It was past midnight when Orion woke up to the sound of bones cracking.
Not his.
Not yet.
He sat bolt upright, eyes wide in the dark, and realized two things immediately: the fire was out, and Tyrunt was already on his feet—back arched, teeth bared, tail swaying low like a whip. His body was tense with animal fear.
Orion didn't even have time to ask what was wrong.
The thing came from the trees like a missile. Fast. Heavy. Silent.
It slammed into Tyrunt's side and sent him tumbling through the undergrowth with a cry of pain.
"Tyrunt!"
Orion scrambled backward, one hand reaching blindly for his lantern, the other for anything solid—a branch, a rock, his bag, anything.
The predator landed with a deep snarl and stepped into the glow of the lantern as Orion twisted the dial.
Purugly.
Not like the domestic ones Orion had seen in books or on trainer rosters. This was a monster—massive, matted with dirt and old blood, fur in clumps along its back, eyes narrow and glowing with cold hunger. Its tail lashed behind it like a whip made of muscle and spite.
It wasn't defending territory. It wasn't posturing.
It was hunting.
And they were dinner.
"Tyrunt—get up!" Orion shouted.
But Tyrunt was already moving, staggering to his feet and roaring in defiance. Blood streaked the side of his head where claws had raked across his skull. He was hurt—but not broken. Not yet.
The two Pokémon clashed again in an instant.
Tyrunt lunged, his jaws lighting with that now-familiar ripple of dark energy. Bite. Purugly twisted aside, absorbed the hit on its thick shoulder, and retaliated with a spinning strike from its tail that slammed Tyrunt to the ground.
"Tyrunt, BACK OFF—don't fight head-on!"
Tyrunt tried to rise, but Purugly was on him before he could plant his feet. It dug in with both front claws, fangs bared, trying to pin and finish the job. Tyrunt shrieked in pain, and for a moment, his struggling slowed.
Orion's breath caught in his throat.
He's going to die.
His hand flew to his belt. "Return!"
The Poké Ball fired its red beam. Tyrunt vanished in a flash of light, recalled at the very last second—just as Purugly's claws tore through empty moss and soil.
The predator jerked in surprise.
And turned.
Now it was staring at him.
Orion's mouth was dry. His legs didn't want to move.
He fumbled for his bag. For anything. A repel? No. He didn't pack one. Smoke bomb? Nothing. Poké Balls—wait.
He had one left.
He looked at the predator.
And threw it.
The Poké Ball cracked against Purugly's shoulder, bounced off, and snapped open in a swirl of light.
The red beam hit—just for a second. The ball shook.
Orion didn't wait to see if it would click.
He ran.
Behind him, he heard the distinctive crack as the ball burst open, rejected. Purugly shrieked in fury—offended, more than threatened. Its claws scraped stone and soil as it launched back into the chase.
Branches whipped past Orion's face as he sprinted through the forest, adrenaline screaming in his veins. His lungs burned. His legs threatened to give out. He didn't stop.
Behind him—heavy steps. Snapping branches. Breathing. Close.
He leapt a fallen log, skidded down a slope, barely kept his footing—
"HEY!" a voice shouted from somewhere ahead. "DUCK!"
Orion dropped on instinct.
A flash of white light lit the trees. A roar of air and leaves followed. A Pokémon launched past him—a blur of dark feathers and claws—and slammed into the charging Purugly, knocking it sideways.
Orion rolled to a stop behind a rock and looked up.
A boy stood a few meters away, maybe a year older than him, dressed in a green trainer jacket and clutching two Poké Balls in his hand. His hair was slick with sweat and his boots were muddy to the shin.
The Pokémon circling above was a Staraptor.
It dove again.
Purugly recovered quickly, but it wasn't ready for aerial strikes. The Staraptor struck with lightning speed—Close Combat, Orion thought distantly—and Purugly screeched, stumbling back.
Then came the second Poké Ball.
"Go, Luxio—Shock Wave!"
Electricity tore through the clearing.
Purugly twisted, dodging the worst of it, and lunged toward the trainer instead—but Staraptor dove again, slamming it off course.
Orion could only watch, wide-eyed, as the battle raged. The stranger shouted commands, moved with sharp confidence. Staraptor's speed, Luxio's ferocity—it was overwhelming.
They drove the wild Purugly back. Forced it to retreat. Not defeated—but beaten enough to flee.
The predator vanished into the trees with one final hiss.
Silence returned.
Orion collapsed to his knees, chest heaving.
The trainer approached cautiously, recalling Luxio. "You okay?"
Orion nodded, too winded to speak.
"That thing almost ripped your head off," the trainer muttered, then offered a hand. "You're lucky I was camped nearby."
Orion took the hand and stood. "Thanks," he rasped. "I—I would've died."
"Yeah," the boy said. "You would've."
No sugarcoating. No pep talk. Just truth.
Orion respected that.
They walked back to the trainer's camp—a small clearing with a tarp tent, a rekindled fire, and the faint smell of cooked berries.
Orion released Tyrunt again.
The dinosaur lay still for a moment, then opened one eye and groaned softly.
"You're okay," Orion whispered. "We're safe."
He opened his bag, pulled out the last two potions he had—standard issue—and began to spray them over the worst of Tyrunt's wounds. The dinosaur flinched, but didn't resist. Blood gave way to clean scales, bruises faded to dull purples.
The trainer watched in silence.
"You going far?" he asked eventually.
"Oreburgh," Orion said.
"You've got a long way to go if wild Purugly are this deep in the route."
"I noticed."
There was silence between them for a while, broken only by the crackle of the fire.
Then Orion spoke again.
"That thing… it was waiting. Watching. It didn't make a sound until it was on top of us. I didn't hear anything. Neither did Tyrunt. We had no warning."
"Some predators are like that," the trainer said. "But not all."
Orion stared into the flames.
"If I'd had a Ghost-type… I think it would've sensed it. Seen it in the shadows. Maybe it could've confused it. Protected us."
The trainer nodded slowly. "You'd need to know how to control it. But yeah. A Ghost could've helped."
Orion reached out and rested his hand gently on Tyrunt's head.
The dinosaur blinked at him, calm now, breathing even.
"We can't let this happen again," Orion whispered. "I won't let you get that close to dying ever again."
He meant it.