After reviewing every memory I have from my the Scyther before me, I'm finally starting to understand just how bad my situation has become. Our swarm is under constant threat — attacked almost every week by not one, but two different Pokémon groups.
From the north, a massive Beedrill colony descends upon us. There are more than a hundred fully evolved Beedrill among them. Individually, most of them are slightly weaker than the average Scyther, but their sheer numbers, relentless aggression, and poisonous stingers make them dangerous in ways we can't ignore.
From the south, the danger is even worse. A tribe of Pinsir — only about twenty in number, but each one monstrously strong — regularly pushes into our territory. They don't rely on poison or numbers; their brute strength and raw endurance are enough to crush even our best fighters in a direct clash.
This leaves us caught in a deadly pincer — quite literally — between two relentless foes. We have no safe direction to retreat, and every battle leaves us more worn down than the last. If I want to survive, if I want to protect my swarm, I need to get stronger — much stronger — and I need to do it fast. There's no room for hesitation anymore.
I turn away from the little part of the forest where i startert headed toward the heart of our territory — a hidden grove deep within the forest where the Scythers make their home. The path winds between tall trees, their branches casting jagged shadows over the ground. I can hear the distant hum of Beedrill wings to the north and the low, heavy thuds of Pinsir training in the south, but here in the grove, there's a tense, watchful quiet.
Our home isn't much — just a clearing surrounded by thick brambles, with a few hollow logs and overhanging branches serving as shelter. The scent of sap and fresh-cut leaves fills the air. Young Scyther practice quick slashes on tree trunks while the older ones keep watch at the edges, their eyes scanning for movement. I step into the clearing, my mind already turning toward the battles ahead.
If I'm going to survive the next attack, I can't just be another fighter in the swarm. I have to become something more.
Seeing that my Level is only 8 i know what it means i need train as fast as I could
Then a blur of green and silver flashes in front of me, landing so close the wind from his wings rattles the leaves at my feet. The leader. I didn't even hear him coming. His eyes are locked on mine, sharp and cold.
At exact moment are the lights coming again
Name. Leader (Alpha )
Talent dark Green
Pokemon. scyther
Ability Technician
Type. Bug- flying
Height 2.1 m ≈ 6′11″
Level 37
Moves Quick attack,leer,fury cutter,false,Wing Attack, Double Team,Double Hit, Slash, Focus Energy,Agility,Air Slash
"You," he says, scythes lowering slightly but his posture still bristling with authority. "Your late… while our men die."
I straighten instinctively. "I was
Looking around?" His voice is like the edge of a blade — calm, but ready to cut. "While others bleed for this swarm?"
I feel my wings tighten. "I've fought—"
"Not enough," he snaps. "Not well enough." He tilts his head, sizing me up like a hunter deciding whether the prey is worth chasing. "You're a disappointment.
he snaps. "Not strong enough." He steps closer, his shadow falling over me. "You're weak. Too slow. Too cautious. If it weren't for this war, you'd already be dead. The only reason you still stand is because we've been throwing ourselves between you and the real killing blows."
The words hit like a strike to the chest. I want to deny it, but I can't — I remember the times someone else stepped in, the moments I hesitated and another Scyther paid for it.
He tilts his head, sizing me up like a hunter deciding if the prey is worth chasing. "And that's why you're not on the front lines anymore."He gestures toward the grove's edge. Two small Scyther emerge from behind a bramble wall, their steps hesitant, eyes darting between us. Their wings are still glassy, their scythes thin and unsharpened.
"They're yours now," the leader says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Two hatchlings. No parents. You'll protect them, train them, keep them alive. If you can't manage that, you'll never manage yourself in battle."
I stare at the young ones, then back at him. "You're taking me off the front lines?"
"I'm giving you one last chance," he says. His wings snap once, hard enough to stir the dust, before he turns away. "Don't waste it."
The two young Scyther edge closer to me, silent and wide-eyed. I look down at them, and for the first time, the fight ahead feels… different. Not just about me anymore.
Even though I got scythers memorys its still weird to talk with them
After several minutes of weaving through the forest paths, the sound of the grove fades behind us. The air feels heavier out here — the distant hum of Beedrill to the north, the occasional snap of branches that might be Pinsir scouts to the south. The two hatchlings trail behind me in a clumsy zigzag, their wings buzzing unevenly as they chase stray leaves or get distracted by every movement in the trees.
I glance back at them. "What are your names?"
The smaller one on the left perks up instantly. "Oh! I'm Sokko!" His voice is high and quick, almost bouncing out of him, and he looks oddly proud just for remembering his own name.
The taller one is a second slower to respond, scratching his scythe along the ground. "Uh… maro
I stop walking for a moment so they can catch up. "Sokko. Ryn. From now on, you do exactly what I say
They both nod quickly,"understood," though Sokko's wings are still twitching like he's ready to fly off after a bug.
"Good," I say, stepping toward a small clearing ahead. The grass there is short, and a few old slash marks line the nearby trees. "Because we're going to fight."
These wing aren't that bad while I can't fly I can still glide a little
But how strong are those two
Name. Sokko,maro
Talent light Green
Pokemon. scyther
Ability Technician
Type. Bug- flying
Height 0.9m
Level 6
Moves ###
Better than nothing atleast.makes me survive more likely
After more than half an hour of walking, the trees ahead start to thin. The air changes — sharper, colder — carrying the scent of torn leaves and the metallic tang of blood. We're close to the front line.
Somewhere behind me, Sokko and maro are still bickering quietly about whether a fallen branch looked like a Pinsir's horn. I don't bother answering.
Then the sound reaches us — the high, rapid buzz of wings, the thud of impacts, the rasp of blades clashing. A cry rings out, sharp and pained, before it cuts off into silence.
I stop. The two behind me nearly bump into my back.
We move forward through a patch of undergrowth, my steps slow and deliberate. The noise is just ahead, and when I push through the last set of branches, I see it.
A clearing torn apart by battle. Two Beedrill hover low, their stingers wet and glistening. On the ground between them lies a Scyther — motionless, wings shredded, eyes dull and fixed on nothing.
The Beedrill turn toward us in the same moment I spot them. Wings blur faster, stingers lowering. They're not retreating.
I shift my stance, scythes ready. The hatchlings behind me fall silent — finally — but they're barely a thought in my mind now. All that matters is the two enemies in front of me, and the fact that one wrong move could leave me lying beside that dead Scyther.
Both Beedrill are already injured — their movements aren't as sharp as they should be. One's wing beats unevenly, the other's left stinger drips slower. But I can tell it will still take a clean, brutal strike to finish them. For the weaker one… maybe three solid hits.
Name. Bedrill*2
Talent light Green
Pokemon. Bedrill
Ability swarm
Type. Bug- poison
Height 1m
Level 11,12
Moves ###
I don't waste time thinking. My wings snap open, the air bursting past me as I lunge forward in a blur. Quick Attack — I'm on them before they can adjust their aim. My scythe slams against the first Beedrill's side, knocking it off balance.
It tries to recover, but I'm already moving. Fury Cutter. The first slash is light, almost testing, but I follow immediately with another — faster, harder — the rhythm of the move building with each strike.
The Beedrill screeches, backing away as my third Fury Cutter lands with a heavier impact, my arm vibrating from the force. The move's power is climbing, each swing biting deeper into its chitin. I can feel the momentum turning in my favor, but the second Beedrill is circling, looking for an opening.
The hatchlings are somewhere behind me, but they're nothing more than background noise now. All my focus is on keeping pressure — one more hit, and the first one will fall. But I know the moment I overcommit, the other will dive for my blind side.
This fight isn't about winning clean. It's about making sure I'm the one still standing when it's over.
The stronger Beedrill lunges, stinger aimed straight for me, but Sokko and maro dart forward without thinking. It's messy and uncoordinated, but they get in its way — wings flaring, scythes raised. The Beedrill veers to avoid a collision, clicking in frustration as it tries to shove past them.
It's not much, but it's enough.
Using a last fury cutter with much more strenght the weaker bedrill falls
Sokko yelps as the Beedrill's stinger grazes his shoulder, a thin line of purple swelling instantly along the cut. Maro takes a heavier hit to the side, stumbling but forcing himself back into the Beedrill's path. They're slowing, their scythes swinging more out of desperation than skill.
The Beedrill surges forward, wings blurring, ready to cut through them both. I don't give it the chance.
I dart in low, my wings kicking up dirt, slipping past Maro's side and slamming my scythe into the Beedrill's abdomen.
It spins on me instantly, stingers flashing, but I'm already inside its reach. The second Fury Cutter comes faster, heavier, the momentum of the move feeding my arms.
The Beedrill hisses, lurching backward, but I'm not letting it breathe. My third strike lands with a crack against its thorax, the power now peaking
One final slash, faster and harder than the rest, and the Beedrill's wings falter. It drops from the air, hitting the dirt hard and twitching before going still.
I pull back, breathing hard, my scythes slick with fresh marks from the fight. Sokko is clutching his shoulder, Maro leaning against a tree, both of them wide-eyed and shaking.
The clearing is silent now except for the sound of their uneven breathing and the faint, distant hum of more wings somewhere far away.
Profile
Name. zane
Talent light blue
Pokemon. scyther
Ability Technician
Type. Bug- flying
Height 1.1m. Or 3.6 feet
Level 11
Moves Quick attack,leer,fury cutter,false swipe
stand over the fallen Beedrill, chest rising and falling with each breath. My scythes still hum faintly from the force of the last strike. I can feel it — the rush of the fight still burning in my muscles, the edge in my movements sharper than before. Fury Cutter's rhythm, the way it built with every blow… it's still in me.
I glance at Sokko and maro. They're scraped up, breathing hard, but still standing.
"You two," I say, my voice steady but low, "take the bodies."
They blink at me. "The… the Beedrilsl?" Sokko asks, his tone somewhere between disgust and confusion.
"Yes," I answer, pointing with one scythe. "Trophies. Proof we killed them. Proof you survived."
Maro hesitates, then steps toward the nearest corpse, grabbing it awkwardly under its cracked wing. Sokko follows suit, though he makes a face the whole time, clearly trying not to touch the stingers.
Once they're loaded with their grim prizes, I turn toward the path we came from. "We're going home."
Neither of them argues. The forest swallows us again as we move, the weight of victory — and the Beedrill — hanging heavy on their shoulders. The smell of battle lingers in the air, but for the first time, I feel just a little stronger than before.
As we walk, the weight of what just happened follows me like a shadow. The forest is quieter now, but my head isn't. My wings hum softly with each step, the rhythm of movement that still feels strange — too light, too fast, too sharp compared to the body I used to have.
I am a Scyther. I've had this body long enough to know how it moves, how the air bends around the edges of my scythes, how my legs coil like springs before a strike. But it's different now. Today wasn't just training swings against bark or watching others fight. Today, I killed.
I can still feel the resistance of Beedrill chitin under my blades, the shudder in my arms when Fury Cutter bit deep. The sound — that sharp, dry crack when the last blow landed — it's still in my ears. And then it stopped moving.
I tell myself it was necessary. Beedrill are predators, just like us. They wouldn't hesitate to sink their stingers into me, or into Sokko and Ryn. But still… it's different when you're the one standing over the body. The blood — their blood — splattered along my scythes isn't a stain you can just wash away.
think about the leader's words: weak, too slow, only alive because of the war. Maybe he was right before. But when I moved in that fight, when I felt Fury Cutter growing heavier, faster with every strike… there was no hesitation. No one stepped in to save me. I didn't need them to.
For the first time, I'm not just a Scyther in body. I fought like one. And I won.