The black-market cutter pulled away from the shoreline, leaving Zeth standing on the pristine white sands of Tangelo Island. The air here was different—thicker, smelling of salt, rotting hibiscus, and a strange, metallic tang coming from the violet rift pulsing in the distance.
"I want a full perimeter sweep. Map the local Pokémon territories and find a defensible base of operations. We stay off the main trails."
[Protocol Shift: Terrain Mapping Initiated. Local bio-signatures are 15% more dense than the Kanto mainland. High probability of 'Orange' regional variants.]
Zeth moved into the dense treeline, his Croagunk (Lvl 35) leading the way. The Pokémon's Anticipation was constantly hummed, a low-level vibration that told Zeth exactly where the predators were lurking.
They didn't walk; they drifted through the foliage. Zeth noticed the subtle differences immediately. The Exeggutor here were towering, their necks elongated to reach the sunlight filtering through the B-Rank Gate's distortion. Their psychic energy was wilder, less refined.
"Shelgon, out. Overcoat."
The Emerald Shelgon (Lvl 38) appeared, its pressurized film repelling the neon-orange pollen drifting from the oversized jungle flowers. It acted as a silent vanguard, its heavy tread muffled by the thick moss.
Near a hidden lagoon, Zeth stopped. A group of Vileplume were gathered around a fresh water spring, but their petals weren't red—they were a deep, bruised purple with shifting white patterns that mimicked the Gate above.
"Data-Zero, scan those Vileplume. They aren't standard."
[Scan Complete: Tangelo-Variant Vileplume. Potential: Yellow to Green. Level: 42–44. Note: Their 'Effect Spore' ability has been mutated by the B-Rank Gate's radiation. Range increased by 200%.]
"They're higher level than the ones in Erika's gym," Zeth noted, his eyes cold. "And these are just the 'peaceful' foragers. If the bottom of the food chain is Level 40, the heart of that Gate is going to be a bloodbath."
Zeth spent the next six hours scouting the northern cliffs. He found a sea cave, partially submerged but dry at the rear, hidden behind a curtain of heavy vines. It was the perfect "Ghost" camp—invisible from the air and easily defensible.
"Rhyhorn, Rock Head. Clear the loose basalt. We're staying here for at least a week."
As the Rhyhorn (Lvl 38) efficiently carved out a living space, Zeth sat by a small, shielded fire. He pulled out his field notes, cross-referencing the Silph Co. Data-Scrape with the energy readings from the Gate.
"We don't just go into the Gate for the sake of it," Zeth told his team as he shared out high-protein rations. "We go in when we know exactly what catalyst we're hunting for. Charizard needs the Solar-Core to stabilize the Lunar mutation, and Shelgon... you're getting too heavy for that shell. We need a Grand-Mastered catalyst to trigger the jump."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the island didn't grow quiet. The B-Rank Gate began to glow brighter, its violet light illuminating the jungle in a haunting, neon strobe. High above, the silhouette of a Fearow with a wingspan twice the normal size drifted past, its screech sounding more like a mechanical grind than a bird's call.
Zeth looked at the Zenith-Locked Case sitting in the corner of the cave. The Master Ball prototypes were in there, silent and unreachable. But for now, he had something more important: a team that was beginning to adapt to a world that didn't follow the League's rules.
"Data-Zero, set the proximity sensors for 50 meters. Wake me if anything above Level 45 approaches."
[Sensors Active. Goodnight, Zeth.]
The humidity of the night was thick enough to taste. In the mouth of the sea cave, Zeth sat with his back against the cold basalt, watching the rhythmic pulse of the B-Rank Gate. It wasn't a peaceful glow; it was a violent, bruised violet that made the shadows of the jungle twitch.
He didn't need a sensor to tell him they were being watched. The Croagunk (Lvl 35) at his feet had been shivering for ten minutes, its Anticipation keying into a predatory intent that was far heavier than anything on the Kanto mainland.
"They're here," Zeth said, his voice a low rasp.
From the neon-green brush, the "foragers" emerged. These weren't the man-sized Scyther you'd find in a safari zone. These were Tangelo-Variants, mutated by the constant radiation of the B-Rank rift. They stood nearly eight feet tall, their carapaces a matte, obsidian black that swallowed the moonlight. Their scythes were massive, jagged blades of organic carbon that vibrated with a low, bone-chilling hum.
"Shelgon, center. Overcoat on."
The Emerald Shelgon (Lvl 38) stepped into the clearing. It looked tiny compared to the three towering insects circling it, but it didn't flinch. Its pressurized energy film flared, a faint green shimmer that acted as a barrier against the toxic spores falling from the canopy.
One Scyther lunged, its massive weight making the ground shake. It swung a heavy, vibrating blade in a vertical arc meant to split the dragon in two.
CRACK.
The blade hit the Shelgon's shell and sparked. The Shelgon didn't budge, but the force of the blow buried its feet three inches into the sand.
"Croagunk, now. Don't trade hits—just touch them."
The Croagunk blurred. It was a speck of purple moving between the Scythers' giant, spindly legs. It didn't punch; it just tapped the soft, segmented tissue of their joints. The Poison Touch did the rest. The high-level toxin—refined by months of "Cain's" ruthless drills—seeped into the Scyther's nervous system.
One of the giants buckled, its massive obsidian leg seizing up as the corrosion melted its internal fluids. It let out a screech that sounded like grinding metal.
[Ability Mastery: Poison Touch (48% → 51%).]
Zeth watched the dance with cold eyes. He wasn't looking for a quick kill; he was watching how the Emerald Shelgon handled the crushing physical pressure of an Eight-foot predator. "Charizard, stay back. Just keep the Eclipse Aura tight. I want them slow, not dead."
The skirmish ended with two of the giants twitching on the sand and the others clicking their mandibles in retreat. But as Zeth reached for a Pokéball, the Croagunk gave a different kind of shiver—a long, cold tremor that ran up its spine.
"You can stop hiding," Zeth said, not turning around. "My Charizard already has a lock on your heat signature. If you move, he burns the tree."
A sharp, mocking whistle echoed through the canopy. A figure dropped from a mahogany branch fifteen feet up, landing silently in the sand. It was a girl with sun-bleached hair and a vest made of toughened Gyarados scales.
Beside her stood a Marowak (Lvl 48), but it wasn't the Ground-type Zeth knew. Its bone club was wreathed in a ghostly, spectral green flame that hissed in the humid air.
"Most Kanto tourists get stepped on by those Scythers before they even find fresh water," she said, eyeing Zeth's team with a practiced, predatory squint. She pointed at the Lunar Charizard. "That thing... it feels wrong. Like it crawled out of a hole in the world."
The air between them turned cold, the kind of stillness that precedes a localized storm. Miki stood there, tossing the glowing fragment of the Fire Stone—a jagged, raw shard that pulsed with a violent, unstable heat. It wasn't a polished market stone; it was a "Grand-Mastered" catalyst, the kind of rare, high-purity mineral that only bled out of B-Rank rifts during a spatial collapse.
"Tell you what, Ghost," Miki said, her voice dropping the playful edge. "We have a Night-Trial here. 1-on-1, no items. Beat me, and I'll give you the frequency to stabilize your team. Without it, the atmospheric pressure inside that B-Rank Gate will crush your lungs before you take ten steps."
She paused, her eyes drifting toward the Emerald Shelgon. "But the Crew doesn't work for free. If you lose... you leave the Shelgon behind. We need a heavy-hitter for the next rift-breach."
The silence that followed was heavy. Zeth didn't move, but the atmosphere around him shifted. The Lunar Charizard sensed it first, its Eclipse Aura flaring into a deep, jagged green that seemed to drain the color from the surrounding jungle.
Zeth's eyes, usually calculating and distant, went flat. A dark, predatory stillness took over his posture. He didn't just look at Miki; he looked through her, as if he were measuring the exact force needed to silence the threat.
"You're a scout," Zeth said, his voice dropping an octave, coming out as a dangerous, quiet rasp. "So you should be smart enough to know when you've overstepped."
He stepped forward, the sand crunching softly under his boots. The Houndoom (Lvl 45) at his side lowered its head, a low, guttural vibration rattling in its chest as white-hot embers began to drip from its fangs.
"My Pokémon aren't assets. They aren't 'chips' for a bet," Zeth continued, his gaze narrowing into something lethal. "You mention taking one of them again, and the 'Orange Crew' is going to be looking for a new scout in the morning."
Miki's Alolan Marowak hissed, its spectral green flame flaring up in response to the killing intent rolling off Zeth. She took a half-step back, her hand instinctively hovering over her second Pokéball. She had seen "serious" trainers before, but this was different. This wasn't a Gym battle; this was a man protecting his own.
"Fine," Miki said, her breath hitching slightly. She forced a smirk, trying to regain her footing. "Keep your dragon. But the trial stands. You want that frequency? You want to survive the Gate? You fight me for it. No bets—just the right to stand on this island."
Zeth didn't relax. The tension remained, a coiled spring ready to snap. He looked at his Lunar Charizard, then back at Miki.
"Charizard," Zeth said, his voice like grinding stone. "Don't hold back. Burn the ghost out of her."
The Charizard stepped onto the moonlit sand, its ivory scales shimmering. It wasn't just a battle for a frequency anymore. It was a message.