Chapter 413: The Wings of Flame
The sheer number of Legendary Pokémon appearing at once caused a single name to
flash through Kenji's mind.
Clones.
The last time he had witnessed such a concentrated surge of Legendaries was on
Dragon Island, where R-Organization had utilized their terrifying cloning
technology to produce an army of high-level Pokémon, including several
Legendaries. That had been the first—and he'd hoped the last—time he would ever
see such a sight.
However, those manufactured clones were a far cry from the genuine articles. If
a clone ever went toe-to-toe with a true, Primal Legendary, the original would
beat the life out of them in seconds.
Looking at the absolute devastation of the wildfire before him, Kenji began to
suspect that this was the work of those genetic aberrations. Based on his
observations, he estimated that among the three Moltres currently sighted, only
one was likely the "True" Legendary.
If even one genuine Moltres was involved, the average trainer stood no chance.
Legendaries were categorized as such for a reason—their power existed on a
completely different plane of existence. Back at Black Thunder Mountain, it had
taken the intervention of a former Elite Four member just to deal with a single
Raikou.
Now, there were three of them. Even if they were clones, the scale of the threat
was astronomical.
"I understand," Kenji said, nodding to the League Investigator. "Stay here and
maintain the perimeter. I'm going in."
The investigator's eyes lit up with relief. He quickly handed Kenji a
communication device, urging him to stay in touch. Kenji pocketed the radio and
gave Ninetales a sharp look. With a flash of psychic energy, Ninetales activated
Teleport, and the two vanished from the spot.
"SCREEEEEEEEE!"
A piercing, high-pitched shriek tore through the forest, the sonic pressure so
intense that the surrounding flames flickered and bowed.
Deep within the inferno, Ninetales maintained a shimmering Reflect barrier,
sealing out the suffocating waves of heat. Kenji stood beside her, listening to
the rhythmic crack-pop of ancient trees being devoured by the blaze. Every few
seconds, a blackened trunk would give way, crashing into the underbrush with a
roar and sending up a fresh spray of sparks.
Kenji scanned the horizon, his eyes locking onto a specific coordinate. The cry
had come from that direction.
As they moved toward the source of the sound, Kenji tapped two Poké Balls on his
belt, releasing his Beedrill and his Gyarados.
The deeper they ventured, the more intense the heat became, the fire growing
into a localized hellscape. Then, abruptly, the wall of flame thinned out. Not
because the fire was dying, but because there was nothing left to burn. The
ground had been reduced to scorched black earth and charcoal, turning the forest
floor into a wasteland of soot.
Amidst the black dust lay the charred remains of wild Pokémon—creatures that
lived in these woods and had no hope of escaping a fire sparked by a God. They
had been swallowed by the flames where they stood.
Kenji didn't have the luxury of pity right now. As they drew closer, his heart
hammered against his ribs. Fighting three Moltres was one thing, but a darker
fear lingered in the back of his mind: Was Mewtwo here?
Through his contact with Silas Matsuma, Kenji knew that Mewtwo had escaped with
R-Organization's top genetic researchers after the group disbanded. If these
clones were appearing now, it was highly likely that Mewtwo was the one pulling
the strings. As a Psychic-type Mythical with intelligence far surpassing any
human, Mewtwo was the ultimate strategist.
BOOM!
In the center of a wide valley, three Moltres were locked in a brutal aerial
struggle.
One of them radiated a deep, vibrant orange flame that seemed to pulse with
life—the True Moltres. The other two looked nearly identical, but their flames
were paler, a sickly, washed-out yellow.
The valley was a wreck. Anything combustible had long since been vaporized. High
above the blackened pit, the two pale clones were double-teaming the original.
The True Moltres was covered in scorch marks and gashes; its stamina was
flagging, and the flames coating its wings flickered weakly—a sign of extreme
exhaustion.
Yet, its eyes remained filled with a primal, holy rage. It shrieked, unhinging
its beak to unleash a massive Fire Blast. The orange flames twisted into the
shape of a burning serpent, lunging at the clones.
"SCREEE!"
As the True Moltres forced one clone back with the blast, the second clone
seized the opening. It dived from a blind spot, its long, spear-like beak
glowing with white energy as it spun into a Drill Peck.
The original tried to bank left, but it was too slow. The beak slammed into its
wing, tearing through feathers and muscle. The Legendary bird spiraled, nearly
losing its flight path as it cried out in agony.
Before the clones could follow up with an Air Slash to finish the job, a sphere
of compressed darkness streaked through the air.
BANG!
The Shadow Ball collided with the clones' wind blades, detonating in a cloud of
purple and black smoke.
A dark, spectral figure drifted silently into the airspace in front of the
wounded Moltres. The clone flared its wings, its pupils shrinking as it felt an
overwhelming, soul-crushing pressure radiating from the newcomer.
"Disgusting things," a cold, telepathic voice echoed.
Darkrai didn't hide his contempt. With a casual snap of his fingers, he
unleashed Dark Void. The shadows expanded instantly, dragging the clones into a
localized dimension of nightmares.
As Darkrai reached out a clawed hand, dozens of shadowy tentacles erupted from
the void, ensnaring the first clone. The bird struggled, but against Darkrai,
its "Legendary" speed was a joke. The tentacles plunged into the clone's chest,
and with a violent wrench, Darkrai tore a semi-transparent, flickering
phantom—the clone's very consciousness—out of its body.
The lifeless husk of the first clone plummeted toward the earth like a lead
weight.
The second clone's flames sputtered in terror. It turned to flee, but a blur of
silver was already behind it.
Beedrill appeared as if he had simply been erased from one spot and drawn into
another. He didn't even give the clone time to realize he was there.
WHAM!
The twin stingers descended. The second clone was slammed into the ground like a
meteor, creating a massive crater in the scorched earth.
A short distance away, Kenji stood with his hands in his pockets, his eyes
scanning the ridgeline and the sky.
No sign of Mewtwo... yet.
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