It started small. Literally. The first dungeons were no bigger than a town square—maybe a small city on a particularly inconvenient day. These early D- and C-Class anomalies popped up in out-of-the-way places like dense forests, empty deserts, remote mountaintops… and that suspicious patch of overgrown land behind the local 7-Eleven.
At first, scientists thought they were geological hiccups. The internet disagreed. Theories ranged from ancient alien portals to aggressive landscaping projects gone wrong. Meanwhile, every teenager with a manga collection and unresolved chosen-one fantasies was busy proclaiming, "This is my origin story!"
Then the Pokémon appeared—and suddenly, no one was laughing anymore.
( A/N: Just a reminder—this world had zero prior knowledge of Pokémon or anything remotely resembling monster franchises. Suspension of disbelief is kindly requested. Thank you for your service. )
What started as a few blurry photos of a wild Scyther carving trees like butter turned into full-on panic as people realized this wasn't cosplay gone feral. A wild Pidgeotto dive-bombing a delivery drone. A Rhyhorn stomping through a construction site like it owned the place. A terrified camper uploading grainy footage of a Gengar floating through their tent wall. Pokémon started photobombing vacation pictures, demolishing power grids, and casually picking fights with construction equipment. People were baffled. Then terrified. Then trending on TikTok under #WTFisThatYellowLizard.
Humanity, of course, responded with its usual level of composure, widespread panic, poor decisions.
Enter the self-declared "trainers." These were mostly kids with questionable hygiene, encyclopedic knowledge of game mechanics that didn't exist here, and the kind of animal-handling skills one usually sees in viral fail videos. Armed with baby Pokémon and their caffeine high otaku brains, these wannabe heroes charged into dungeons like they knew what they were doing. Many failed spectacularly in their first dungeon attempts. But a few succeeded. They became the world's first true Trainers—trailblazers in patched-up vests and scuffed boots, cheered on by a public desperate for hope.
And then the dungeons evolved.
When dungeons reached a certain energy threshold, they began attaching themselves to reality. Yes, like clingy exes. And just like exes, they brought chaos. With that came the first dungeon breaks—sudden, violent surges where waves of Pokémon spilled into reality. Dungeon breaks became the year's hottest buzzword. Cities were overrun by packs of aggressive Pokémon—Ursaring in public parks, Luxray taking over subways, a particularly hostile group of Machoke hosting unsolicited fitness classes in downtown Tokyo. Insurance companies went extinct faster than a Wimpod under pressure.
Soon after, B-Class dungeons appeared. These were larger, more unstable, and had a flair for the dramatic. They spawned in places like nuclear power plants, research labs, and, most tragically, shopping malls during Black Friday. Within days, there were multiple nuclear meltdowns, radiation spikes, and mutated Dugtrio colonies burrowing through the ruins like it was a vacation resort. Dugtrio didn't seem to mind the glowing soil. In fact, they seemed... jazzed.
Governments, in their infinite wisdom, responded with missiles. Lots of them. Spoiler alert, it didn't work. A-Class dungeons followed—distortions of space-time housing powerful, unstable Pokémon. These zones warped the laws of physics, shrugged off bombs like they were party poppers, and birthed rumors of roaming Legendaries. According to urban legend, Rayquaza watched the fireworks display, yawned, and called them "mid." This may or may not have been posted on X (formerly Twitter), but the sentiment stuck.
Regular civilians were not handling it well. Entire towns were wiped off the map. Crops failed. Domestic pets evolved—sometimes literally. Reports of Meowths evolving mid-meow into Persian and claiming entire neighborhoods as their new domain were not uncommon.
Humanity's coping mechanism? Spiritual delusion.
As society spiraled, people began embracing Pokémon not as threats but as celestial forces of nature. Companion. Ally. Some saw them as symbols of nature's wrath. Others, as divine gifts. Cults popped up. Religious leaders tried to stay in the spotlight by declaring Pokémon as divine messengers. One day, a flock of Togekiss circled the Vatican. Whether it was a sign or a weather event, no official statement was made, but the Pope's Twitter bio now reads "Fairy/Flying Type – Blessed by RNG."
Then came the S-Class dungeons.
These weren't just large—they were reality-breaking. Rift zones the size of mountain ranges tore across the planet, disrupting tectonic plates like a puzzle spilled across the floor. Russia cracked in two. India drifted across the map and crash-landed somewhere near the Alps. Geography teachers everywhere resigned en masse and took up baking. Real estate became a game of "Guess the Coordinates."
And with those rifts came the Legendaries.
The Weather Trio—Groudon, Kyogre, and Rayquaza—descended like divine judgment with type advantages. Groudon, deeply offended by nuclear weapons in his living room, turned several facilities into smoking craters. Kyogre, ever the minimalist, drowned anything remotely science-y on an island. Rayquaza? Rayquaza yeeted half a continent's worth of airbases into orbit before vanishing into the stratosphere with the vibe of someone who'd had one too many notifications.
Humanity got the message.
The global consensus (and census) shifted overnight. Nuclear programs were promptly shut down. Politicians suddenly cared about alternative energy. Legendaries began actively patrolling the planet, vaporizing anything resembling a reactor. You didn't argue with them. You just smiled, waved, and hoped they didn't notice your backyard grill emitting suspicious fumes.
The old world order was gone. In its place, a new, strange balance emerged—one where power came not from politics or technology, but from the ability to coexist with forces no one fully understood.
And at the center of it all Pokémon.
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Welp, I tried a new tone this chapter—if it feels too cringe, roast me gently in the comments 😅. I hope my attempt at world-building (or world-scrambling, depending on your perspective) wasn't too painful to read.
Now, real talk:
What's your favorite Pokémon?
More importantly… should Micheal catch it? 👀
Got a cool idea? Toss in your fav Pokémon with a backstory, quirks, weird habits—heck, even give it a dramatic slow-mo entrance if you're feeling spicy. If it fits the vibe, I'll totally try to weave it into the story!
Enjoying the ride?
Hit that Add to Library button so you don't miss the next chapter!
Got theories, feedback, or just wanna geek out about Dragon-types and dratini eggs? Drop a comment—I read 'em all.
And lastly...
POWERSTONES.
Feed 'em to this story like they're Rare Candies and help it evolve into its final form! 💎🔥