The SS Anne was not a ship; it was a floating sovereign nation. As it drifted away from the Vermilion docks, the gargantuan vessel cut through the waves with a mechanical arrogance that mirrored the elite gathered on its decks. This was the pinnacle of high-society travel—a marble-and-gold palace where the wealthy from Kanto to Kalos came to flaunt their status, their fashion, and most importantly, their Pokémon.
Zeth stood on the Promenade Deck, leaning against the polished mahogany railing. He looked out of place in his dark, tactical-lite attire among the silk suits and designer dresses. At his side, the Deep-Purple Houndoom was held in a specialized "Luxury Ball" he'd scavenged—a necessary mask to avoid immediate suspicion.
"Attention, esteemed guests," a voice boomed over the ship's crystal-clear intercom. "The S.S. Anne Invitational begins in one hour. We have sixteen slots for the tournament. The stakes, as always, are for those who value true excellence."
The Prize Pool:
1st Place: A Perfection-Grade Evolution Catalyst (Adaptive) and a VIP Pass to the private "Indigo Plateau" reserve.
2nd Place: A Grand-Mastered TM: Dragon Claw.
3rd Place: 500,000 PokeDollars and a bottle of Ancient Elixir.
Zeth's eyes narrowed. The Perfection-Grade Catalyst was exactly what he needed for his next reconstruction. But the competition wouldn't be the local Kanto scrubs. These were the children of Sinnoh's elite, Kalosian heirs, and Hoennian prodigies.
Zeth moved toward the Grand Ballroom, which had been converted into a high-tech, sunken battlefield. The registration line was a gauntlet of power.
"Name and Region," the attendant asked without looking up.
"Zeth. Kanto."
A soft, melodic chuckle came from behind him. "Kanto? I didn't think there was much left of the 'Old World' after the Gates started appearing."
Zeth turned. Standing there was a young man with silver-blonde hair, draped in a Kalosian high-collared coat. Beside him floated a Sliggoo (Lvl 36) that looked remarkably well-fed, its slime shimmering with a metallic luster.
"Julien of Lumiose," the boy introduced himself, his eyes flicking over Zeth's scars. "Your Pokémon has a... heavy scent, Kanto-boy. Did you pull it out of a dumpster or a Gate?"
"I pulled it out of a forge," Zeth said, his voice the cold, flat rasp.
"You should worry less about the scent and more about the heat. It tends to melt silver."
Julien's smile didn't reach his eyes. "We shall see. My Sliggoo hasn't tasted Kanto fire in a long time."
[Round 1: The Hoenn Technician]
The tournament was a single-elimination format. Zeth's first opponent was a girl from Mauville City, a specialist in technical precision named Ria.
"Arena 4! Zeth vs. Ria!"
The battlefield was a standard hard-court, but the ceiling was equipped with high-intensity drones to capture every frame for the wealthy spectators. Ria sent out a Manectric (Lvl 35, Blue Potential).
"Manectric, Electric Terrain! Then Howl!"
The Blue-tier dog barked, and the floor hissed with yellow sparks. This was a classic Hoennian "Blitz" setup.
"Croagunk. Deployment," Zeth muttered.
The purple frog appeared, its vocal sacs puffing. It looked tiny compared to the maned wolf, but its eyes were focused on the Poison Jab logic Zeth had hard-coded into its nervous system.
"Speed is irrelevant if you can't touch the ground," Zeth commanded. "Mud-Slap—low sweep!"
The Croagunk slammed its palms into the court, kicking up a spray of thick, sticky mud. It wasn't meant to damage; it was meant to foul the Electric Terrain conduction.
"Now! Poison Jab!"
The Croagunk blurred through the mud-cloud. The Manectric lunged with a Spark, but the frog-like assassin slid under the wolf's belly. Thwip-thwip. The double-strike hit the hind leg joints.
"What? Manectric, Thunder Fang!"
The wolf tried to turn, but its back legs buckled. The Custom Poison Jab—with its 50% severe poisoning chance—had taken effect instantly. The toxic agent Zeth had brewed was working through the Manectric's nervous system like acid.
"Finish it. Pursuit."
As the Manectric tried to limp away to reset, Croagunk appeared behind it in a flash of dark energy. A single strike to the back of the neck sent the wolf into the floor, fainted.
Zeth's second opponent was a bruiser from Snowpoint City named Kjell. He didn't speak; he simply released a Gastrodon (Lvl 37, East Sea variant).
"Charmeleon. Deployment," Zeth said.
The crowd gasped. Using a Fire-type against a Water/Ground tank was tactical suicide. But Zeth wasn't looking at the type-chart. He was looking at the structural integrity of the arena.
"Gastrodon, Muddy Water!"
A wall of brown, sludge-filled water surged toward Charmeleon.
"Earthquake!" Zeth roared.
The Legacy Earthquake—without safety buffers—ripped through the arena. The shockwave didn't just shake the ground; it hit the Muddy Water wave, the kinetic energy causing the water to explode outward like a shattered mirror.
The Gastrodon was caught in the resonance. Its soft, slug-like body had no defense against the internal vibration of a Legacy-tier tremor. The creature slumped, its internal organs rattled by the "illegal" frequency.
"Dragon Rage—close the distance!"
Charmeleon leaped through the mist, its claws glowing with blue-white energy. It slammed into the Gastrodon's head, ending the match before the tank could recover.
As the sun began to set over the Vermilion Sea, the tournament moved to the final four. Zeth sat in the locker room, stitching a small tear in his tactical suit.
His next opponent was Julien of Kalos. The boy with the Sliggoo.
Zeth felt a shift in the ship's vibration—not the engine, but a dimensional hum. The C-Rank Gate was getting closer. He could feel it in the Silver Thread of his Aura. The chaos was coming, and he needed that Perfection-Grade Catalyst before the world went to hell.
"You're pushing your Pokémon too hard, Cain," a voice whispered from the doorway.
Zeth didn't look up. He knew that voice. It was the woman from the Black Tulip syndicate, the one who had briefed him in Saffron. She was dressed as a high-society socialite now, a glass of champagne in her hand.
"The Gate is manifesting in three hours," she said, her voice barely audible. "Julien isn't just a rich kid. He's a scout for the Kalosian Gendarmerie. If you reveal too much of your 'Rocket' style, he'll flag you before we even hit the Gate."
"Let him flag me," Zeth said, standing up and recalling his team. "He'll have to do it from a hospital bed."
The Grand Ballroom of the SS Anne had transitioned into its "Night Phase." The chandeliers were dimmed to a deep, oceanic blue, and the spectator stands were filled with the scent of expensive perfume and aged scotch. But on the central platform, the atmosphere was anything but refined. It was pressurized.
"Semi-Finals: Match One! Zeth of Kanto vs. Julien of Kalos!"
Julien stepped onto the podium with a practiced, feline grace. He had shed his heavy coat, revealing a silk combat vest embroidered with the crest of a prominent Kalosian house. Beside him, the Sliggoo (Lvl 36) pulsed with a rhythmic, wet hum.
"Kanto-boy," Julien said, his voice carrying over the silent crowd. "You've made a mess of the lower brackets with those 'brute force' tremors. But a Dragon's skin doesn't care about the ground shaking. We are the architects of the sky and the sea."
Zeth didn't respond. He reached for the Luxury Ball at his belt. The Cain persona was at its peak—cold, predatory, and entirely focused on the Perfection-Grade Catalyst waiting at the finish line.
"Houndoom. Deployment," Zeth commanded.
The black beast materialized in a burst of violet-tinted light. At Level 35, the Deep-Purple potential Houndoom was a terrifying sight in the refined ballroom. Its matte-black fur seemed to absorb the blue ambient light, and the metallic sheen on its horns—a result of the iron-infusion serum—gave it a cybernetic, lethal edge.
"Sliggoo, Rain Dance!" Julien commanded.
The dragon emitted a high-pitched, melodic trill. Within seconds, a localized storm cloud formed above the battlefield, drenching the arena in a heavy downpour.
"Type-advantage won't save you when your fire is drowned," Julien sneered. "Now, Dragon Pulse!"
A spiraling beam of iridescent violet energy erupted from the Sliggoo's mouth. It was fast, refined—a Tier-2 move from a high-potential Kalosian lineage.
"Dark Pulse—Intercept!" Zeth barked.
The Houndoom didn't just fire a beam. It channeled the Neural Imprint Zeth had bought in Saffron—the one extracted from a Spiritomb's malice. A wave of oily, black-and-violet shadows surged forward, colliding with the Dragon Pulse in mid-air.
The ballroom windows rattled as the two energies cancelled each other out. But while the Dragon Pulse was a clean beam of power, the Dark Pulse left a lingering, psychic "rot" in the air.
"Houndoom, Nasty Plot," Zeth whispered.
The dog lowered its head, its silver eyes glowing with a dark brilliance. It wasn't just thinking; it was accelerating its malicious intent, doubling its special-attack pressure.
"Don't let it set up! Sliggoo, Muddy Water!"
Under the Rain Dance's influence, the Muddy Water was a tidal wave. It roared across the platform, designed to wash the Houndoom into the drainage grates.
"Crunch the floor!"
The Houndoom slammed its jaws into the mahogany-and-steel decking, anchoring itself. As the water hit, the Houndoom didn't budge. Instead, it used the water's conductivity to its own advantage.
"Now! Flamethrower—Overdrive!"
Even in the rain, the Grand-Mastered Fire Stone catalyst inside the Houndoom flared. The fire didn't come out as a stream; it came out as a pressurized lance of white heat. The water in its path didn't just boil—it flashed into steam, creating a blinding "Fog of War."
"I can't see! Sliggoo, Acid Spray—blind fire!" Julien shouted, losing his composure.
Zeth closed his eyes. He reached for the Silver Thread of his Aura. Through the steam and the rain, he could feel the Sliggoo's life signature—a slow, viscous pulse—and the Houndoom's sharp, jagged heat.
'There.'
"Left, forty-five degrees. Dark Pulse—Full Output."
The Houndoom fired into the mist. Because it was a Neural Imprint, the Dark Pulse acted as a homing beacon for the malice Zeth had projected. It struck the Sliggoo dead-center.
The dragon let out a wet, gurgling shriek. The "Flinch" logic of the Dark Pulse hit its nervous system like a hammer. The Sliggoo's rain-cloud dissipated instantly as its concentration broke.
"Finish it," Zeth said, his voice a cold blade. "Crunch."
The Houndoom blurred through the fading steam. It caught the Sliggoo by the soft tissue of its neck. The metallic-reinforced teeth tore through the dragon's specialized mucus shield.
"Surrender, Julien," Zeth said. "Or I let him finish the bite."
Julien looked at his trembling Sliggoo, then at the Houndoom's glowing silver eyes. He felt the cold vacuum of Zeth's intent. This wasn't a tournament match; this was a slaughter.
"I... I forfeit," Julien whispered, his face pale.
The ballroom was silent as the Houndoom released its grip and stepped back to Zeth's side. The wealthy spectators didn't cheer; they looked on with a mixture of awe and genuine fear. This Kanto trainer was using Pokémon that felt like they belonged in a Gate, not a gala.
[Match Result: Zeth Wins. Houndoom: Level 36 reached.]
As Zeth walked off the platform, he checked the tournament bracket.
"Match Two Results: Aria of Sinnoh defeats Victor of Galar."
Zeth stopped. He looked at the screen. Aria was a girl with platinum-blonde hair and a cold, disciplined demeanor. Her ace was a Garchomp (Lvl 39, Purple Potential).
"So, the Dragon-tamer from Sinnoh is the final wall," Zeth muttered.
He checked his inventory. The Legacy Earthquake on Charmeleon was still unstable. The Poison Jab on Croagunk was a one-time surprise. And the C-Rank Gate hum in his Aura was growing louder.
The tournament organizer, a man in a tuxedo, stepped onto the stage. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the Finals will take place in two hours. But before that, a special announcement. Due to the proximity of a dimensional rift, the Perfection-Grade Catalyst prize has been 'Charged' with Gate energy. It is no longer just a catalyst—it is a Primal Spark."
Zeth's heart hammered against his ribs. A Primal Spark could force a Potential Jump of two ranks if handled correctly. It was the ultimate prize.
But as the man spoke, the ship suddenly groaned. A tremor—not from the sea, but from the dimension itself—shook the ballroom.
"The Gate," the woman from the Black Tulip hissed, appearing at Zeth's side. "It's manifesting early. Aria isn't just a Sinnoh trainer; she's an agent for the League's G-Men. She's here for the Spark too."
Zeth gripped the Luxury Ball. "Then she's going to have to bleed for it."