Inside the limestone cave, the air was thick with the heavy scent of blood and the scorched smell of burnt rock.
The home that originally belonged to the Froakie Family was now nothing but a scene of devastation.
Shattered rocks were scattered across the ground, murky blood-water pooled in several depressions, and deep gashes from Leaf Blade along with black scorch marks from flames remained on the walls.
The entire cave was terrifyingly silent, save for the "drip, drop" of water falling from stalactites, as if playing a funeral dirge for the lives lost.
In the center of this mess, a small Froakie sat kneeling on the ground, its body trembling uncontrollably.
Its thin back looked exceptionally lonely in the dim light, and low, suppressed whimpers echoed in the empty cave, filled with despair and pain.
Ariel walked slowly out of the shadows, his shoes making a slight "rustling" sound as they stepped on the gravel.
The sound was unusually clear in the silent environment; the Froakie was startled, its body instantly tensing up as it turned its head alertly.
When it saw Ariel, a flash of fear first crossed its eyes, which was immediately replaced by a more intense hatred.
It let out a threatening low growl; though its voice was hoarse from sorrow, it still carried a stubborn ruthlessness.
Ariel ignored its hostility, merely looking around calmly before his gaze finally settled on the Froakie.
"What's the use of crying?"
His voice wasn't loud, but it was like a cold awl, accurately piercing the Froakie's heart.
The Froakie's whimpering came to an abrupt halt, and it stared blankly at the human before it, not understanding why he would say such a thing.
Did he have no heart?
"Your kin aren't coming back."
Ariel continued, his tone so flat it was almost cruel.
"Crying here has no meaning, other than making yourself look more pitiful."
"Froak!" The Froakie cried out angrily, as if in rebuttal.
Ariel seemed to understand its language, his lips curling into a tiny arc—not of mockery, but a coldness that saw through everything.
"Are you blaming me? Blaming me for not stepping in?"
He took two steps forward, stopping not far from it.
"Why should I have stepped in? I have no relation to them."
He crouched down, his eyes level with the Froakie's.
"Or, do you hate the people who took your kin away?"
The Froakie's body began to tremble with rage again, fire almost spitting from its eyes.
"Hate is an emotion only the weak have."
Ariel's voice was very low, carrying a seductive magic.
"The strong only think about one thing—why this happened."
He extended a finger, pointing at the Froakie.
"The answer is simple."
"Because you are too weak."
These words struck the Froakie's heart like a heavy hammer, making its whole body shudder.
"That Greninja—it was probably the strongest existence in your tribe, right? And the result? Before that Hitmonchan, it couldn't even withstand a single move."
Ariel's words were like a sharp scalpel, peeling back the bloody reality layer by layer.
"It used the last of its strength to launch a final counterattack; it looked very heroic, didn't it? But the result? Nothing changed. Your kin were still taken away, and it threw its life away for nothing."
"And what about you?"
Ariel's gaze became sharp.
"Where were you? Oh, right, you were protected by that Whiscash. You survived because of someone else's charity."
"Froak... Froakie..." A painful hiss came from the Froakie's throat; it wanted to argue back but found it couldn't say a single word.
It was true; it had done nothing.
So what right did it have to argue?
It could only watch helplessly as the patriarch died in battle and its kin were captured, while it hid outside like a coward.
A massive sense of shame and powerlessness swept over it, pressing down until it could barely breathe.
"Don't look at me with those eyes."
Ariel stood up, looking down at it from a height.
"The one you should be looking at is yourself. The pain, anger, and helplessness you feel right now all stem from your own weakness."
"If you were strong enough, the one falling today wouldn't have been Greninja, but that Hitmonchan."
"If you were strong enough, your kin wouldn't have been picked over like goods, packed up, and taken away."
"If you were strong enough, you wouldn't be here in a state of impotent rage; you would have already set out on the path of revenge!"
Every one of Ariel's words was like a heavy whip, lashing fiercely at the Froakie's soul.
It clutched its head in pain, its body curling into a ball.
Ariel gave it no chance to breathe, continuing to use cold words to construct the logic he wanted.
"Do you think you can become strong on your own? Don't be naive. How many wild Pokémon can truly make something of themselves? You spend your days scurrying for food and fighting for territory, exhausting your mental energy—how much growth can you really achieve?"
"Look at your patriarch. How long did it live? It worked so hard, yet its final strength was only that much. Do you think you can be stronger than it?"
The Froakie's body stopped trembling; it slowly raised its head, its bloodshot eyes filled with confusion and struggle.
It knew that everything this person said was right.
It hated, but it was even more aware of its own powerlessness.
Seeing that the timing was about right, Ariel finally extended his olive branch.
"But, I can give you a chance."
His voice was no longer so cold, but instead held a hint of deep temptation.
"A chance to become strong, a chance for revenge."
The Froakie's ears twitched, and a faint glimmer of light flashed in its eyes.
"Follow me."
Ariel's voice was filled with unquestionable power.
"I will give you the best resources and the harshest training. I will let you turn all of today's frustration and anger into a sharp blade to pierce your enemies."
"You will no longer be that weakling who can only hide in the back and cry. You will become a blade of revenge, a sharp edge polished by my own hands to cut through all injustice."
He paused, looking deeply at the Froakie.
"Of course, this comes at a price. Your freedom, your will—all will serve the sole objective of revenge."
"Are you... willing?"
After speaking, Ariel took an empty Poké Ball from his waist and gently tossed it in front of the Froakie.
The Poké Ball rolled a few times on the blood-stained ground, finally stopping at its feet, the red and white sphere reflecting a faint light in the gloom.
This was a choice.
To continue staying in this place of sorrow, clinging to endless regret and slim hope until the day it was devoured by some other powerful Pokémon or captured by another group of Trainers.
Or... to seize this opportunity before it, gamble everything, and trade it for the power of revenge...
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