The small click of the Poké Ball settling was louder than any shout in the quiet of the forest. The sound seemed to ripple outward, swallowed almost instantly by the trees, but to Yellow it was deafening. She stared at the ball in her trembling hand, her tears finally slowing, replaced by a look of stunned, fragile triumph. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Ash gave her shoulder a final, proud squeeze before stepping back, his own chest loosening with relief. For the first time since they had entered the forest, he allowed himself a breath that wasn't edged with tension.
"Alright," he said, his voice softer now, trying to sound steady for her sake. "Let's head back to the main path."
He turned, expecting to see the familiar game trail they had followed. He took two steps, then froze.
The path was gone.
Or rather, it had never been a path at all. What had seemed like a trail was nothing more than a series of clearings and gaps between trees that had lined up by chance. Now, looking back, the illusion dissolved into a uniform wall of green. Every direction looked the same — a deep, impenetrable maze of ancient, moss‑covered trunks and tangled undergrowth. The canopy above pressed down like a lid, blotting out the sun. They were deep in the forest, deeper than he had intended, and the silence that had felt serene moments before now pressed heavy and suffocating, like a weight on his chest.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Ash cursed himself. He should have marked the trees, left a trail, anything. He had been so focused on Yellow's capture, on keeping her steady, that he had let his guard slip. His stomach twisted with the realisation, but he forced his face to remain calm.
Yellow's brief smile faltered as she saw the look on his face. The fragile glow of victory dimmed, giving way to unease. She took a half‑step closer, her blanket shifting around her shoulders, her Pokémon clustering protectively at her feet. Eevee's fur bristled, ears swivelling like tiny radar dishes. Doduo stamped once, both heads jerking in opposite directions, restless and uneasy, their sharp eyes darting into the shadows.
Ash forced the panic down, his training with Roshi kicking in. Fear was a luxury they couldn't afford. He straightened, shoulders squaring, his voice tight but controlled.
"Butterfree, up," he ordered.
Butterfree rose silently, wings catching the filtered light as he ascended. The faint hum of his wings was the only sound, a fragile thread of movement in the stillness. "Fly above the canopy, see if you can spot the main road. Stay high, and don't engage anything."
The insect Pokémon gave a soft hum of acknowledgement and disappeared into the green ceiling above, the leaves closing behind him like a curtain.
Ash turned to the others. "Pikachu, Dody, you're on lookout. Keep your eyes sharp for any hostile Bug‑types. The last thing we need right now is to stumble into that Beedrill nest."
Pikachu nodded, cheeks sparking faintly with grim determination, his tail lashing once before settling. He crouched low on Ash's shoulder, eyes narrowed, every muscle taut. Doduo's heads swivelled in opposite directions, eyes sharp, feathers puffed as if daring the shadows to move. Their talons dug into the loam, ready to spring at the first sign of danger.
Ash glanced at Yellow. She was pale, but she met his eyes and gave a small nod. Her flute case was clutched tight against her chest; her other hand still wrapped around the Poké Ball she had just thrown. She looked younger than ever in that moment, fragile and small against the towering trees — but there was a steadiness in her gaze too, a refusal to let fear undo her. Her lips pressed together, and though her hands trembled, she did not falter.
Picking the direction that felt most familiar, Ash set his jaw and began to walk. Yellow fell into step beside him, her blanket brushing against his sleeve, their Pokémon forming a loose ring around them.
Every step was cautious now, their senses stretched taut. The distant coos of unseen Flying‑types and the incessant chitter of bugs in the canopy were no longer just background noise; they were a constant reminder that they were intruders in a world that was not their own, a world that was watching. The air seemed thicker, each breath damp and heavy, clinging to their throats. The forest floor gave beneath their boots with a muffled sigh, as though swallowing their presence whole.
Ash's ribs ached with every careful step, but he ignored them, eyes scanning the undergrowth. He could feel the forest pressing in, the same way it had years ago — alive, aware, waiting. His hand hovered near his belt, fingers brushing the cool metal of a Poké Ball, though he didn't draw it.
Yellow's hand brushed his sleeve once, a fleeting touch, as if to anchor herself. He didn't look at her, but he shifted his arm slightly so she could keep it there if she needed. The warmth of her touch was faint through the fabric, but it steadied him more than he expected.
Above them, Butterfree's silhouette flickered briefly through a gap in the canopy, then vanished again. No signal yet.
The silence deepened, stretching long and taut, until even the sound of their own breathing seemed too loud.
And the forest kept watching.
----------------------------------
Butterfree returned a few minutes later, his wings beating a slow, tired rhythm. He hovered before Ash, dust motes scattering in the faint light with each laboured stroke. His antennae drooped, and he shook his head, the gesture small but unmistakable. The message was clear and disheartening: the canopy was too thick, the forest a seamless ocean of green. He couldn't find the main road.
Ash's jaw tightened. His stomach sank with the weight of his own mistake. The map. I have a map of the Viridian Forest, and I forgot to bring it with me. The thought stabbed at him, sharp and bitter. He could almost feel the folded paper sitting uselessly back in Pewter, safe and unreachable.
But there was no time for regret. He forced the frustration down, burying it beneath the steadiness Roshi had drilled into him. "Alright," he said, his voice quiet but firm, the tone of someone who couldn't afford to let doubt show. "New plan."
He recalled Butterfree in a flash of red light, then unclipped two more Poké Balls. In soft bursts, Pidgeotto and Spearow appeared, their wings flaring as they adjusted to the dimness. Both birds immediately began scanning the dense surroundings, sharp eyes flicking from shadow to shadow.
"Eevee, you're with them," Ash instructed, his gaze sweeping over the group. "I need all of you on recon. Pidgeotto, Spearow, stay below the canopy; look for any breaks in the trees, any sign of a path. Eevee, Pikachu, stick to the ground with us."
He paused, letting his words settle, then added, "We're looking for three things: the main road, any sign of that Beedrill nest, and Ronin. He lives out here. He'll know the way."
The names hung in the air like anchors. The road meant safety. The Beedrill nest meant danger. Ronin meant… something in between.
They began to move, picking a direction that felt vaguely like backtracking, though Ash knew it was little more than instinct. The Pokémon formed a cautious perimeter, their senses stretched taut. The air was still, heavy with the scent of damp earth and resin. Every sound seemed amplified: the coos of unseen Flying‑types, the incessant chitter of bugs, the faint creak of branches overhead. It was as though the forest itself was watching, waiting to see if they would falter.
They had been walking for several minutes when it happened. Pikachu's ears shot straight up, swivelling toward a dense thicket to their right. His body stiffened, tail rising like a lightning rod. At the same instant, Eevee froze. His small body went rigid, the fur along his neck bristling until he looked twice his size. A low whimper escaped his throat, thin and broken, and he began to tremble violently. His eyes were wide, glassy with remembered terror. He had heard sounds like this before, in another, darker place.
Ash's stomach knotted at the sight. "Eevee?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. The little fox's trembling grew worse, his claws scrabbling against the loam as if he wanted to flee but couldn't.
Pikachu, however, showed no fear. His cheeks sparked, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He crouched low, every muscle coiled with intent, and began to stalk toward the sound with deliberate, silent steps. His tail lashed once, sharp as a whip.
Without a second thought, Ash bent and scooped Eevee into his arms, pressing the trembling Pokémon against his chest. He could feel the rapid hammer of its heartbeat against his ribs. "Easy," he murmured, though the word was as much for himself as for Eevee. He shifted immediately to stand in front of Yellow, his body a shield, and nodded for her to follow Pikachu's lead.
Yellow's eyes were wide, her flute case clutched tight against her chest. She didn't speak, but she moved closer, her shoulder brushing his arm. Doduo's heads lowered, feathers bristling, while Spearow and Pidgeotto circled overhead in tight arcs, their cries sharp and uneasy.
After a few more minutes of tense, careful steps, the humans began to hear it too. At first, it was faint, a distortion in the hush of the forest. Then it grew louder, clearer, until it pressed against their ears like something physical.
A rhythmic, metallic clanking. Sharp, unnatural, utterly out of place in the organic hush of the woods.
Then another sound bled through — guttural grunts, raw and desperate, the kind of noise that scraped at the back of the throat just to hear it.
They crept closer, each step slower than the last. The sounds resolved into a horrifying symphony.
The sharp CLANG of metal on metal, violent and jarring.
The high‑pitched, grating SCREEE of something sharp being dragged across iron bars, a sound that made Yellow flinch and cover her ears.
The grunts became hoarse, ragged screeches that cracked and broke, ending in dry, hacking coughs that rattled like broken glass.
And in the brief pauses between the violence, there was something worse: a low, pained chittering, the sound of mandibles clicking in distress, and the harsh, shallow rasp of something breathing in ragged, desperate gasps.
Ash's throat tightened. His grip on Eevee unconsciously tightened, and the little fox whimpered again, burying his face against Ash's jacket. Pikachu's sparks flared brighter, his growl deepening. Doduo's feathers stood on end, both heads glaring into the thicket with unblinking intensity.
Ash and Yellow exchanged a look — dread mirrored in both their eyes. This wasn't a simple battle. This wasn't training, or even a wild encounter. This was the sound of a creature in absolute agony, fighting for its life against an immovable prison.
Steeling themselves, they pushed aside the last veil of ferns.
And the forest revealed its secret.
-------------------------------------
In the centre of a small, trampled clearing stood a rusted iron cage. Inside, a bipedal, insectoid Pokémon. Its body was primarily green and had a thin, cream-colored section between its head, thorax, and abdomen. Its reptilian head had two narrow, triangular eyes and three blunt horns extending from its forehead. Its arms ended in large, white scythes. Two pairs of cream-colored wings extended from its back. Its thighs had large, upward-pointing spikes. Its feet were tall, rounded, and conical, almost extending to its thighs; each foot ended in three small, white claws on its front side.
Its magnificent green exoskeleton was matted with dirt and grime, and patches were scraped raw where it had thrown itself against the bars. It looked famished, its body unnaturally thin, and its iconic scythes were chipped and cracked from desperate, futile attacks on the steel. The wings on its back gave a weak, pathetic buzz, barely able to hold themselves upright. It swayed on its feet, knees bent with exhaustion, a proud warrior reduced to a prisoner on the brink of collapse.
Even so, its eyes burned. Hollowed by hunger, shadowed by exhaustion, they still carried a fire that refused to die. It was the look of a creature who would rather collapse in battle than bow to captivity.
The Pokédex's chime cut through the clearing, clinical and detached. "Scyther, the Mantis Pokémon. A Bug/Flying dual-type. Scyther is an adept hunter that tears at its prey with its scythes. Thanks to its green colouration, it can camouflage itself well in the grasslands and forests where it lives. Humans rarely encounter wild Scyther in these areas, however. Said to be like a ninja, Scyther can move so quickly that it cannot be followed, increasing the effectiveness of its scythes. It maintains the sharpness of its blades through battle as well as by cutting through hard objects, such as trees; it can cut down a massive tree with just a single slice. Notice: Scyther have never been recorded to be encountered in the Viridian Forest before. This is an anomaly. This is an anomaly. Please capture it to send to your sponsor for further research on this."
The sterile tone felt obscene against the raw suffering in front of them and made Ash's stomach twist with discomfort.
The Scyther's head snapped toward them, eyes narrowing with a surge of fresh ire. A hoarse, ragged screech tore from its throat, and it hurled its battered body against the bars. The cage rattled violently, the sound echoing through the trees like a death knell.
Ash flinched back, instinctively pulling Yellow with him. The sight of the creature's desperate, self‑destructive rage was too much. "We have to get it out of there," he said, his voice tight, his chest aching with urgency. He turned to his Pokémon, his tone clipped and commanding. "We're breaking the cage. Pidgeotto, Spearow, keep it off balance with wind. Pikachu, Eevee, hit the bars—hard. Butterfree," his gaze locked on the insect's glowing eyes, "if it comes at us after, Sleep Powder. Got it?"
A chorus of determined cries answered him.
"Yellow, get behind that tree. Now!"
She didn't argue. Her blanket flared as she scrambled for cover, her eyes wide but trusting.
Ash gave the signal. Pidgeotto's Whirlwind slammed into the cage, forcing the stumbling Scyther against the far bars. Eevee's Swift peppered the rusted hinges with glowing stars, followed by the sharp, metallic clang of Spearow's Steel Wing. Pikachu's Iron Tail struck the lock with a thunderous crack, sparks flying. The cage shuddered, the door groaning in protest.
"Again! Butterfree, finish it!"
Butterfree's eyes glowed with psychic power. With a final, wrenching groan, the battered bars bent outward, the lock snapping with a metallic shriek.
For a heartbeat, the Scyther stood frozen in the newly opened cage, its chest heaving. Then, with a scream of pure fury, it exploded outward—not into the forest, but straight at the Pokémon who had freed it. Its lunge was a blur of green, terrifying even in its weakness. But its knees buckled mid‑stride, its body betraying it. It staggered, fighting to stay upright, every movement a war between its burning rage and its failing strength.
Ash's team was ready. Pidgeotto and Spearow descended in tandem, their Gust and Whirlwind slamming the weakened bug to the ground. Pikachu darted forward, tackling it and releasing the charge he'd been storing, his Static ability flaring. The Scyther's body convulsed in violent spasms, its scythes scraping helplessly against the dirt. A moment later, Butterfree's golden Sleep Powder drifted down, settling over the creature like a shroud. Its movements slowed, then faltered, until only a faint, pained chittering remained.
The clearing fell silent. The only sounds were the ragged breathing of Ash's team and the shallow, rasping gasps of the downed Scyther.
Yellow's instinct overrode everything else. She stepped from behind the tree, her hands beginning to glow with a faint viridian light. Her intent was clear: to heal.
"Yellow, no! Stay back!" Ash's voice cracked with alarm. His hand shot out, grabbing her arm mid‑stride.
She turned to him, eyes wide, pleading. She pulled against his grip, gesturing with her free hand toward the twitching Scyther. She had to help.
"It's too dangerous," Ash insisted, his voice low, urgent. His grip tightened, his fear for her safety outweighing everything else. "It's still wild. It's cornered. We don't know what it'll do." He pointed at its chipped scythes, the edges still sharp enough to kill.
She looked from the desperation in his eyes to the agony in the Scyther's, and her expression hardened. Compassion burned in her gaze, unyielding. She pulled against his arm again, silent but resolute. She would not let it suffer.
For a heartbeat, they were locked in a battle of wills—his need to protect her versus her need to heal. Ash saw the unwavering resolve in her eyes and knew he couldn't win. He let out a sharp, frustrated breath, his fingers loosening.
"Fine," he muttered. "But I'm right behind you. Don't get any closer than you have to."
He let her go; every muscle in his body coiled, ready to spring. Pikachu and Eevee flanked them, eyes locked on the downed Scyther.
Yellow approached cautiously, her hands glowing brighter. The Scyther's movements had slowed to a tremble, its eyes half‑lidded. She knelt a safe distance away, extending her hands, the healing light spilling into the air.
It was the proximity—the scent of a human so close—that triggered its last spark of defiance. Its eyes snapped open, and with a hoarse screech, it swung one battered scythe in a final, staggering arc.
Time snagged, stretching into a syrupy crawl. Ash saw the blade rise, a glint of sharpened chitin against the dim light. For a heartbeat, he wasn't in the forest—he was back in a hospital, watching a body fall, steel flashing, blood everywhere. He moved before thought could catch him.
"Yellow—!"
His arm hooked around her waist, yanking her back with brutal force. She gasped, stumbling into his chest. A whisper of cold air brushed her arm, the razor‑thin caress of something impossibly sharp grazing her skin. The Scyther's scythe sliced through the space she had occupied a second before. With that final, spent effort, the creature collapsed, its body finally succumbing to exhaustion.
For a moment, the clearing was frozen. The only sound was Yellow's ragged breathing, her chest heaving against Ash's. Then she looked down.
A thin, perfect red line welled on her arm where the blade had nicked her.
The sight of her own blood shattered her trance. Her breath went shallow, panic flooding her eyes. Her bandaged hands fumbled, trying to cover the wound but afraid to touch it. She wouldn't meet Ash's gaze, her eyes fixed on the blood as if it were venom.
Ash's panic cooled into sharp focus. He tore a strip from the blanket she had dropped, his movements quick, practised. "Hey, look at me," he said, his voice low and steady, forcing her eyes up. "It's okay. Just a scratch. I've got you."
He took her arm gently, wrapping the cloth around the cut, tying it with a firm, practised knot. She trembled, her breathing shallow and hitched, but she let him work. His quiet intensity anchored her, his hands steady even as the forest's silence rushed back in around them.
The Scyther lay motionless a few feet away, its chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The cage stood broken behind it, a monument to its suffering. And in the hush that followed, the weight of what had just happened pressed down on them all.