Anyone who's clued in on the Marvel universe knows that landing here means your first move is figuring out how to stay in one piece. Sure, you might sidestep some early messes with insider knowledge, but that cosmic snap wiping out half of everything? No dodging that unless you're willing to rewrite the stars.
Emerson wasn't about to sit back and let fate roll the dice on him. He'd carve his own way forward, no questions asked.
Arceus showing up? That was a game-changer—a shortcut with real potential.
Slipping in under the radar, though? Not happening. Pokémon aren't some rare collectible; there's a whole army of them, impossible to keep quiet forever.
After hashing it out with Arceus, Emerson landed on a smarter play: introduce Pokémon to the Marvel crowd one step at a time, let folks get used to the idea.
Once they're part of the everyday scenery, blending the worlds would feel like the natural next step.
This wasn't an overnight fix—it'd take serious time. Meanwhile, Emerson had to level up his own game.
As a trainer, his power hinged on his Pokémon.
But this world? No Pokémon around, so no battles to grind experience, and zero access to those handy items that boost them.
Even if rare gear like that popped up here, Emerson couldn't just grab it.
Arceus was a non-starter too—staying off the radar from the big cosmic watchers meant no direct help, not even something basic like zapping over a berry.
The one exception: a high-risk delivery of a Pokémon egg. After that, radio silence.
Over the years, though, Emerson tinkered and uncovered ways to pull in support from Arceus without raising alarms.
His breakthrough? Tapping into some strange energy woven into cash to trade for items from the other side.
The downside: it chewed through money like wildfire, and the bills turned to dust right after—no using them for everyday stuff. Emerson saved this trick for absolute must-haves that didn't exist here.
That's why he only dipped in for routine essentials to keep his partner Pokémon going strong.
This "partner Pokémon" setup? Brand new, cooked up by Arceus using the soul contract as a base—a fresh take on being a trainer.
In the classic Pokémon world, plenty of trainers swapped out their starters left and right, always chasing the next upgrade.
Arceus flipped that with the partner system to stamp it out for good.
Your partner is your first Pokémon, soul-bound for life—no ditching them, ever.
That roots out abandonment from the ground up.
The contract doesn't stop there: every Pokémon you add later gets one too. Not as unbreakable as the starter's, but breaking it? The fallout's bad enough to make anyone think twice.
Arceus's angle? Shield Pokémon from getting cast aside.
As the creator of that world, Arceus made all the creatures—humans included. They're just one piece of the puzzle, not the whole show.
Arceus wouldn't tweak the old world's rules, but in this fresh setup? Time to lay down new ones and give Pokémon a clean slate.
Emerson was all aboard. Back in his old life, he'd been obsessed with the Pokémon games. His biggest flex? Once his team was locked in, he never benched anyone.
When Arceus shared the vision, Emerson jumped in as the brainstorm buddy, tossing out ideas left and right.
He suggested randomizing the egg designs—no clues on the outside about what'd hatch. That way, trainers commit blind.
In this merged world, everything's rebooted. Old stats like base power? Irrelevant here.
A Pokémon's potential? All on the trainer's shoulders now. Type advantages stick around, but they're more real-world flexible, not rigid game rules.
Imagine a Beedrill tangling with Rayquaza up in the clouds, or Pikachu trading lightning blasts toe-to-toe.
Not pipe dreams anymore—straight-up possible in what's coming.
Emerson's favorite bit? That special story where Giovanni's Beedrill took down a Dragonite, a near-legendary powerhouse.
Trainers dismissed Beedrill as weak sauce, but Emerson figured: raise one right in this world, and it could go claw-to-claw with myths.
He didn't just pitch it—he lived it. For his starter, he told Arceus to send a random egg, no favorites.
Since parting ways with Wilson to focus on raising it, Emerson sidelined building his own crew and went all-in on his partner.
Hey, you pick your road, you grind it out—no backing down, even if it's brutal.
His starter wasn't a powerhouse out the gate, but Emerson had zero second thoughts or complaints.
He'd poured over a decade into it, day after day, with sweat and grit he couldn't even measure.
Now, that investment was paying off. Hunkering down in these remote woods? All to scout rare natural boosters for his partner's evolution.
Once it levels up, he'd finally have the muscle to hold his ground in this wild world.
Wilson's scoop on the Blood Orchid? Perfect timing—like handing him exactly what he needed when he needed it most.
Pulling his mind back, Emerson fixed Wilson with a serious look.
"Wilson, we might not have to let the Blood Orchid go public. With this in play, I can back you up and get you to your endgame—no exposure needed."
Wilson had been drifting through old memories himself. Emerson's words snapped him out of it, and he shot his friend a surprised glance.
He knew the Blood Orchid's worth—if it leaked, the fallout would be massive. He'd braced for it, but desperate times pushed his hand.
What he kept from Emerson: things were dicey lately. Masked do-gooders kept popping up, hammering his operations.
If he had other options, he wouldn't rope in his buddy.
Why hold back? Simple—he didn't want to drag Emerson into the fire.
Emerson's skills might edge him out in a fair fight, but guns called the shots these days. That's why Wilson lurked in the background, sending proxies to the front lines.