"My apologies for that unrefined display, Miss. Please, don't let it trouble you. Shall we begin?"
Damian gave a firm stomp, forcing Gengar back into the depths of his shadow. A split second later, the ghost popped up from a different shadow several feet away, clutching its head and wailing with such exaggerated, theatrical agony that it was hard to tell if it was actually hurt or just fishing for a nomination for Best Actor.
Caitlin's sharp eyes didn't miss the very real, very red bump swelling on Gengar's head.
Is every Gengar this... 'animated'? she wondered, her brow twitching. More importantly, she noticed the color. Instead of the usual deep purple, this Gengar was a spectral charcoal—a muted, ash-black hue.
It was a Shiny.
"Please," Caitlin replied, her mind shifting gears. A faint, practiced smile touched her lips as she gestured toward the field with a graceful sweep of her hand. Her movements were the epitome of high-born regality, every inch the noble lady she was raised to be.
The two took their positions on opposite ends of the training ground, the tension in the air tightening like a drawn bowstring.
"Before we start," Damian began, his tone conversational, "it appears you specialize in the Psychic type. Is that correct?"
"It is," Caitlin admitted without hesitation. Her innate psychic powers gave her a transcendent connection to such Pokémon; it was only natural she would favor them. "Do you have any... observations on the matter?"
"I wouldn't go as far as to call them 'observations,'" Damian smirked, pulling a Poké Ball from his belt. "But I can certainly say that this session will be very 'appropriate' for your training."
He tossed the ball into the air.
With a low, haunting moan that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of one's bones, a deep purple figure manifested before him. It wore a jagged silhouette resembling a witch's hat, with glowing golden eyes peering out from beneath the brim. Its lower body billowed like a tattered shroud, and its core felt hollow, radiating a chilling, eldritch energy.
"Mismagius," Caitlin murmured.
She recognized the Ghost-type immediately. No wonder he called this appropriate—Ghost-types were the natural predators of the Psychic mind. But this Mismagius felt different. Its piercing, quiet gaze sent a jolt of genuine apprehension through her, a primal 'fight or flight' response that made her skin crawl. As a powerful psychic, Caitlin knew her instincts were never wrong.
"You're quite the specialist yourself, it seems," Caitlin said, her eyes narrowing. She realized she had almost let that comedic interlude with the Gengar lower her guard. This youth was no comic relief; he was a predator.
"I have a fair bit of experience with the macabre," Damian replied with a wicked glint in his eyes. "Ghost, Dark, and Poison—the types people usually cross the street to avoid. Since you aim for the top, the Ghost type is a wall you'll have to climb eventually. Today, I'll show you how a true battle in the dark is fought."
His smile widened, turning into something sharp and predatory.
"A word of advice: if you want this to be worth your time, don't use that Kirlia."
To Damian, that Kirlia was a fledgling, far too fragile to survive the "lesson" he was about to deliver.
Ghost, Dark, and Poison? Why does he favor such sinister types? Caitlin wondered. In almost every region, those types were synonymous with villainous organizations and trainers with questionable morals.
"Metagross! To my side!"
Caitlin pushed the thought away and called forth her undisputed ace.
"Mita—!"
With a heavy metallic hum, the massive, four-legged iron titan materialized, its red eyes glowing with cold, calculated intelligence as it hovered before her.
"Ladies first," Damian said, gesturing with mocking gallantry. "I'll give you the opening move."
"Then I shall not stand on ceremony! Metagross, close the distance! Bullet Punch!"
Metagross's heavy claws gleamed with a chrome-like sheen. In a blur of silver, the titan propelled itself forward with explosive speed—the priority move of the Steel type.
"Impulsive. Reckless," Damian commented, his voice flat. He didn't even bother to tell Mismagius to dodge. "Charging blindly against an unknown opponent... a qualified Trainer should know better."
Caitlin bit her lip, the blunt criticism stinging more than she cared to admit, especially because she couldn't find a way to refute it.
In the time it took to blink, Metagross was upon Mismagius, its massive claws swinging with bone-shattering force.
"Will-O-Wisp."
Damian's command was a mere whisper. Instantly, spheres of eerie, spectral blue flame swirled into existence around Mismagius.
"Wait! Metagross, pull back!" Caitlin's face went pale.
But it was too late. The momentum of the Bullet Punch was absolute. As Metagross's claws tore through Mismagius's spectral form, the blue flames surged forward, clinging to the titan's metallic hide.
Clang!
The physical strike landed, but Mismagius took the hit as if it were a mere breeze, its wicked, chilling grin never faltering. The Will-O-Wisp sank into Metagross's body, and a second later, a ghostly blue fire erupted across its frame.
Metagross let out a low, metallic groan of agony.
The burn was guaranteed. Caitlin's expression soured. The true horror of Will-O-Wisp wasn't the lingering damage, but its secondary effect: the agonizing heat sapped a Pokémon's physical strength, effectively halving its Attack power. For a powerhouse like Metagross, this was a crippling blow.
"Focus, Metagross! Your Special Attack is still potent!" Caitlin shouted, trying to steady her own rising frustration. Her Metagross had the Clear Body ability, making it immune to stat-lowering moves, but it couldn't negate the physical debilitation of a burn. Still, it was a pseudo-legendary; it had the raw power to push through.
Or so she thought.
"Curse," Damian commanded, his voice cold.
Caitlin's heart skipped a beat.
While Metagross struggled with the searing flames, Mismagius let out a sharp, piercing cackle that sounded like glass breaking. A phantom nail, radiating a grey, decaying aura, appeared in the air.
Tch—tch—tch!
The sound of metal striking spiritual flesh echoed through the clearing. The cursed nail was being driven, inch by inch, into Mismagius's own chest. The Ghost-type closed its eyes, its face a distorted mask of intense agony and... twisted, manic pleasure.
How... how can a Pokémon enjoy that? Caitlin felt a cold sweat break across her brow. The Ghost-type version of Curse required the user to sacrifice half its own life force to place a terminal hex on the opponent. It was supposed to be a desperate, agonizing last resort—not a masochistic ritual.
First the burn, now the curse. Metagross's life was being drained away by the second, and its strength was halved.
Caitlin's chest heaved. Her carefully maintained composure was fraying at the edges. The air around her began to vibrate, and her blonde hair started to lift and swirl as if caught in a localized gale. A brilliant, unstable blue light flickered in her eyes.
"Oh? Losing your grip already?"
Damian watched the psychic surge with genuine fascination. Instead of being worried about the impending explosion of raw mental energy, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, hitting the record button.
The "Trainer Rampage"—a classic spectacle.
He wasn't worried about being hit. He was too busy wondering: If Caitlin and Sabrina ever went at it, who would be the last one standing?