pokémon forming a protective barrier around him that somehow negated the environmental hazards. His Blastoise created a shell of cool water vapor. His Venusaur filtered the toxic air through its massive flower. His Charizard—another fire-type, Moltres had noted with interest—seemed to be extending some kind of thermal protection to its trainer.
They worked together so seamlessly that it was difficult to tell where one Pokémon's contribution ended and another's began. A team in the truest sense, each member covering the weaknesses of the others, all of them focused on a single goal: reaching Moltres.
The battle, when it came, had been beautiful.
Not in the sense of destruction—though there had been plenty of that—but in the sense of artistry. Red's Pokémon moved like dancers, their attacks choreographed to perfection, their defenses flowing naturally from one to another. Moltres had fought back with all its power, its sacred fire scorching everything it touched, but the trainer and his team adapted to each escalation with a speed that bordered on precognition.
What impressed Moltres most, though, was the restraint.
Red's Pokémon were strong enough to cause serious harm to Moltres—it could feel that in the power behind their attacks. But each blow was carefully calibrated, designed to weaken rather than injure, to wear down rather than wound. The boy wasn't trying to hurt the legendary bird. He was trying to prove something.
And in the end, he had proven it.
When the Pokéball closed around Moltres, the fire-type had felt not defeat but recognition. This trainer understood something that most humans never grasped: power was not an end in itself. Power was a tool, a responsibility, a burden that had to be carried with wisdom and care.
Red carried that burden better than anyone Moltres had ever met.
In the years since, Moltres had watched its trainer from within the Pokéball, observing through the strange connection that linked them. It had seen Red's rise to championship, his confrontation with evil, his retreat to Mt. Silver. It had felt his loneliness, his emptiness, his endless search for meaning in a world he had already conquered.
And then, recently, something had changed.
Moltres didn't fully understand what had happened—none of the Pokémon did—but their trainer was different now. The emptiness that had characterized him for so long was fading, replaced by a warmth that reminded Moltres of its own sacred fire. He was engaging with the world again, helping others, seeking new heights of power not for their own sake but for a purpose that Moltres could sense but not quite identify.
Whatever had changed, Moltres approved.
And now he was asking them to fuse. To become one with each other, to create something unprecedented, to reach for a goal that might be impossible.
Moltres would try. Of course it would try. This trainer had proven himself worthy a hundred times over. If he believed fusion was possible, then Moltres would burn as hot as necessary to make it reality.
Some flames were worth risking everything for.
He released Lugia next, the Guardian of the Seas materializing with a cry that seemed to make the very air vibrate. The massive psychic-type regarded him with ancient, knowing eyes, its silver form gleaming in the morning light.
Lugia's reaction to the fusion concept was the most complex yet.
Through their bond, he felt layers upon layers of response—curiosity and caution, hope and hesitation, the wisdom of a being that had existed since before humans had developed language. Lugia had seen empires rise and fall, had watched civilizations bloom and wither, had witnessed things that no other living creature could comprehend.
And in all that time, it had never encountered the idea of fusion.
But it had considered something similar.
Lugia shared a fragment of memory—ancient, half-forgotten—of a time when it had pondered the nature of its own existence. It was a guardian, a protector, one half of a cosmic balance that it shared with Ho-Oh. What would happen, it had wondered, if that balance were merged? If the guardians of sea and sky became one, their combined power focused on a single purpose?
The memory faded before it could reveal any answers, but the implication was clear. Lugia had thought about something like fusion before, in its own way.
And now, presented with the possibility of actually attempting it, the legendary Pokémon felt something it rarely experienced: anticipation.
He released Ho-Oh.
The Rainbow Pokémon descended from the clouds above, its arrival heralded by a burst of multicolored light that seemed to paint the entire summit in impossible hues. Where Lugia was silver and serene, Ho-Oh was golden and glorious—two halves of an eternal balance, finally standing together before their shared trainer.
Ho-Oh's reaction to the fusion concept was immediate and intense.
The legendary bird's eyes blazed with sacred fire as the implications sank in. It had spent millennia searching for the "rainbow hero"—the trainer whose heart was pure enough to be worthy of its blessing. In Red, it had found that hero, though the boy's silence and isolation had made the traditional blessing... complicated.
But fusion? Merging with Lugia, its eternal counterpart? That was something Ho-Oh had never dared to imagine.
Through their bond, Ho-Oh shared its own ancient wondering. It had always felt incomplete, somehow—one half of a whole that had never been made whole. Lugia felt the same, it knew, though neither of them had ever spoken of it. They were guardians, partners in an eternal dance of balance, but they had never been truly one.
Until now. Until their trainer, their chosen hero, had asked the question that neither of them had dared to ask themselves.
Can we become one?
The answer, from both legendary Pokémon, was not certainty. It was something more valuable: willingness.
They would try. For him, they would try.
Finally, he released Mewtwo.
The Genetic Pokémon materialized at the edge of the gathering, its psychic presence creating a subtle distortion in the air that made the other legendaries shift uncomfortably. Mewtwo had always been apart from them—a created being rather than a natural one, an artificial legend that had never quite fit among the others.
But it was here. It was part of his team. And if anyone understood the concept of transcending natural limits, it was Mewtwo.
The psychic-type's reaction to the fusion concept was the most analytical of all.
Where the birds had responded with emotion and the guardians with ancient longing, Mewtwo examined the idea with cold, clinical precision. Its vast intellect turned the concept over, probing for flaws and possibilities, calculating probabilities and outcomes that no other creature could have conceived.
It should not be possible, Mewtwo's voice echoed in his mind—the first direct communication the Genetic Pokémon had initiated since their bonding days ago. Pokémon are distinct entities, their genetic structures incompatible with merger. What you propose violates fundamental laws of biology.
He felt the "but" coming before Mewtwo spoke it.
But I was created by violating those same laws. My existence proves that the boundaries between species are not as absolute as commonly believed. If fusion is possible—if there is any chance of achieving what you describe—then the key lies not in biology, but in something else.
The bond, he thought back. The connection between trainer and Pokémon.
Yes. Mewtwo's mental voice held a note of surprise—approval, perhaps, at his understanding. Mega Evolution works on similar principles. The Key Stone and Mega Stone create a resonance between trainer and Pokémon that allows the normal limits of evolution to be transcended. If fusion is achievable, it would likely require an even deeper resonance—not just between trainer and Pokémon, but between multiple Pokémon simultaneously.
Hope surged through him. Mewtwo wasn't dismissing the idea. Mewtwo thought there might be a way.
I am willing to assist in researching this possibility, Mewtwo continued. My psychic abilities may prove useful in understanding the mechanisms involved. And if fusion is achieved... A pause, heavy with implications. I would be interested in experiencing it myself.
He felt surprise at that. Mewtwo, the ultimate loner, interested in merging with others?
I was created alone, Mewtwo explained, sensing his surprise. I have lived alone, fought alone, existed alone for my entire existence. The concept of becoming one with another being—of no longer being isolated—is... appealing.
The vulnerability in that admission was staggering. Mewtwo, the most powerful psychic-type in existence, admitting to loneliness. Admitting to wanting connection.
He reached out through their bond, projecting reassurance and acceptance. You're not alone anymore. None of us are.
Mewtwo's psychic barriers flickered—a sign of emotion that it would normally never allow. Then they stabilized, and the Genetic Pokémon's presence withdrew slightly.
We will see, it said simply. We will see.
He stood at the center of his gathered legendaries, looking at each of them in turn. The three birds, united in their willingness to attempt the impossible. Lugia and Ho-Oh, eternal partners considering an eternal merger. Mewtwo, the artificial god, seeking connection for the first time in its existence.
They were all willing to try. All of them trusted him enough to reach for something that might be unachievable, that might be dangerous, that might change them forever.
The weight of that trust pressed down on him, heavy and humbling.
I don't know if this is possible, he admitted, projecting his thoughts to all of them simultaneously. I don't know if it's safe. I only know that the dream showed me something—a vision of what we might become. And I believe it's worth pursuing.
The responses came flooding back through the bonds he shared with each of them.
From Articuno: A cool wave of acceptance, tinged with the patience of eternal ice. It had waited millennia for a trainer worthy of its loyalty. It could wait a while longer for this.
From Zapdos: A crackling surge of enthusiasm, barely contained excitement at the prospect of new power. But beneath it, a deeper current of commitment—not just to the goal, but to him.
From Moltres: Warm determination, the steady flame of purpose that defined its existence. It would burn as hot as necessary to make this happen.
From Lugia: Ancient wisdom, tempered by hope. The Guardian of the Seas had seen many impossibilities become reality over its long existence. Perhaps this would be another.
From Ho-Oh: Sacred fire and rainbow light, a blessing and a promise. Whatever happened, it would stand by him.
From Mewtwo: Cold logic and unexpected warmth, the contradiction that defined the Genetic Pokémon. It would approach this challenge as it approached everything—with absolute determination to succeed.
Six legendary Pokémon. Six beings of immense power. All of them united in a single purpose: to achieve the impossible because their trainer asked them to.
He didn't know if they would succeed. He didn't know if fusion was really possible, or if the dream had been nothing more than fantasy.
But he knew that he would try. And he knew that they would try with him.
The partner Pikachu on his shoulder chirped encouragingly, its small voice somehow audible over the gathered legendaries. "Pika pika!"
Yes, he thought, a smile tugging at his lips. We'll try together.
The morning sun climbed higher, bathing the summit in golden light. Somewhere below, the world continued on—trainers battling, Pokémon evolving, the endless cycle of growth and change that defined existence.
But here, on the top of the world, something new was beginning.
Something impossible.
Something wonderful.
And for the first time since waking in this strange new life, he felt truly excited about the future.
Whatever came next, they would face it together. Trainer and Pokémon, legend and human, bound by bonds that transcended the normal limits of existence.
The mountain wasn't the destination. It was the journey.
And their journey was about to take them somewhere no one had ever gone before.