Grey arrived just in time to catch the scene. He cut straight to the point: "Blaziken, clear a path—use Flamethrower on those Arbok!"
"Chah!"
A scorching pillar swept out, raking through the Arbok pack. The weaker ones dropped on the spot.
Even the tougher few lasted only seconds.
It was a rout, plain and simple.
"Who goes there?!"
The squad leader's face twisted as he spun—only to see a massive fireball barreling straight at him!
When it came to Rocket, you went for the head. No chivalry required.
Fight it like a street brawl.
Under everyone's gaze, Blaziken slammed into the squad leader and blasted him across the hall. He ended up dangling from the chandelier, swaying by a thread.
"Damn it, he took out our captain in front of us!"
"Brothers, avenge the captain!"
"Yeah!"
The Rockets closed ranks. Grimer and Golbat and other Poison-types formed a half-ring and pressed in.
"Bottom-feeders," Grey said, scanning them—highest level was only 23.
"Come on, Green. No reason to linger."
With Green on his arm, Grey headed for the battle ballroom, not sparing the mob a second glance.
"Wing Attack!"
"Sludge!"
"Mud Shot!"
Orders flew; moves followed.
"End it in one go."
Another tongue of fire roared up.
Everywhere Blaziken looked, Rockets were left charred and finished.
Grey threaded through the crowd. He didn't bother with these grunts.
Just small fry—looking twice would be a waste.
"So strong!"
"Who was that? That power—!"
The hall buzzed with shaken admiration.
…
Battle Ballroom.
Compared to the main hall, things here were a touch better.
At least the trainers had some teeth; they weren't getting mauled by the riffraff.
"Gary, how's it on your side?"
Ash directed Pikachu and Charmander, stealing a moment to ask.
"Alright. Just too many of them, and they're not that strong," Gary said, face tight with fatigue.
After a stretch of constant fighting, both boys were worn down—but Rocket kept feeding bodies into the grinder, and the breaks never came.
The other trainers were worse. Not many had deep teams, and the sheer press of numbers left everyone nicked and bruised.
If something truly strong showed up, a wipeout wasn't out of the question.
"Not bad. To last this long under Team Rocket's hand—you've passed the first test."
A silky voice drifted over.
Everyone turned to see a bandage-wrapped "sailor" stroll out and peel off the disguise.
A purple forelock jutted up from an otherwise close-cropped head. Dead-fish eyes swept the room—and a greasy smile curled his lips.
Team Rocket Executive: Petrel.
Unlike before, this time he was flanked by a cloud of Weezing.
Most hovered around level 40. The one closest to him was a hulking level 55.
"You villains—what are you trying to do?!" Ash stepped forward and pointed, furious.
"Heh. What am I doing? Just listen." Petrel's smile turned sly. "Join Team Rocket. Pokémon, power, money—we'll give you the best of it all."
"What garbage! We League trainers won't be Rocket's lapdogs!"
A hot-tempered elite trainer snapped and sent his Pidgeot lunging.
"Pidgeot!"
Wings tucked, killing intent flared—the bird cut forward like a drawn blade, arrowing straight at Petrel mid-speech.
"My friend, don't interrupt when someone's talking," Petrel said, hands in his pockets as he leaned a casual angle. "Or your partner might pay the price."
"Hmph! My Pidgeot isn't some Rocket weakling!"
The trainer trusted his partner completely.
"Pidgeot!"
The bird shrieked high and clear; its beak gleamed with razor-white light, a tailwind rising at its back—
"Wee—zing…"
A Weezing floated up, those same dead-fish eyes locking on Pidgeot as its body gave a lazy shake.
Boom!
Heat raced across its hide; flames licked free.
With Pidgeot almost on it, the Weezing drove into the wind and loosed an even harsher wave of hot air.
Sparks scattered; a rolling firestorm boiled out, burning into the oncoming bird.
"Pidge—ot…"
The surging heat wind crushed Pidgeot's speed—forward motion turned into a struggle.
In under three seconds, the gust threw it aside. It crashed, grounded on impact.
It was a Flying-type, master of the air—and it had been flattened by wind.
"W-what…?"
The elite trainer's pupils pinpricked.
"Hahaha! That your pride and joy? Funny how it got one-shotted by my Weezing," Petrel cackled, eyes wet with mirth.
"Pikachu, Thunderbolt!"
A gold-white bolt speared out like a coiling thunder serpent and smashed into Weezing.
Sizzle—!
Light crackled over its body… and might as well have been a tickle.
The gap was too wide.
"Oh? Another little brat who doesn't know the height of the sky, trying a sneak shot." Petrel's eyes narrowed; the smile on his mouth turned chilling. "In that case, enjoy being buried in sludge."
"Wee—zing."
Weezing drifted, turning toward Ash.
Splotch—!
Purple toxins seeped out, rippling over the floor.
Wave upon wave piled higher—until a towering violet swell gathered out of nowhere, shaping into a vast hand that crashed down toward the crowd.
A Sludge Wave—played with like putty.
"Everyone, together—aim at one spot—fire at the same time!"
In the pinch, Ash called the play.
Beams of gathered moves lanced out and sank into the sludge wall—without raising a ripple.
Stomachs dropped. They tried to muster a second volley—
But Sludge Wave was already on top of them—and they'd just blown everything they had.
Ash and Gary clenched their fists, bitter and unwilling.
Was this really the end—?
"Rage Fist."
The calm voice rolled in from the entrance.
A Poké Ball landed at their feet, and a Primeape burst free.
Savage aura surged.
Ghostly radiance wrapped it head to toe.
The toxic breaker crested like a falling mountain.
Primeape raised its eyes into the wave. Ghost-type energy gathered at the knuckles, the body's eerie light pouring into one point.
A massive fist-shadow coalesced in the air, then slammed into the toxic surge.
KRA-THOOM!
The fist punched straight through the wave—and hammered Weezing dead-on.
As the blow landed, a brilliant white glow blazed over Primeape.
Evolution light.
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