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Ariel's brain made a judgment within 0.01 seconds.
Unavoidable!
This attack not only locked onto the Speedboat's trajectory but also covered a vast area of the sea ahead.
From the start, its purpose wasn't just to hit, but to blockade!
"Hold on tight!"
Ariel's roar was drowned out by the impending destruction.
In the next second, the world lost all sound.
A thick, azure beam of light descended from the sky, accurately striking the rear engine of the Speedboat as it sped forward.
There was no earth-shattering explosion, only a strange "crack."
It was the sound of metal and energy instantaneously annihilating under extreme cold.
Immediately after, the residual power of the Ice Beam spread out.
Centered on the Speedboat, the sea surface within a fifty-meter radius transformed in the blink of an eye from surging deep blue liquid into a silent, pure white solid.
Ice several meters thick spread wildly across the sea, sealing the wreckage of the Speedboat and the flames of the explosion together within this massive block of ice!
The engine's explosion followed immediately.
An orange-red fireball shot into the sky, blasting a hole through the newly formed ice once again.
Fragments of the Speedboat scattered with the shockwave, like a bloody sacrifice.
In the critical moment, the "phantom combat suits" Ariel had provided for the Team Evil members became their only lifeline.
When the violent impact struck, the non-Newtonian fluid lining of the combat suits instantly hardened, neutralizing most of the kinetic energy.
At the same time, airbags hidden in the neck and back popped out with a "bang," steadily supporting those who fell into the water on the surface.
Even so, those blown away remained dizzy, their ears ringing incessantly.
The bone-chilling seawater instantly sapped their body heat, waking them from the daze of the explosion.
Members 1-9, these Superiors who had clawed their way out of brutal training, acted almost out of instinct.
They didn't cry out for help in panic, nor did they even have any unnecessary communication.
In the freezing seawater, they almost simultaneously, calmly, and in unison, threw the Poké Balls from their waists.
"Roar—!!!"
Nine red lights lit up underwater, accompanied by nine deafening roars as nine massive Gyarados burst from the water, kicking up towering waves between the ice and the flames.
These Gyarados were the very catalyst for Drake's crackdown on the Team Rockets, yet these ferocious Gyarados had now been catalyzed by the Team Rockets through inhumane means.
Irony.
How ironic.
The species Drake wanted to rescue had now become the enemy's most effective escape tool.
The fully domesticated Gyarados didn't hesitate for a second; their massive bodies swayed as they swept up their respective masters with their tails and, without any lingering, dove headfirst into the bottomless, freezing ocean.
Yuki was among them, driving her own Gyarados as she vanished into the deep-sea undercurrents.
Ariel floated at the boundary of ice and fire, his gaze falling on the Poké Ball at his waist, which was still shaking violently.
Inside was the leader of the Gyarados, a powerful Pokémon with Elite potential.
But Ariel knew clearly that this Gyarados would never save him like its kin.
Its pride, its wildness, had never been truly extinguished.
When the master is in a position of absolute strength, it is the most useful blade.
But once the master falls into a desperate situation, this blade could turn on them at any moment.
Releasing it now would most likely result in being torn to pieces on the spot rather than escaping.
He abandoned this option without hesitation.
His backup plans were never limited to just one.
Ariel reached for another Poké Ball and pressed it gently.
There was no earth-shattering entrance like the Gyarados; with a flash of red light, a sleek and elegant Greninja appeared silently on the floating ice beside him.
It crouched low, its crimson scarf fluttering slightly in the cold wind, its sharp eyes fixed on Ariel as if saying:
"I am here."
"Move."
Ariel was brief and to the point.
Greninja understood immediately.
Its hands quickly formed seals, and a thick cloud of black Smokescreen instantly erupted from its mouth, rapidly enveloping this small area of water.
At the same time, several Double Teams identical to itself scattered in all directions—some racing across the ice, others leaping into the water—creating multiple illusions of escape.
Under the dual cover of the Smokescreen and the clones, the real Greninja grabbed Ariel's combat suit, its long tongue acting like a tough rope to bind him firmly to its back.
In the next moment, it kicked off with its legs, carrying Ariel like an arrow from a bow, diving into the deep sea silently without a single splash.
...
The sea breeze, carrying a bone-chilling cold, blew across this stretch of ocean that had just been violently reshaped.
The boundary between the ice and the seawater emitted creaks and groans, as if recounting the brief but intense conflict from moments ago.
Altaria's wings sliced through the night sky, creating a slight current of air as it landed silently beside Drake.
Its beak was still coated in a thin layer of frost.
It emitted a low cry, not a song of victory, but more like one of confusion and unease.
Drake did not respond.
His feet rested on the broad, sturdy carapace of Salamence.
This leader of the Hoenn Elite Four, the man hailed as the "Man of the Sea," was currently looking down at the scene of the recent battle.
A massive disc of ice, over fifty meters in diameter, was abruptly embedded in the pitch-black sea.
At the center of the ice was the void left by the disintegrated Speedboat, a dark hole that looked like an entrance to the abyss.
Countless metal fragments and charred wreckage were frozen in the ice, forming a bizarre still-life painting.
The air was thick with a pungent smell—a mixture of fuel, scorched rubber, and ozone—which even the freezing air could not fully dilute.
Drake's gaze swept over the ice, as sharp as a scalpel.
He saw, at the edge of the ice, a piece of specialized fabric burned down to a single corner; the optical camouflage pattern on it had twisted strangely the moment it touched the seawater, then failed completely, reverting to a plain, unremarkable black.
"A phantom combat suit?"
Drake recalled core documents from the League.
His gaze shifted from the ice to the broader, deeper darkness of the sea surface.
There was nothing.
No cries for help, no struggling splashes, not even a trace of blood.
Altaria chirped a few times in Drake's ear.
Drake immediately understood Altaria's meaning.
"Gyarados..."
The catalyst for his operation this time was the Gyarados captured at Blue Sea Cliff...
And now, the answer was self-evident.
Those Gyarados that were supposed to be rescued had completely become weapons and tools in the enemy's hands.
An indescribable rage, mixed with the frustration of being a top Elite Four Level Trainer, surged up from Drake's chest.
His clenched fists had veins bulging, and finally, he slammed a fist hard onto the carapace of the Salamence beneath him.
"Bang!"
A dull thud.
The collision of knuckles against dragon scales as hard as iron made Salamence growl in pain; it turned its head in confusion, looking at its master with its massive dragon pupils.