"Some are born chosen. Others are forged by the storm."
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Lightning didn't strike that night.
It crawled.
Ash stood alone beneath a shattered sky, barefoot on a plateau that once held the ruins of Johto's Bell Tower. The tower itself was gone—only fragments of charred stone and bent history remained.
His breath steamed in the air. Not from cold. But from power. The storm in him was waking, piece by painful piece.
Behind him, Cynthia kept her distance. She had seen him sleepwalk into the storm's heart before, but never like this. His aura was radiant. Electric veins pulsed under his skin like divine roots. His hair swayed without wind. His eyes, gold-rimmed, pulsed in time with thunder.
He wasn't dreaming anymore.
He was remembering.
And remembrance was war.
A flicker to the left.
Ash turned before it appeared—instinct not learned, but engraved.
The Champion of Shadows stepped from a tear in the world, his presence rippling like ink poured into fire.
Ash stared at the man across from him—once a rival, now a reflection twisted by loss. Torn clothes. A face half-concealed beneath a cracked visor. In his grip, a Poké Ball no longer red and white, but black and veined with pain.
"Brendan…" Ash whispered.
The man said nothing. His expression didn't change, but the very air around him screamed.
Ash stepped forward, no fear in his stride.
"You died," he said, voice low. "At Mt. Silver. You stood with me until the last Gyarados dragged us both under. I buried your name in silence."
Brendan's fingers tightened around the ball.
"I watched you rise again, Ash," he said, voice warped by time and torment. "I watched you live while I was cast into the fracture. I bled every memory until I became this. And now…"
He opened the Poké Ball.
"…you will too."
Out of the void came a roar that twisted physics.
It wasn't a Pokémon.
It was Brendan's rage made manifest—an abomination stitched from broken legendaries. A skeletal Lugia whose wings were forged from the claws of an Ursaluna. A cry that summoned despair.
Ash didn't flinch.
He raised his hand.
No Poké Ball.
No command.
Only thunder.
It answered.
Lightning surged from the heavens, not in a bolt—but as a serpent. A coiling mass of raw power given shape by will. It curled around Ash's body like a divine guardian, and from the storm stepped him—Pikachu, but not the one the world remembered.
Taller.
Older.
Scarred.
One ear torn.
Eyes filled with something no wild Pokémon should possess.
"You remember too, don't you?" Ash said softly.
Pikachu growled. The sound was deep. Feral.
And ready.
The abomination shrieked and lunged.
Ash didn't move.
Pikachu met the monster midair with a THUNDERCLAP so dense the very ground cratered beneath their feet. Brendan watched, unmoved, as his creation bled sparks and screeched.
"You should've stayed dead, Ash."
"I did," Ash whispered.
He stepped forward—once, twice—every step sending cracks through the battlefield. Pikachu landed beside him, blood on its fur but still standing.
"This isn't just a fight," Ash said. "It's a test. You want to know if I'm still him."
He lifted his hands to the sky.
The clouds obeyed.
"Then come and see."
Brendan screamed—not words, but agony—and unleashed the rest. Four dark Poké Balls snapped open midair. A Charizard made from shadow flame. A Blaziken with mechanical limbs. A Rayquaza bound in chains.
Ash didn't reach for anything.
He became the storm.
Around him, air twisted. Symbols ignited beneath his feet—ancient glyphs from Unown dialects. The sky rained sparks. Pikachu's body surged with an aura brighter than any Mega Evolution.
"I'm not the Ash you knew," he whispered. "I'm what remains when love dies and the world burns."
He pointed at Brendan.
And the world exploded.
Pikachu blurred through three of the monstrosities with a speed that left streaks of pure light. Each enemy fell in silence—disintegrated not by power, but by judgment.
Only Brendan remained.
Cynthia screamed Ash's name, watching his body flicker like flame about to die. But he turned to her and smiled, faintly.
"Take care of him," he whispered.
"Who?" she asked, heart in her throat.
He looked past her—toward a place between dimensions. A crib. A laugh. A child.
"Our son. He's the one they truly want."
And then Ash was gone.
Not dead.
Ascended.
-----
"He was never meant to live forever. He was meant to light the way."
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