Proton stared at the ravine as if it might bite him from a distance.
He wasn't wrong.
But fear was only useful if you could turn it into obedience.
I crouched at the plateau's edge, traced a line in the dust with my finger, and rebuilt the cave as a map inside his head: one entrance, one corridor wide enough for a final evolution to charge through, one choke point where the ground was already cracked and hollow—Diglett territory.
"Listen," I said quietly. "We're not fighting it."
Proton's jaw tightened. "Good."
"We're stealing from it."
That made him blink. Not because it was insane—because it was worse.
I kept going before his doubt could grow teeth.
"You go in first. You show yourself. You make it happy."
"Happy?"
"It likes weak things," I said, flat. "It likes torturing them. You're going to look like a gift."
Proton's expression soured.
"I know." I pointed toward the cave mouth. "You provoke it, then you run. Don't trade. Don't 'test' anything. You run."
He opened his mouth.
I cut him off.
"Your Koffing goes first. Poison Gas, then Smokescreen. Not to kill. To ruin Mud-Slap. If it can't see, it can't blind you."
Proton inhaled slowly, trying to keep his hands from shaking. "And if it bites me?"
"Then you were slow," I said. "Don't be slow."
He stared at me like he wanted to argue, then swallowed it and nodded once. Pragmatic. Good.
I pointed at the choke point on my invisible map. "You lead it through here. You don't look back. You keep running until you reach camp."
"And you?"
"I'll be inside," I said. "Gastly with me. I pick a Sandile. The right one."
Proton frowned. "How do you know which is the right one?"
I didn't answer with words. I answered with certainty.
"The one that doesn't flinch," I said. "The one who stands too close to the boss. The one that's already been taught to punish intruders."
I tapped the Poké Ball on my belt. "That Sandile will have a strong Power Trip."
Proton's eyes sharpened. He was starting to understand why this mattered.
"And if you don't show up?" he asked, voice low.
"Twenty minutes," I said. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes, you pack everything, and you leave. No hero nonsense."
Proton blinked. "You're serious."
"I'm always serious," I said.
Then I reached into my pouch and pulled out three Pokéblock cubes—bright enough to look wrong against red sandstone.
Proton watched them like I'd just pulled out bribes for the ground itself.
"That's… for what?"
I knelt, placed the cubes near a crack where the sand sat a little too loose, and waited.
One second.
Two.
The sand twitched.
A Diglett popped up, eyes narrowed, suspicious, nose twitching. It stared at the cubes, then at me, then back at the cubes like it was trying to decide if I was a trap.
I pointed with two fingers.
Not at it.
At the cave entrance.
Then I dragged my finger in a short arc—collapse here—and tapped the ground twice.
The Diglett hesitated.
Then hunger punched pride in the mouth.
It snatched a cube and vanished.
A second Diglett surfaced farther away, lured by the scent. Then a third.
I paid each one. Pointed. Drew the same line. Same instruction.
Proton stared, disbelief turning into reluctant respect. "You're hiring Digletts."
"I'm buying a rockfall," I corrected.
The ground began to pulse in short, fast rhythms—Digletts digging under the entrance ceiling, carving weakness into stone like termites in wood.
"Timing matters," I told Proton. "They don't drop it until I'm out."
Proton swallowed. "How do you control that?"
I looked at him.
"I don't," I said. "I control the signal."
I tapped my TR Device once.
"After I catch the Sandile, Porygon will teleport me out—eight hundred meters. When you hear your TR Device ring… you'll know I'm gone. Then you throw the last cube at the entrance."
Proton stared. "That's your signal?"
"That's the signal," I confirmed. "Digletts eat. They drop the ceiling. The cave seals."
Proton exhaled slowly. "And then?"
"And then Corvisquire takes me, and we disappear," I said. "We break line. We mask scent. We come back to camp later."
Proton blinked. "Mask scent?"
I pulled a small vial from my bag and shook it. The smell was sharp even through the seal.
"Incense," I said.
Proton's mouth twitched. "You're insane."
I didn't deny it.
I just looked toward the cave mouth, where the wind felt colder.
"Get ready," I told him. "We do this once. Clean. Fast."
Proton tightened his grip on his Poké Balls.
"Twenty minutes," he repeated.
I nodded once.
"Twenty."
Proton moved first.
He stepped into the cave like a man walking into his own funeral—shoulders tense, breath measured, Zubat circling outside as a silent warning system.
I stayed at the edge of the entrance shadow, letting Gastly sink deeper into mine.
When Proton's voice echoed from inside—sharp, deliberate, deliberately disrespectful—I knew he'd found the boss.
A heavy sound followed.
Stone scraping. Weight shifting.
A predator waking up.
Then the cave breathed out something worse than cold.
A Krookodile silhouette slid through the darkness, slow and satisfied, like it already knew this would be fun.
Proton's Koffing floated forward and, for once, didn't look like it hated Proton.
It looked like it hated everything.
"Poison Gas—Smokescreen!" Proton barked.
The green cloud burst outward, thick and choking, turning the chamber into a chemical curtain. Visibility died. Lines blurred. Angles vanished.
Mud-Slap hit the fog like a fist hitting water—spray everywhere, aim ruined, sludge splattering rock instead of eyes.
Proton didn't wait to "see" the result.
He ran.
Boots slammed on stone. Breath tore. He bolted out of the cave and down the corridor path like the island itself was chasing him.
The Krookodile followed.
It didn't roar.
It laughed—at least that's what it felt like in the confident pace of something that enjoyed weak prey.
Good.
Let it enjoy.
While it chased him, I stepped into the chamber.
The Sandile pack was there—two, three shapes low to the ground—eyes sharp, bodies tense, waiting for permission to be cruel.
I ignored most of them.
I watched for the one that didn't shift back.
The one that held its posture too long.
The one that stood near the deepest shadow, as it belonged there.
The capanga.
The trained one.
I extended my psychic energy and let the System confirm what my instincts already knew.
[ SYSTEM SCAN — TARGET LOCKED ]
Specimen: SANDILE
Level: 21
Potential: GREEN
Ability: Intimidate
Typing: Ground / Dark
Moves Detected:
— Bite (Dark)
— Mud-Slap (Ground)
— Sand Attack (Ground)
— Power Trip (Dark)
Gastly rose out of my shadow like smoke given teeth.
Mean Look.
The Sandile froze like an invisible chain had snapped tight around its spine.
Mean Look didn't hold you the way ropes did.
It judged you.
It told your instincts that you are not allowed to run.
The Sandile tried anyway—claws scraping stone, body twisting back—
—and went nowhere.
Enzo's eyes didn't soften. His mind didn't hesitate.
"Hypnosis," Enzo sent through telepathy.
Gastly's eyes flashed, a cold spiral of intent.
The Sandile fought it.
Jaw clenched. Muscles shaking. The kind of stubborn resistance Dark-types were famous for—like pride could substitute oxygen.
For a heartbeat, it looked like it might actually power through.
Gastly drifted back with an annoyed little huff inside Enzo's skull.
Fine. Be difficult.
Enzo's expression didn't change.
Time for Plan B.
Enzo moved in one clean motion—snapped a Poké Ball free and threw it like a knife.
"Koffing."
The purple sphere popped into existence midair, already grinning, already vibrating like it had been waiting its whole life for permission.
Enzo ducked, bracing for impact.
Koffing didn't even look at the Sandile first.
It looked at Enzo—wide smile, eyes shining with devotion—like it wanted applause before the performance.
Then its voice slid into Enzo's head, bright and excited:
"Boss… you're watching, right?"
Enzo's mind went flat.
"Do it now!"
Koffing turned toward the Sandile like a romance was unfolding in its own head.
"FOR LOVE!" it screamed telepathically—because of course it did—then threw itself forward with suicidal enthusiasm.
The Sandile's eyes widened just in time to understand the punchline.
Koffing detonated.
Not a wild explosion. Not a cave-collapsing blast.
A tight, brutal, localized bloom of force—like a shaped charge designed for exactly one job: erase a target from the equation.
Dust jumped off the stone. The air clenched. A shockwave slapped the walls and died.
When the smoke thinned, the Sandile hit the ground hard.
One twitch.
Then stillness.
Fainted.
Enzo didn't waste a second.
"Good work," he murmured out of habit—then remembered Koffing couldn't hear him because it was already gone.
He snapped the recall.
Red light yanked Koffing back into the Poké Ball like a leash.
Enzo lunged forward as if the window to breathe might close, and threw his capture ball immediately—arm steady, timing perfect, like the entire island had trained him for this one toss.
One shake.
Two.
Three.
Click.
The sound was small.
But in Enzo's head, it hit like a gunshot.
He snatched the ball up—
—and the cave's temperature dropped.
Not because of the wind.
Because something large had returned.
Stone scraped behind him.
A heavy, patient slide.
The Krookodile.
It re-entered the chamber like it owned the concept of fear—eyes cutting through lingering fog, posture relaxed, as if it had all the time in the world to decide how painful this lesson would be.
For one heartbeat, it and Enzo locked eyes.
No roar.
No theatrics.
Just that slow, satisfied look of a predator realizing its favorite toy had picked the wrong moment to be brave.
Then Enzo's TR Device vibrated against his body.
One hard pulse.
Porygon2 had the coordinates.
Teleport still needed its lock—those two seconds where death could happen casually.
Enzo didn't blink.
He didn't move.
He simply held the Sandile's Poké Ball like a stolen crown, saying, 'Never f*** with my Pokémon again,' and then disappeared in a flash.
Enzo vanished.
Eight hundred meters away, outside the cave, the world reassembled around Enzo in a cold blink.
For half a heartbeat, there was nothing—just that hollow sensation of space snapping back into place—then the North returned in full: wind scraping red stone, grit stinging exposed skin, the sky too wide to feel safe.
Enzo's TR Device vibrated once.
One clean ring.
A signal to Proton's TR Device.
Down the ravines, Proton heard it.
He didn't hesitate. He didn't look back toward the cave like a man praying it wasn't real.
He threw the last Pokéblock cube at the entrance.
The Digletts understood payment better than language.
The ground answered.
A deep, hungry tremor ran under the rock like something enormous had shifted its shoulder.
Then the ceiling gave way.
A massive rockfall collapsed into the entrance like a guillotine made of stone—violent, final, loud enough to make nearby pebbles jump. Dust belched outward in a thick cough, and the ravine swallowed the sound in a long, grinding roar.
The cave was sealed.
Proton didn't stay to admire it.
He sprinted.
Boots slamming rock. Breath tearing. Pure survival, clean and efficient.
Above the ravines, Corvisquire was already there—huge, low, circling like it had been waiting for the cue.
It dropped fast.
Enzo moved under it and grabbed one of its legs without hesitation.
Corvisquire ripped him off the ground like he weighed nothing.
The wind hit like a punch.
They moved fast—fast enough to look sloppy on purpose. Corvisquire skimmed the edges, clipped its wings, and beat them hard and loud. Every motion wrote a trail: disturbed dust, broken scents, noise that pointed in the wrong direction.
A deliberate lie for anything that tried to track them.
Deep in the North, when the ravines widened and the wind finally sounded distant, Corvisquire slowed and landed.
Enzo looked down at the Sandile's Poké Ball in his hand.
Stolen clean.
Green potential.
Power Trip.
The important part.
He pressed the ball to his palm.
"Yes."
The Virus pulsed—blue, then violet—like a heartbeat that didn't belong to anything human.
And the System updated.
[ SYSTEM SCAN ]
Specimen: SANDILE (VIRUS ACTIVE)
Level: 22
Potential: DEEP GREEN
Ability: Intimidate
Typing: Ground / Dark
Bond Indicator: "Strengthened proximity imprint detected."
Moves Detected:
— Bite (Dark)
— Mud-Slap (Ground)
— Sand Attack (Ground)
— Power Trip (Dark)
Enzo's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes settled into place.
He pulled the incense vial from his bag and cracked it open.
The smell bled into the air immediately—sharp, wrong, overpowering. It didn't mask a trail so much as ruin one, smearing everything into a messy chemical signature that made tracking feel like trying to follow a footprint through fire.
Corvisquire dipped once and grabbed him again.
They flew.
When Enzo finally dropped back onto the plateau near camp, Proton was already there—wired, tense, eyes scanning the horizon like he expected the sealed cave to come crawling after him.
His chest rose and fell too fast.
Hands too close to his Poké Balls.
He looked like a man who'd survived something and hadn't decided yet if it was luck or skill.
Enzo stepped forward, calm as paperwork.
He gave Proton one brief look—enough to confirm he was intact—then held up the new Poké Ball like proof.
"Asset secured."