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Ash Ascendant: Chapter 15
🕑 Added 2024-12-26 04:47:46 +0000 UTCHi all,
Here’s the first chapter of the week. Ash begins training with Mustard and stumbles upon another unexpected situation.
Chapter 15
Ash surveyed the chaos around him. His Pokemon maintained their defensive positions, but the bandits' coordinated defence left few openings for attack. The big man's hammer strike had cracked at least one rib, sending sharp jolts of pain through his chest with each breath.
"Last chance to surrender," the hammer-wielding bandit called.
In response, Ash formed metal spikes along his gauntlet, the Steelium flowing like quicksilver across his skin.
"Blitz, pattern Theta. Blade, burrow and wait." Through their mental link, he conveyed the full strategy to his Pokemon.
Blitz launched into action, unleashing a precise sequence of electrical attacks. Thunder Shock and Electro Ball lit up the clearing in rapid succession, forcing the bandits to abandon their formation. Their Pokemon moved to counter, but Bastion was prepared. The Aron's Rock Tomb technique manifested with devastating effect, boulders erupting from the ground to form a crude barrier that split the battlefield in two.
The hammer whistled through the air towards Ash's head. He ducked beneath the lethal arc, metal spikes raking across the man's thigh as he passed. The bandit bellowed in pain but maintained his fighting stance, blood seeping through his torn trousers.
Growlithe bounded over the rock barrier, flames building in its throat. Before it could unleash its attack, the ground exploded beneath its paws. Blade's metal claws slashed upward, catching the Fire-type mid-leap and throwing it off balance. Blitz capitalised instantly, a precisely aimed Thunder Shock striking the disoriented Pokemon.
Zangoose darted through the melee, its claws pulsing with energy as it executed a Crush Claw attack. The strike caught Bastion's flank, drawing sparks from his steel hide. The Aron pivoted and countered with a devastating Headbutt, catching Zangoose squarely in the chest and sending it sprawling across the clearing.
Two bandits charged at Ash from opposite directions, forcing him to divide his attention. He caught a sword strike on his armoured forearm while simultaneously spinning away from a spear thrust. Metal flowed down his leg with liquid grace, hardening just in time to deflect a low cut that would have hamstrung him.
The big man's hammer smashed through Ash's guard with crushing force. The impact drove him to one knee, his metal armour creaking under the tremendous strain. Lightning crackled along his gauntlet as he grabbed the hammer's shaft, channelling Thunder Wave through the weapon. The bandit's muscles seized violently, his grip on the weapon loosening.
Ash wrenched the hammer free and hurled it at the approaching Croagunk. The Pokemon managed to dodge, but the momentary distraction proved costly. Blade erupted from the earth directly beneath it, metal claws raking its unprotected underbelly.
"Now!" Ash shouted, signalling their combination attack.
His Pokemon executed the manoeuvre. Bastion's Rock Tomb forced the remaining bandits into a tight group while Blitz's Electro Ball struck the stones, sending razor-sharp fragments flying in all directions. Blade emerged behind the clustered enemies, his Rapid Spin throwing up a dense cloud of dust and debris that further disoriented them.
Seizing the moment of confusion, Ash struck with lethal efficiency. His metal-sheathed fists found vital points with surgical precision. One bandit dropped from an electrified spike to the leg, nervous system overloaded. Another collapsed from a precise strike to the solar plexus that drove the air from his lungs. The spearman managed to parry Ash's initial attack but missed the leg sweep that took his feet from under him.
The big man had recovered somewhat, though he now brandished a knife in place of his lost hammer. His strikes were noticeably slower, muscles still twitching sporadically from the Thunder Wave's effects. Ash slipped inside his guard and slammed an armoured elbow into his jaw with devastating force. The man toppled backwards, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Only two bandits remained standing. Their Pokemon scattered across the battlefield in various states of defeat. Ash advanced methodically, preparing to end the fight. The remaining bandits exchanged nervous glances, their earlier confidence completely shattered.
"Your choice," he said quietly. "Surrender or join your friends."
They chose to surrender.
Ash bound the bandits securely, using rope found in their tents. His ribs protested every movement, but satisfaction outweighed the pain. The entire fight had lasted only a few minutes.
His Pokemon gathered around him, bearing their own battle scars. Bastion's steel hide was scratched and dented. Blade nursed several minor burns from the Growlithe. Only Blitz looked relatively unscathed.
Ash turned his attention to their camp. First, he retrieved the scattered pokeballs, returning each defeated Pokemon to its capsule.
A methodical search of the tents revealed substantial supplies. The first tent held food —dried meat, preserved fruits, and sealed containers of water. The quantity suggested the bandits had planned a lengthy stay. The second tent contained clothing and basic supplies, while the third housed what appeared to be stolen goods—jewellery, watches, and various trinkets that didn't belong to the rough group.
Ash stuffed the valuables into his bag. Some of them looked valuable. The original owners were likely dead or had given up on the items. He would find someplace to offload them for a decent profit.
In a locked chest, Ash discovered several stacks of pokedollars. He counted quickly—nearly fifty thousand in total. Like the stolen items, he had no qualms about pocketing the money for himself.
“Maybe I should become a bandit,” Ash muttered. “It certainly is profitable.”
Ash found a crate containing two dozen Super Repel spray bottles in the final tent. These high-grade repellents explained how the bandits had maintained their camp despite the dangerous Pokemon in the area. Such items were expensive.
The repellent worked by mimicking the energy signatures of powerful Pokemon, typically those above level sixty. When sprayed, it created an invisible barrier that convinced weaker Pokemon they were entering the territory of a much stronger one. Most wild Pokemon, operating on pure instinct, would avoid such areas entirely. The effect was particularly potent against Pokemon under level fifty.
Such sophisticated technology didn't come cheap. Each bottle typically sold for around two thousand pokedollars, making the crate's contents worth a small fortune.
Using some rope and a flat piece of wood salvaged from the camp, Ash constructed a makeshift sled. He placed the Super Repels onto it, along with some valuable food items that he could take home to his mum. Bastion was ideal for pulling the load, his sturdy build easily managing the weight.
"Let's report the successful hunt back to Mustard."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Ash marched the bound bandits into Mustard's clearing. The old man sat on his porch in a weathered rocking chair, wisps of pipe smoke curling around his head.
"Took you long enough," Mustard remarked, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I've contacted the Rangers. They'll collect this lot shortly."
"Were you so certain I'd succeed?" Ash asked.
"Either that or they would retrieve your corpse to return to the city."
"Thanks for your consideration."
Mustard ignored his sarcasm. His gaze drifted to the sled behind Ash. "Best hide that before the Rangers arrive, unless you fancy having it confiscated. Round the back should do."
Ash followed his suggestion. When he returned, he found a massive Pokemon standing guard over the bandits. The creature resembled a lion, its muscular frame covered in shaggy black and blue fur. Red eyes glowed as they surveyed the prisoners, and occasional sparks crackled through its mane.
"My Luxray will watch them," Mustard said, tapping out his pipe. "Come inside."
"What's the second trial?" Ash asked as they entered the cottage. The interior was spartanly furnished but meticulously clean, with wooden floors worn smooth by decades of use.
"Cook me lunch."
Ash stared at him. "You're having me on."
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Mustard raised an eyebrow, gesturing towards a doorway. "Kitchen's through there. You have one hour."
The kitchen, though small, was well-organised. Ash opened the pantry to find neatly arranged ingredients—bags of rice, root vegetables, and dried herbs hanging from hooks. The refrigerator yielded fresh meat, eggs, and produce. All basic ingredients, but high quality.
Drawing on his mother's lessons, Ash chose to prepare grilled beef with mushrooms, served over rice with sautéed seasonal vegetables. As he worked, he noticed Mustard observing from the kitchen table, pipe smoke curling towards the ceiling. The old man's gaze was analytical, missing nothing.
They ate in silence initially, Mustard taking measured bites while Ash waited anxiously.
"Good enough, I suppose," Mustard said, patting his belly.
"My mum taught me well," Ash replied. "Though I don't understand why cooking is part of your trials."
"A person's approach to cooking reveals much about their character. You worked methodically, wasted nothing, and didn't attempt to impress with flashy techniques. These same principles apply to combat."
"Most fighting masters don't test cooking skills."
"Most fighting masters are fools who only see the surface of things." Mustard took another bite. "True combat is about discipline, precision, economy of movement. Like proper cooking."
"How many students have you trained?"
"Thirty years' worth. Most quit within a few days." Mustard's eyes narrowed. "Why do you seek my training?"
"To grow stronger. To protect my mother."
"Noble but misguided." Mustard set down his chopsticks. "Strength pursued for others is inherently limited. True power comes from understanding oneself."
It seemed like complete nonsense to him but he wasn’t an expert. "What's the final trial?"
"Help me clean up first." Mustard stood. "Then we'll discuss what comes next."
Ash nodded and began gathering the dishes. Whatever the final trial would be, he was determined to pass it.
They headed outside. Ash looked up when a shadow passed overhead. An Altaria descended gracefully into the clearing. Its rider dismounted with practised ease—a tall woman with long violet hair tied back in a high ponytail. She wore a light blue outfit that seemed designed for both flight and combat.
The woman carried herself with the unmistakable bearing of someone used to command. Her sharp eyes took in the scene, lingering briefly on the bound bandits before settling on Mustard.
"Master Mustard," she said, inclining her head slightly.
"Winona." Mustard grinned. "Prompt as always."
She strode past Ash without acknowledging his presence. "These are the ones causing trouble nearby?"
"The same. Young Ash here dealt with them."
Winona's expression didn't change as she examined the captives. She released a Tropius, its large form casting shadows across the clearing. With efficient movements, she secured the bandits to the Pokemon's back using its vines.
"The Rangers thank you for your assistance," she said. "We'll ensure they face proper justice."
Mustard nodded. "Safe flight."
Winona mounted her Altaria again. Within moments, both Pokemon had taken to the skies, banking westward with their cargo.
"What was her problem?" Ash asked. "She acted like I wasn't even here."
"We all have our circumstances," Mustard replied. "Don't be quick to judge."
"Still doesn't excuse poor manners."
"Perhaps. But she's an excellent Ranger."
“Did the bandits have a bounty on them?” Ash asked, brushing off the encounter with Winona. “I didn’t see them on the bounty list but they must be worth something.”
“You're too obsessed with money.” Mustard stretched, his joints popping. "Now then, ready for your final trial?"
"Whatever it is, I'm ready."
"Simple task. Lay a hand on me once within the next hour."
Ash blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it." Mustard's lips curved slightly. "Starting now."
Liquid metal flowed down Ash's arm as he studied Mustard's casual stance. The old man made no move to defend, yet radiated an untouchable aura.
Ash struck first, launching a swift combination aimed at Mustard's chest. His fists sliced through empty air. The old man had shifted position without any visible movement, appearing slightly to the left. No wasted motion, no telegraphed dodge—he simply wasn't there.
Pressing the attack, Ash unleashed a barrage of strikes. Jabs, hooks, and kicks flowed together in rapid succession. Each attack met nothing but air as Mustard moved with impossible grace. The old man's movements were so subtle they defied perception - a slight lean here, a minimal step there.
Five minutes of sustained assault left Ash's lungs burning. Sweat dripped from his brow while Mustard remained pristine, not a hair out of place. The old man's expression stayed neutral as he continued evading with minimal effort.
Frustration mounted as the minutes ticked by. Ash formed his Steelium into razor-sharp spikes, extending his reach. Still Mustard flowed around the attacks like smoke. When Ash tried to predict his movements, the old man defied expectations. Every calculated strike found empty space where a target should have been.
At fifteen minutes, desperation crept in. Ash's technique deteriorated as he abandoned the strategy for wild swings. The spikes retracted as he focused purely on speed, throwing everything into a relentless assault. Mustard calmly stepped around each attack, maintaining the same maddening distance.
Thunder Wave crackled from Ash's hands in a last-ditch effort to slow his opponent. The electrical attack passed harmlessly through the space Mustard had occupied moments before. Thirty minutes of futile combat had reduced Ash's arms to lead weights. His chest heaved with exertion while Mustard looked ready for a pleasant afternoon stroll.
Ash forced himself to pause, mind racing as he processed what he'd learned. Direct attacks hadn't worked. Speed and strength meant nothing if they were never connected. There had to be something he was missing.
Understanding dawned as he watched Mustard's subtle movements. The old man wasn't reacting to his attacks—he was reading Ash's intent and moving before the strikes began. Every tensed muscle and shifted weight broadcasted Ash's purpose clearly as a shout.
Settling into a fighting stance, Ash focused on stillness. The next phase would teach him more than words ever could.
Ash circled Mustard warily, his breathing controlled despite his exhaustion. For nearly an hour, they danced this deadly waltz. Only two minutes remained.
The old man's teachings had slowly sunk in. Each failed attempt revealed more about the subtle art of masking intent. Ash had learned to still his thoughts, to move without broadcasting his purpose.
Now he watched Mustard with new eyes, seeing how the old master concealed his movements behind layers of misdirection. Every stance held multiple possibilities, making his true purpose impossible to read.
Ash let his arms hang loose, Steelium flowing back beneath his skin. He stepped forward as if to throw another punch, but at the last moment, he dropped and rolled. His shoulder brushed Mustard's ankle—the briefest contact, but enough.
"Time," Mustard announced. "Well done."
Ash collapsed onto his back, chest heaving. "I thought it would be impossible."
"Most fail this test. They never realise that strength means nothing without proper technique." Mustard helped him to his feet. "You learned quickly. That's good—you'll need that quality in the days ahead."
"When do we start?"
"Tomorrow at dawn. For now, you need rest." Mustard whistled sharply, the sound echoing through the trees. "My Pidgeot will take you home."
The massive bird Pokemon landed gracefully in the clearing, its wingspan casting shadows across the grass.
"Thank you," Ash said, climbing carefully onto Pidgeot's back. "I won't let you down."
"We'll see," Mustard said. "Dawn tomorrow. My Pidgeot will pick you up."
Pidgeot launched skyward with powerful beats of its wings. The forest fell away beneath them as they climbed into the evening air. Ash gripped the Pokemon's feathers tightly, his muscles protesting every movement.
As they soared towards Fortree City, Ash reflected on the day's events. He had passed Mustard's trials, but something told him the real challenges were just beginning.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Mustard’s Pidgeot deposited Ash at the cottage as dawn broke over the forest. The old master stood waiting, arms crossed.
Without preamble, Mustard circled Ash, examining him with a critical eye. His fingers prodded specific points on Ash's arms, chest, and back, each touch revealing more about his condition.
"Terrible," Mustard declared. "Your foundation is like a house built on sand. What did you do to reach the Tempering Realm?"
“How can you tell?”
“Never you mind. Now tell me what you did.”
Ash hesitated. How did he explain this without giving away his secret?
“Kid, I’m just an old man who has lived in this forest for the past thirty years,” Mustard said. “I’m not affiliated with any organisation and nor am I interested in currying favour with anyone. Who am I going to tell your secrets to? I need to know if I’m going to train you to the best of my ability.”
After debating in his head for several minutes before relenting. He had a feeling he could trust the old man and he was a good judge of character. He explained his use of the Steelium Core to filter and convert energy. As he described the process, Mustard's frown deepened.
The old man flicked Ash's forehead with surprising force. "Idiot. Not even James was this foolish. You're lucky you didn't shatter your core completely."
Mustard disappeared into his cabin, returning moments later dragging a large wooden tub. He asked Ash to help him fill it with water from a nearby stream. From his pockets, he produced various herbs and powders, adding them to the water with precise measurements.
"Strip down and get in," Mustard ordered, stirring the mixture with a wooden paddle.
"What's this for?"
"Fixing your mistakes."
Ash removed his clothes and climbed into the tub. The moment the water touched his skin, his world exploded into pure agony. It felt like millions of razor-sharp needles driving into every pore simultaneously, each one twisting and cutting deeper with surgical precision. His nerves screamed in protest as the liquid seemed to burrow beneath his skin, seeking out every fibre and sinew.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he fought to remain conscious, his knuckles white where they gripped the tub's edges. Blood trickled down his chin where he'd bitten through his lip trying to stay silent. This transcended any pain he'd known before.
Through the red haze of agony, a single thought repeated: What kind of training was this? But he forced himself to remain still, refusing to give in to his body's desperate urge to escape. He had endured too much, come too far, to let even this level of torment break him.
"Breathe through it," Mustard instructed, settling onto his rocking chair. "The herbs are repairing the damage you did to your core.”
“But I went to the Pokemon Centre to get healed,” Ash gasped.
Mustard snorted. “Relying on Pokemon to heal your core is a mistake. They can only do so much. Tell me why you were in such a rush to advance?"
"I need to get stronger to protect my mother. But it feels like I'm not doing enough."
"Ah, the impatience of youth." Mustard shook his head. "You think rushing forward makes you stronger? All you've done is build a foundation of sand. One strong blow and everything collapses."
Another wave of pain washed over Ash, drawing a hiss from his lips. The water had taken on a faint reddish tinge.
"Your mother isn't helpless," Mustard continued. "She's a cultivator now, yes? Give her time to grow at her own pace. Give yourself the same courtesy."
"How long should I stay at this level?"
"Three months. Build your foundation properly this time." Mustard prodded Ash's shoulder, sending fresh sparks of pain through his body. "Your Steelium ability is rare. Treat it with respect, not reckless abandon."
The next twenty minutes passed in agony as the herbs did their work. When Mustard finally allowed him to exit the tub, Ash felt scoured clean from the inside out. His meridians throbbed, but the pain felt therapeutic rather than damaging.
"Now then," Mustard said as Ash dressed. "Let's start with the basics. Before I teach you my body cultivation art, I need to improve your physique first."
He led Ash through a series of stretches designed to test his flexibility and strength. Each movement revealed new weaknesses in Ash's form, and Mustard patiently corrected them.
"Do these exercises twice daily," Mustard instructed. "No cultivation until I say otherwise. Your body needs time to heal properly."
Mustard demonstrated the next set of movements. "Your steel affinity gives you natural defence, but your footwork is atrocious. We'll fix that first."
As the morning progressed, Ash began to understand the depth of knowledge Mustard possessed. Every correction came with an explanation, each exercise building upon the last in a carefully structured progression.
The old master was right—he had been too hasty. True strength required patience and a proper foundation. As they moved through the basic forms, Ash committed himself to doing things properly this time.
He struggled to pull his shirt on, his skin still burning from the bath, when Mustard's words stopped him cold.
"Tomorrow. Same time." The old man's eyes glinted with barely suppressed amusement. "The next herbal bath will be... stronger."
"Stronger?" Ash's voice cracked. "You said this would help repair the damage from my cultivation breakthrough."
"Oh, it will. But healing the damage takes time, boy. Two weeks minimum. Cultivation is the same as anything else in life. You must bear the responsibility for your actions.” Mustard paused. “Of course, those who endure... Well, let's just say there are benefits beyond mere healing."
"You're enjoying this," Ash accused, his hands clenched into fists. "You're a bloody sadist."
"Sadist?" Mustard asked. "That's rather mild. The last student called me a demon before he ran away crying."
He looked up, his expression hardening. "The question is: are you made of sterner stuff, or should I prepare for another disappointment?"
Ash left without another word. He would show the old man what he was made of.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Ash wove through the bustling marketplace, the weight of his newly acquired pokedollars making his steps light. The Absol had fetched fifty thousand—less than he'd hoped, but fair considering it lacked any special traits. The Pokemon trader had been professional, testing Absol's capabilities thoroughly before making his offer.
As he pocketed the pokedollars, something caught his eye. A small stall displaying crystals. Technical memories.
"See something you like?" the stallkeeper asked, noting Ash's interest. He pointed to a row of crystals. "These aren't your typical Pokemon-made technical memories. High-realm cultivators create these, pushing the boundaries of what's possible. They can twist existing techniques into new forms or craft entirely new ones."
"But I thought cultivators were limited to status techniques," Ash said, leaning closer to examine a particularly vibrant crystal.
The trader's eyes crinkled. "That's what they teach on the lower floors. Truth is, once you reach the higher realms, those rigid categories start to break down. The impossible becomes possible."
Ash's attention fixed on a grey crystal. The label read “Mind Treasury”
“What’s this technique?” Ash asked.
"That one's special." The trader lifted it carefully. "You know how cultivators can store hold items in their Mind Palace? Hold items are specifically designed to allow them entry. This technique expands that principle. Any object can be stored safely in your mental space."
"What's the catch?"
"Space isn't the issue—even a basic Mind Palace has room to spare. But there are risks." The trader's voice dropped. "Some cultivators specialise in mental invasion. They can reach right into your Mind Palace and take what they want. Get sloppy with their technique, and they'll scramble your mind in the process."
A chill ran down Ash's spine. "How often does that happen?"
"Often enough that smart cultivators learn to defend themselves first." He tapped his temple. "There are techniques, cultivation methods—ways to fortify your mind against intrusion. I'd look into those before storing anything valuable up here."
Ash frowned. "Cultivators can only learn a limited number of techniques. Using one slot just for convenience seems wasteful."
"Convenience?" The trader's lips curved. "This technique has offensive applications too. Think about it—what advantage could instantly summoning an item from nowhere give you in combat?"
Understanding dawned on Ash's face. "A hidden weapon. My opponent wouldn't see it coming."
"Exactly. Though there is a catch," the trader cautioned. "At first, storing and retrieving items takes several seconds. Your concentration can be easily broken as well. Bringing that time down to instant retrieval requires immense practice. That's why many stick to conventional methods of carrying their gear.”
Ash weighed the crystal in his hand, considering. Forty thousand pokedollars didn’t sound expensive considering the advantages. He handed over the money.
Another crystal caught his eye—Heal Pulse, its soft green glow oddly comforting. Perfect for his mum's developing abilities. He winced at the thirty-thousand price tag but didn't hesitate. Some investments were worth any cost.
"Right then," Ash muttered, checking his mental list. His next stop was a shop James had recommended, tucked away in a quieter corner of the market. The storefront was plain, with a simple sign reading 'Lost & Found'.
The trader examined the jewellery carefully, his experienced eyes assessing each piece. "Thirty thousand for the lot," he said finally.
Ash nodded, knowing he wouldn't get better. The shop served a vital purpose—victims could reclaim stolen items at half the price, which meant his profits were severely lacking. Typically, it was Rangers or mercenaries who hunted bandits that sold to the shop to earn a profit.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Ash trudged through the forest, map in hand. Mustard had sent him searching for some bloody plant to replenish its stocks for more herbal baths. After a week of what felt like being flayed alive, Ash wasn't particularly keen on finding it.
Still, he couldn't deny the results. His muscles felt denser, but also more flexible at the same time. He was happy with his gains, but surely there were less traumatic ways to achieve the same effects.
His thoughts drifted to Essie. James had returned a few days ago to take her away, promising she'd be adopted by a couple on the third floor. His mum had tried to hide her sadness, but Ash had caught her wiping away tears after the girl left. Still, they both knew it was for the best—a proper family on the third floor offered Essie opportunities they couldn't match.
At least the Birdee situation was resolved. James had been deliberately vague about the details, but his meaning was clear enough—the old murderer wouldn't hurt anyone else. As for the issue with James' family, Ash couldn't care less as long as it didn't affect him further.
"Should be around here," Ash muttered, checking Mustard's crude map again. The old man's artistic skills left much to be desired.
He spotted the plant's distinctive purple leaves near a fallen log. Crouching down, he began carefully harvesting the stems, stuffing them into his backpack.
Blade's warning surged through their bond. Pure instinct had Ash activating Double Team, leaving an afterimage as he leapt aside. The ground erupted where he'd been standing, dirt and rocks flying everywhere.
His blood ran cold. Dozens of Diglett and Dugtrio burst from the earth, their small eyes fixed on him. He only had a second to notice the Pokemon looked different from usual before the ground beneath his feet gave way.
"Bloody hell!"
Ash recalled his Pokemon to his Mind Palace in one desperate mental command. Liquid metal flowed down his arm as he formed a massive spike, trying to anchor himself to the tunnel wall. But the earth simply crumbled away.
His stomach lurched as he plummeted deeper, gaining velocity. In desperation, he summoned Blitz beneath him and grabbed onto the Magnemite's magnets as he passed. The sudden weight dragged them both down, but it slowed their fall enough that when they hit bottom, Ash merely had the wind knocked out of him rather than breaking every bone in his body.
"That was close" Ash wheezed, releasing Blitz's magnets. He climbed to his feet, wincing at what would be impressive bruises tomorrow.
The tunnel stretched in both directions, its walls unnaturally smooth. This wasn't formed by Pokemon—the precision spoke of human tools. Lighting came from luminous fungi growing along the ceiling in regular intervals, suggesting some form of deliberate cultivation.
"Where the hell am I?"
The tunnel seemed to descend at a slight angle, heading deeper underground. More puzzling was the complete absence of the Diglett and Dugtrio that had caused his fall.
Ash released Bastion and Blade. If there was trouble ahead, he wanted his full team ready.
"Right then," he muttered. "Only way out is through."
He chose a direction at random and began walking, alert for any sign of movement. Something told him this wasn't a simple tunnel network made by wild Pokemon.
Ash's footsteps echoed through the tunnel as he advanced cautiously. Blitz took point. Blade stuck to his side, the Drilbur's superior underground senses alert for danger, while Bastion brought up the rear.
The tunnel opened into a vast chamber, its walls covered in familiar script. Ash's breath caught as he recognised the etchings—they matched the ones from the ruins on the first floor.
"Bloody hell," he whispered. "What are the chances?"
A massive mural that dominated one wall. The artwork depicted a hulking figure that appeared to be made entirely of metal. Its body was roughly humanoid but looked artificial, composed of intricate segments and overlapping plates. Seven dots were arranged in a distinctive pattern on what seemed to be its face, giving it an otherworldly appearance.
As Ash continued exploring, his eyes caught a familiar symbol. The same Steel-type tree from the first floor was carved here, but with additional details, he hadn't seen before. Beneath it lay an inscription in an ancient script.
Ash knelt to examine it closer, his fingers tracing the worn letters. His blood ran cold as he made out the words:
"Here lies sealed the greatest mistake of our age. Leave this tomb before it’s too late.”
The ground began to tremble, dust cascading from ancient stone. From deep below came a sound that froze Ash's blood—the distinctive ring of metal striking metal, each impact growing closer. Within his core, the Steelium began to resonate wildly with each strike.
“Just my fucking luck."
So, what do you think? In the next chapter, Ash explores another ruin. What will he find?
Thanks for reading.
Comments
Shae Holleywell
Can’t wait for the next chapter really enjoyed it
Leo
Thank you ! This is my favorite story of all time .
