Pokemon: Echoes of the dusk

Shion stared at the man with the scar.

His body didn't move, but every nerve in Shion's body felt like it was on fire. The weight of that man's gaze calm, flat, dangerous landed squarely on him.

And worse than that…

"He's holding the Plate," Shion whispered.

There was no doubt. He could feel it too now, not through sight, but through something quieter and older like a song barely heard in the back of his mind.

One of Arceus's Plates. Right there. On him. Walking around. Competing.

"How do I even…?" he muttered. "How am I supposed to take it?"

The man turned away without a word, as if sensing Shion's thoughts. Shion instinctively averted his gaze, heart pounding.

Bidoof popped up from his satchel again, blinking. "That guy could crush you like a berry tart."

"Helpful," Shion mumbled, swallowing hard.

But even in the tension, something strange crept up in his chest a smirk. An ember of excitement lit behind his eyes.

"Two Plates… in one city…" he whispered to himself. "This is too much."

And yet, he smiled.

A loud voice snapped through the chamber, cutting across the murmurs like a blade.

"Alright, you lot! Listen up!"

A man in a sharp red cloak with spiked white hair strode to the center of the hall. His voice carried like a war horn. Muscles coiled under his uniform. He radiated authority and zero tolerance.

"Name's Gerren. I'm head coordinator for this year's Grand Tournament. You've made it past registration. Good for you. But don't start celebrating just yet."

He paced slowly, eyes sweeping over the gathered fighters.

"We've got thousands of participants this year. Too many for polite duels and tea breaks. So we're weeding out the trash early."

A ripple of tension stirred the room.

Someone in the back scoffed. A woman near the front crossed her arms.

Gerren didn't care.

"The preliminary round will be a battle royal. You'll be divided into groups of fifty. Each round takes place in one of our segmented stadiums. Fifty trainers. One Pokémon each."

He let that sink in, then added, "The goal isn't to win."

Shion blinked.

Someone asked, "Then what is it?"

"Survive."

Murmurs exploded. Shion's brows lifted. Even some of the more confident-looking mercenaries shifted in place.

Gerren went on. "Out of fifty, only ten will move on. If your Pokémon is knocked out or incapacitated? You're done. Last ten standing pass to the main bracket. Doesn't matter how fight, flee, form pacts I don't care."

He smiled sharply.

"Make it fun. Make it brutal. Just don't break the rules, or we'll disqualify you and your teeth."

Several chuckled nervously.

Shion wasn't one of them. His grip on Kiba's Poké Ball tightened slightly. His heart pounded in his chest. A real battle royal. He'd heard stories about them chaotic, unpredictable. A test not just of strength, but instinct. Strategy.

He couldn't use Rune too big, too obvious a target.

Raku wasn't ready.

So that left one choice.

He glanced down at the Poké Ball.

Kiba.

His partner since the very beginning.

We can do this, he thought.

Gerren stepped back and pulled a scroll from his side. "First round participants, listen for your names. When called, report to Gate 3."

He began reading.

One by one.

Names from all over the continent. A man from the northern frontier. A student from the Aldara Sultanate. A noble's son from Obelia. A pirate crew's lieutenant. A royal academy dropout. A traveling monk. A silver-ranked adventurer named

"Shion of Riverleaf."

Shion blinked.

"That's me."

He took a breath, steadying himself, and stepped forward.

The others gathered at the gate all glanced around at each other some curious, some dismissive, some unreadable.

A huge cheer erupted from outside.

"The crowd's ready," a soldier near the gate said with a smirk. "Time to feed the lions."

The group was led down a narrow stone tunnel, torches flickering along the walls. The sound of the outside world grew louder with every step cheers, drums, horns.

The deeper they went, the more real it all became.

Then the gate opened.

Shion squinted against the sudden burst of sunlight.

A roar slammed into his ears like a wave.

The crowd was endless.

An ocean of people filled the seats of the coliseum, flags waving, voices rising in thunderous excitement. Children sat on shoulders. Nobles leaned from their balconies. Entire families clutched programs and cheered at the top of their lungs.

In the highest booth, beneath a crimson-gold canopy, sat the royal family serene and untouchable.

Shion didn't look for long. His heart was hammering.

They stood at the edge of the wide battle arena a massive circular field of carved stone and packed earth. Runes glowed faintly across the arena's outer rim, and several Alakazam were positioned on elevated platforms, focusing their psychic energy to reinforce protective barriers around the crowd.

The referees stood ready at the edges.

Gerren's voice boomed across the arena now he had taken the commentator's post.

"Welcome, people of Ravios, of Ravelle, and of all 3 kingdoms!" he shouted. "This is the preliminary round one of your Grand Tournament! Let's give our contestants a proper welcome!"

The roar of the crowd grew louder.

"Fifty fighters enter. Ten leave. The rules are simple. One Pokémon per trainer. No outside interference. No mercy."

Shion inhaled, then exhaled slowly.

You've been through worse. Mines collapsing. Corrupted Ursaring. Cults. Ghosts. Hydreigon, for Arceus' sake.

This?

This was a test.

But it was one he chose to take.

"Contestants!" Gerren shouted, his voice sharp and clear.

"Release your Pokémon!"

Shion reached down and pulled Kiba's ball from his belt.

"Let's go."

He tossed it forward.

In a brilliant flash of white light, Kiba appeared on the stone field, claws digging into the dirt, mane bristling, eyes sharp.

All around them, forty-nine more Pokémon burst onto the battlefield.

Shion saw them out of the corner of his eye an Electabuzz, a Garchomp, a bulky Chesnaught, a sleek Floatzel, a Lucario, even a Salamence. Some trainers sent out smaller partners agile and quick. Others went big, banking on fear and force.

A few were clearly unprepared.

Gerren raised one hand, fingers stretched.

A silence rolled across the crowd, pressing down like gravity.

Shion reached down and touched Kiba's shoulder once.

"Stay close. Use the terrain. Watch everything."

Kiba growled in reply steady. Confident.

Gerren's voice rang out one last time:

"Let the trials begin!"