This morning in Duskmire was heavy with fog, curling through the alleys and over the broken cobblestone streets like ghostly fingers. Alex stood near the outskirts of town, hood pulled over his head, arms crossed as his team trained in silence.
Riolu sparred with Charcadet, both moving fast across the grass, their blows sharp but careful. Larvesta struggled to keep pace with the others, still young and adjusting to her legs—but her fire flared bright, and her spirit was relentless. Treecko perched in the branches above, watching the others with narrowed eyes, calculating.
Alex grinned. "Alright, Treecko, your turn. Show me what you've got."
Without a word, Treecko dropped down and darted forward, engaging Riolu in a lightning-fast exchange of blows. His agility was unmatched, and his control impeccable. He didn't waste movement, didn't show off. He fought to win.
"Good," Alex muttered. "you have a very good technique and good precision"
Duskmire's Gym was notorious even before the war. Now, with fewer trainers and less oversight, it had become even more dangerous—run by a woman named Morgra, a poison-type specialist with a cruel reputation.
But before they could challenge her, Alex needed money—badly. The supplies he bought for Larvesta had drained his last cash, and the stolen gear from the black market only went so far.
Which is why he had returned to the Alpha's base.
It was a large, abandoned mansion south of the lake. he had visited the place and only to find black market grunts, Alex crept in again, this time with his team at his side and Treecko scouting ahead in the trees.
The inside was colder than he remembered, darker. The corpses he had once seen were gone, dragged off by carrion Pokémon or the remaining grunts. But there was still loot—hidden caches in the walls, old lockers still untouched. With Riolu helping pry open the locks and Treecko covering the doors, they loaded up fast—food, potions, Poké Balls, even a few nuggets and rare items.
Then he heard a noise near the lake.
Three grunts.
And two strong Pokémon—an Alpha Crawdaunt and a Gyarados, both being used to patrol the shoreline.
"They're guarding something," Alex whispered, crouched low behind a broken wall.
He made his plan fast.
Larvesta would stay hidden—she was too young for a fight. Treecko would move in to strike fast and quiet. Riolu and Charcadet would handle the distraction and head-on assault.
And Alex… he'd do what he did best: kill if necessary.
The battle was vicious. Treecko struck first, slicing a grunt's thigh with Leaf Blade and disappearing into the shadows. Riolu charged the Crawdaunt, forcing it back with a powerful metal claw, while treecko lit up the Gyarados with a vine whip.
One of the grunts went down with a scream. The other pulled a blade, rushing Alex—but he was faster. He buried his dagger deep into the man's chest, twisted, and let him fall. The blood spilled hot and fast. The third grunt tried to flee, but Treecko was already on him.
After the fight, Alex stood still, panting, looking down at what they'd taken—strong Poké Balls, TMs, and more stolen Pokémon. He pulled out the Poké Balls from the dead grunts, whispering a quiet apology to the creatures inside.
"I'll sell you," he said coldly, "I don't like doing this but I need to if I want to survive in this world" Alex would say resting against a tree
Still, the guilt twisted in his gut.
He threw up on the floor
But the world didn't pause for him to cry. So he wiped his mouth, pocketed the Poké Balls, and walked back to town.
By nightfall, he had sold nearly everything—grunting through haggling, putting on a fake name, using stolen ID tags. He got just enough money to buy a room at the Duskmire Inn. A real bed. Warm water. Food for his team.
He sat alone by the window, sipping lukewarm tea, watching the mist curl around the lamplights outside.
The world was cruel. He had become crueler to survive.
Riolu curled beside him on the bed, asleep. Charcadet sat near the fireplace, his flames calm. Treecko sat on the windowsill, gaze sharp. Larvesta nibbled a crushed berry in his arms, wrapped in a blanket.
He still hated killing. But when he thought of these four—his family—it became easier.
Then, a sound.
Whispers in the hallway.
Alex pressed his ear to the door and listened.
"They're doing that tournament in two days. League's desperate for people"
"Yeah, heard the winner gets a pseudo-legendary. Second place gets a free item. Third gets paid."
"You signing up?"
"Hell no. Too dangerous. But someone's gonna get noticed. That's for sure."
Alex's pulse quickened.
A pseudo-legendary?
He glanced back at his team.
Now it was time to rise.
The League was watching.
And Alex would make them see him.