Under the twin strike, Gallade finally couldn't hold and fell with a bitter grunt—unable to battle.
Round one—over.
Jason's side: a clean sweep.
At some point the DJ had killed the music. In the whole gym, only the faint sounds of a Pokémon collapsing remained.
Ryme and Tulip traded a glance—each saw the other's incredulous surprise. They'd expected a tough fight; they hadn't expected to drop the opener in near-total domination.
Jason's calling—cool, decisive, precise—had been almost error-free. And his duo—Gast's sly unpredictability and Iron Valiant's brutal lethality—fused seamlessly.
"Hoo—well now—" Ryme exhaled, straightened her knit cap, and a grin—almost giddy—cracked her face. "Too cool, kid. Way too cool."
The DJ took the hint and left the decks silent. After the first bout, a brief hush held the gym; the air still tasted of hot, blown energy.
Ryme and Tulip were composed—no visible dejection. In sync, they recalled Gallade and Mimikyu—no scolding, no stalling. The clean professionalism put a new, invisible weight on Jason's shoulders.
This was only battle one of four.
For these two, the loss was an appetizer—a data-gathering probe of their opponent's depth.
"Great opener, bro," Ryme said first, flashing a sign. "Your sense of rhythm is strong—old me's getting excited."
Tulip pushed up invisible glasses, a tell when she thought. "Your command exceeded expectation. Gengar's adaptability and Iron Valiant's execution are top-tier. I'll be accounting for those variables from here."
It sounded less like praise than a database update.
Before the words finished, both leaders snapped out new Poké Balls.
"Round two—begin!"
Two new Pokémon hit the floor in twin flares. Ryme sent Houndstone—a huge, shaggy ghost hound, gray-white hair covering even its eyes, a gravestone shard jutting from its crown with a purple candle burning. The temperature seemed to dip; an eerie chill spilled out.
Tulip sent Espathra—a tall, elegant ostrich of psychic mien; black body, giant rainbow visor, long powerful legs, radiant with mental force.
One ghastly, one regal—an even sharper visual contrast.
Jason's gaze flicked over them, mind racing. Houndstone, Ghost-type, with Sand Rush—irrelevant without a sandstorm. Statline: physical attack and bulk—a standard physical bruiser. Espathra, Psychic-type, with Speed Boost—faster every turn; a very nasty trait, turning time itself into a weapon. High Sp. Atk—a classic artillery piece.
One physical, one special; one slow, one fast; roles clear.
"Looks like they're switching plans," he thought.
Sure enough, Tulip took the lead again. "Espathra—Calm Mind!"
Like Gallade earlier, another opening buff. Espathra closed its rainbow eyes; pale violet rings rose around it—serene power gathering—Sp. Atk and Sp. Def climbing.
"Houndstone—Crunch!" Ryme kept it simple. The hound growled, jaws yawning with dark energy as it lunged for Gast—worn from the last fight.
Crystal clear: turn Espathra into an unkillable turret while Houndstone harasses and pins to create perfect firing lines.
Jason fired back almost on the same heartbeat—fast enough to surprise even the leaders.
"Iron Valiant—Taunt the Espathra!"
"Gast—Shadow form—dodge!"
Iron Valiant moved first—red flashed in his optics; posture sharpened. An invisible goad snapped across the field and hit Espathra mid-meditation. Its focus jolted; its eyes flew open, anger and confusion mixing. Taunted—no status moves for a bit; only direct attacks. Tulip's buff opener—stopped cold.
On the other side, facing Houndstone's lunging Crunch, Gast went even slicker. No tank, no retreat—she cackled and melted into the floor's shadow, a living patch of night. Houndstone bit air—the crunch of teeth on stone drew a collective wince.
"Good," Jason said. Once more, quick read and fast calls had nulled their opener and snipped the core of their plan.
Tulip's brow pinched. Twice now, her proud openers had been broken by the same move—Taunt—an affront to her very IQ.
"If the plan's scrambled, then crush them with force," she said, voice cold. "Espathra—Psychic—hit Iron Valiant!"
If she couldn't buff, she'd blast. Espathra flared; twin lances of mind-force shot across the floor for Iron Valiant.
"Ryme—match me!"
"Don't need ya to tell me!" Ryme's flow came back. "Houndstone—Play Rough! Go have fun with that tin can!"
Houndstone shook off the whiff, pink fairy energy wicking over its shaggy form as it charged—Play Rough—the bane of Fighting-types like Iron Valiant.
They'd found consensus in a blink: focus the bigger threat.
"Cute," Jason said coolly. "Iron Valiant—slip the Psychic; Protect the Play Rough. Gast—Shadow Ball Houndstone!"
Iron Valiant slid left, the twin mindbeams sizzling past to hammer the back wall. He crossed his arms; the green dome bloomed just as Houndstone hit.
Thump!
The huge body crashed into the shield—cracks skittering the surface—but the guard held. In the same breath, Gast popped from the shade at Houndstone's feet, a loaded Shadow Ball detonating into its belly point-blank.
"Awooo!"
Houndstone howled, stumbling back. After an exchange, parity again—the focus fire had failed. Jason's pair, on clean coordination, had dodged disaster.
Stalemate.
Tulip, seeing Iron Valiant wouldn't drop fast, pivoted. "Power Gem!" Espathra's crest spat glittering stones like bullets at both foes. "Psychic!"—waves of force hounded every corner, squeezing their room.
Ryme's Houndstone became a tireless brawler—Shadow Claw! Crunch! Play Rough!—roving for any opening.
Under the nonstop pressure, Gast and Iron Valiant began to labor. They'd spent plenty in the first fight; their foes were fresh. Cuts from glancing Power Gems lined Iron Valiant's armor; Gast had to Shadow Dive again and again to slip Espathra's wide-area Psychics, draining her too.
"Heh-heh—" Gast panted, eyes still feral. Iron Valiant stood in front of her, wordless, carving her breathing room from the attacks with his body.
"This won't do," Jason frowned. On the surface it looked even; he knew time was against him. Speed Boost ticked up every heartbeat—soon Espathra would be too fast to answer. Worse, he'd sniffed a deeper danger: Ryme's casual-seeming "keep Houndstone attacking" hid something. She was too calm—even when stuffed. No irritation at repeated blocks.
"What's your aim?" His eyes pinned the running hound. Houndstone—Ghost—
A thought flared. He snapped to a Houndstone-exclusive move.
Last Respects.
A very special attack—low base power—except it rises for each fainted ally. And it stacks.
A cold jolt ran through him.
One faint in round one: Ryme's Mimikyu; Tulip's Gallade—two total. That meant if Houndstone used Last Respects now, the power was tripled—base 150, STAB, Ghost physical.
Enough to delete anything on the field.
Sweat pricked his back. He saw it—Ryme's whole plan. The Play Roughs and Shadow Claws were feints, smoke to numb him and bleed his team's stamina. The real kill was the capped-out Last Respects. She was waiting—for the one fatal misstep.
He'd only just caught it.
"Old fox," he muttered. There was no stalemate—only a trap. He was being herded, step by step, into a prepared kill zone.
Every second stretched, the death reek under Houndstone's paws thickened. Every second, the scale tilted their way.
No more.
He had to break it now.
His eyes snapped between targets, hunting the key. Houndstone was a spiked iron lump—you touch it, you die. Espathra, shackled by Taunt, couldn't Calm Mind—just a pure glass cannon growing faster by the tick, but defenses still base.
There—the breach.
~~~
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