The setting sun cast long shadows over the Butterfree territory as the battlefield fell into an eerie silence.
Both Butterfree and Spearow alike froze in place, their eyes wide with disbelief as they stared at Bell.
Three Spearow—slain by a single Butterfree.
And not just defeated—brutally annihilated.
Bathed in the twilight, Bell looked like an envoy of the night, his wings shimmering faintly with residual psychic energy.
None had seen exactly how it happened, but the piercing shrieks of the Spearow still echoed in their minds—a sound so agonizing it seemed to carry the weight of eternal torment.
"Keep the music playing!"
With cold indifference, Bell turned his gaze to the remaining enemies, psychic energy crackling around him.
Three birds dead? A trivial matter.
The Spearow assault wasn't over yet.
Without hesitation, Bell unleashed another Psybeam, sweeping it across the nearest Spearow.
Only a few managed to dodge—the rest took the hit head-on.
Against the Butterfree, status conditions were the true killers.
Poison gnawed at their stamina.
Paralysis locked their muscles.
Sleep left them defenseless.
Yet despite this, the Spearow still held the advantage. Butterfree fell one after another, torn apart by razor-sharp beaks.
The food chain's cruelty was undeniable.
For generations, Butterfree had lived under the shadow of avian predators like Spearow. Fighting back wasn't instinct—it was defiance.
If not for their territory being at stake, most wouldn't even have the will to resist.
"Dammit, we're too passive!"
With a burst of Psychic, Bell sent a sneaking Spearow crashing to the ground before soaring higher.
The levels were even. The numbers were in their favor.
What they lacked was conviction.
His eyes flashed pink as psychic energy gathered at his mandibles.
"LISTEN TO ME!"
A thunderous Bug Buzz reverberated across the battlefield, snapping every Butterfree's attention toward him.
Under the moonlight, Bell radiated authority—an unshakable presence that demanded obedience.
Then, one Butterfree broke from the crowd—the same female Bell had once challenged. Now, she answered his call without hesitation.
One became two.
Two became many.
Soon, Bell was at the center of a swirling formation of Butterfree.
Most Bug-types were followers by nature.
Tonight, Bell was their leader.
"Follow my lead—ASCEND!"
With a powerful flap, Bell shot upward, the swarm mirroring his movements in perfect sync.
SCREECH!
The Spearow gave chase, eyes gleaming with hunger.
Bell smirked.
"Gust—NOW!"
His wings whipped forward, unleashing a torrent of wind.
The Butterfree followed suit.
A single Gust was weak.
A hundred Gusts?
A storm.
The Spearow bucked against the gale, but the sheer force sent them reeling backward.
"Now—season them!"
Confused murmurs rippled through the swarm—until Bell's wings shimmered with powder.
Sleep Powder. Poison Powder. Stun Spore.
Understanding dawned.
In unison, the Butterfree unleashed their own powders, the multicolored haze merging with the raging winds.
Under the moon's glow, the storm became a deadly kaleidoscope.
The Spearow swayed mid-air, some succumbing to sleep, others seizing from paralysis, a few choking on toxins.
It would've been beautiful—if not for the corpses raining down.
Against the Butterfree's united front, the Spearow broke.
They retreated.
"Running?!"
Bell's eyes burned as he spotted Spearow clutching fallen Butterfree in their talons.
No.
The dead deserved dignity.
A psychic shockwave erupted, freezing the fleeing Spearow mid-air.
SCREEE—!
Their shrieks of pain filled the night.
"ATTACK, DAMN IT!"
Bell strained, his Psychic barely holding the flock.
But the Butterfree hesitated.
They had won. The Spearow were fleeing.
Why keep fighting?
For three seconds, Bell held.
Then—his grip shattered.
The Spearow scattered like leaves in a hurricane, vanishing into the night.
"Huff… huff…"
Bell's wings trembled, his mind drained.
Staying airborne was a miracle.
"Damn… my Psychic's still too weak for that many."
Gritting his mandibles, he descended.
They had survived—but at a cost.
Elder Butterfree bore deep wounds, their wings tattered from holding the line.
Bell didn't blame the others.
Survival was instinct.
His ideals were his alone.
Then—a rustle of wings.
The Elder Butterfree returned, surrounded by warriors, his body battered but unbroken.
"The Elder's back!"
Relief swept through the clan.
Bell looked up—and his heart sank.
The Elder's injuries were severe.
"So… he was holding off their strongest this whole time."
The three massive birds from before—Fearow, without a doubt.
"Elder's LV 51. Those Fearow must've been around LV 50."
The realization hit hard.
The Charred Forest hid monsters.
LV 50+ Pokémon were powerhouses—apex predators in their own right.
As the Elder landed, his gaze scanned the clearing frantically—until it locked onto Bell.
A quiet exhale.
"Good… he's safe."