If Combusken had known that saving a bunch of half-feral, Xeno-traumatized Pokémon from a collapsing Pokémart would lead to the founding of a religion cantered around her flaming tail and spicy nuggets, she might have left them to die.
No, wait. She wouldn't have. She's not that kind of bird. But she would have run off immediately afterward instead of letting them follow her for three days straight.
Three days. That's how long it took for them to go from "scared survivors" to "zealous believers in the Sacred Combustion."
She tried to stop them.
She really did.
"I am not a divine sign of salvation, stop kneeling when I sneeze!"
But they didn't stop. If anything, they got worse.
By day four, one of the more eloquent survivors—a Shuppet with anxiety—started delivering sermons. Sermons. About her courage, her fire, her bottomless appetite for rice balls.
They even made up titles.
The Phoenix of the Ashlands. The Fire Feathered Flamewalker. Clucker of the Final Dawn.
Combusken is pretty sure at least two of those are just anime references.
She didn't even do that much! She kicked a mutant Sableye into a dumpster and set a wall on fire to buy time for escape. That's standard Tuesday behaviour!
And now… now they're painting murals, making statues, and composing songs to spread her exploits, aka setting a dumpster on fire when she heard something move inside, poor Rattata...
They stand in what used to be a warehouse—though calling it that is generous. The roof has more holes than solid coverage, one wall has entirely caved in, and half the floor is just weeds and entire trees alike growing through cracked concrete from past fights. It smells faintly of rust, ash, and someone's forgotten Pecha jam stash.
Combusken stands atop a rusted filing cabinet like it's a throne of judgment, glaring down at the thirty-something Pokémon who've decided to dub themselves her "flock." Murkrow, Electrike, a weirdly aggressive Snubbull—she swears one of them has started carrying around a stick like it's a scepter.
They stare up at her with wide eyes and fervent hope, like she's about to deliver the divine wisdom of the Flame.
She clears her throat and says, "Okay. Listen up, idiots. I am going to find someone else who can take care of you."
One of the younger Pokémon raises a paw.
"But Great Ember Roost, you saved us."
"Because I didn't want to die alongside you. Self-preservation. Not divine will."
Another one, a Magnemite, beeps earnestly. "Affirmative. The great Inferno is both benevolent and wrathful. We accept."
She facepalms. Hard.
"Rio is going to never let me live this down…"
Combusken is marching through overgrown city streets, a jerry-rigged stick map in one claw, grumbling about how she didn't ask to be a role model.
Behind her, the "faithful" march with handmade banners (mostly dirty cloth with burn marks), chanting a song based loosely on the sound she made sneezing fire once.
She is desperately trying to find a still-functioning town, outpost, bunker, any place she can drop off her unwanted disciples before they start trying to crown her queen.
Combusken had finally found what looked like a functioning settlement—a half-repaired familiar gym turned bunker, its walls reinforced with metal sheets and concrete patches. She approached it like a wild Pokémon nearing a campfire: warily, grumbling, and trailed by thirty-plus fervent disciples waving makeshift banners of burnt cloth.
As she got closer, she physically felt the spark of recognition in her brain, the various Rock type Pokémon standing guard eyeing her suspiciously, a Probopass standing at the front of the line flinches as it gets a closer look at her.
"Wait a minute... I've been here before..."
"It's you..." The giant easter island mascot says in a gruff voice, nose flaring up in red light and an unhealthy amount of static. "Where are your other friends? The Scary pink Riolu and the Ralts that destroyed half the gym?"
"Oh they went to Paldea, I overslept under the bed and got left behind by accident."
Probopass narrows his eyes, his magnetic noses glowing faintly as he hovers forward cautiously. "Paldea, huh? Sounds like trouble's spreading faster than we thought."
Combusken scratches her head, clearly annoyed. "Yeah, well, I'm just here to ditch these fanatics before they start calling me a goddess or something."
Behind her, the makeshift flock hums softly, their banners fluttering in the breeze.
Probopass snorts. "You always did have a knack for attracting the weirdest crowds."
A sudden clatter from inside the bunker draws everyone's attention.
The door swings open, revealing Roxanne—familiar, calm, and assessing the scene like she's seen worse (which, given the apocalypse, is probably true).
She locks eyes with Combusken and raises an eyebrow. "Well, if it isn't May's infamous Torchic. You've been busy."
Combusken gives her a curt nod before going back to studying the Probopass in front of her."Say... Did I meet you before?"
Roxanne smirks and gestures to her side, where her Tyranitar steps forward, growling low.
Tyranitar's voice rumbles dryly, cutting through the tension:"More like melted. Poor Nosepass had been stuck with a flat face the entire time until his recent evolution."
Combusken's eyes widen for a moment before she shakes her head."Oh, you're that dumb rock that tried charging up when I got close enough to blast you! Rio said that was NPC behavior — some 'low-level plebeian tactics,' is that true?"
The only response is a muffled thud, as a now half-buried Probopass hides his face in the dirt from shame.
Tyranitar doesn't laugh for long before Combusken turns back to her."And you're that 'punching bag' Rio threw around the arena until you started vomiting, right?"
Another thud follows, and both of Roxanne's ace Pokémon are now hiding in embarrassment.
Who knew Combusken can hurt people in more than one way?
(To be continued)
Who let that menace go around without a muzzle? She would sooner kill someone with pure emotional damage than actually commit to her role as a physical fighter.
MC: Trash talk is a viable strategy at higher ranks, just look at me!
That's just because you never shut up.