Groudon is awake. When it exhales, smoke puffs out of its nostrils and billows in the faces of the Infernal cultists gathered around the legendary Pokémon. This is a different era of the Infernal Cult. The uniforms are the same: red cape designed like fire, raised hood with pressed folds to resemble Groudon's head, grey-and-maroon cargo pants, golden bracelets over long white gloves. But Zenith is not the leader; here, he is a teenager, younger than Calreath.
Calreath looks around for Zenith's predecessor, expecting another psychotic man with bad hair and a cocky grin. Instead, an old man steps forward to confront Groudon.
"Groudon!" he wheezes. "I am Apex, the leader of the Infernal Cult! We are your humble servants, King of Fire and Earth. You will regain your rightful place as the ruler of the lands, and in return, we will expand the country so there is enough space for everyone."
There's already enough space for everyone, Calreath growls under his breath.
"For decades, brilliant minds have plotted the trajectory of our population," Apex continues, his voice straining in the smoke and dryness. "Without neo-Malthusian reforms, we threaten to annihilate ourselves in a slow, gruesome process!"
That's an old man's way of thinking, Calreath notes. Flawed logic, outdated studies, a stupid, foolish mind. Surely Zenith is smarter than this?
Calreath glances at Zenith. Unlike the other Infernal cultists, who either prostrate themselves or gaze up at Groudon with dumbfounded awe, Zenith stares at Apex with cold, calculating eyes, ice so cold it burns like fire.
Apex coughs and clears his throat. "Groudon!" he repeats, as though the legendary Pokémon had forgotten its own name during the old man's silly speech. "Join us, Groudon!"
Groudon's amber eyes glow. The creature raises an arm, the stones encasing it cracking and shifting like tectonic plates. Groudon is Earth incarnate, a beast of a planet.
Then it swipes down and rips Apex apart.
Several Infernal cultists scream and flee. Others prostrate more deeply. Zenith takes Apex's place without fear. "I'm glad you agree the old fool was to be discarded," he says. "You know how to make the world better." Zenith stares up at Groudon, and Calreath holds his breath. "So make the world better. We'll work together and achieve greater things than what Apex planned. He is a man; he thinks too small. But you are a legend, and I am a god."
The vision ended as the smoke receded. Fire had memory, but it also had life, and it could choose what to reveal.
What did you want to show me, Groudon? Calreath wondered what the purpose of that memory was. So he learned about Zenith's predecessor and how the Infernal Cult had acquired Groudon. But he already knew that the King of Fire and Earth could be as violent and merciless as his name, and that Zenith was a manipulative megalomaniac who treated humans as pawns. He didn't understand what Zenith had wanted Groudon for.
Did Groudon know? If it did, then why not show that memory? Even better, how about a memory that would help Calreath get out of this vile underground lair?
Still asleep, Groudon exhaled deeper. The movement caused the stones encasing its arms to crack and shift, tectonic plates forming fault lines and ridges, Earth incarnate, a beast of a planet.
Calreath grinned. Groudon had shown him a memory that could help, in a roundabout way.
Politoed looked at him, sensing her friend had an idea. She hoped it was a better idea than the time he'd tried to live as a merman, relying on her to help him breathe underwater for hours.
"This is a fantastic idea, Politoed!" Calreath declared as though sensing his Pokémon partner's thoughts. Trainer and Pokémon understood each other in ways that some Professors struggled to grasp. "You can return to your Pokéball if you want. We won't be battling Groudon."
Politoed wanted to be with her trainer as he tried out his wacky idea. She followed him as he climbed Groudon, treating the legendary Pokémon like the rock climbing wall in the gym. She'd wait for him to climb a few feet, then bound up easily like a frog, and wait some more for him to climb ahead in case he fell.
Calreath didn't fall. He reached Groudon's head, panting and rolling his shoulders back to relax his muscles. The walls in the gym were designed to be more of a challenge, but Groudon was a Pokémon: a living being with a mind of its own. And Calreath hadn't wanted to wake up the legendary Pokémon for another earthquake. There was nowhere else for him to hide, especially in Groudon's own lair.
He could have brought out Dragonite to fly him to the top, but all the soot couldn't be good for flying. Besides, Calreath admitted there was something to boast about climbing a legendary Pokémon.
A trap door at the top, hidden from the bottom by all the smoke, led back to the Infernal base. The earthquake had done a number on the volcano-located base. The stainless tiles had been upended, creating a dangerfield for walking. The shelves had toppled, spilling an assortment of textbooks and novels onto the crumpled carpet. The golden Manaphy statue must have struck a wall during all the movement, because a severe split ran down from the tip of Manaphy's feet all the way to the bottom of the statue.
At least the cultists had gotten out. Calreath didn't like cultists, but they were still people, and most of them had been tricked and swayed by Zenith and his charming words. Calreath was surprised that none of the textbooks were about psychological tricks or how to manipulate people; instead, most discussed virology, pharmacology, and social health.
"Help!" someone cried in a hoarse voice.
Not everyone had gotten out. Calreath and Politoed ran toward the voice. The corridors were familiar; he was returning to the cell where Zenith had imprisoned him, before Manaphy helped him to escape—only for Zenith to imprison him where Manaphy couldn't reach him.
Calreath skidded to a halt a few feet before reaching the cell. Politoed bounded ahead but paused to check on her friend.
"Help!" the weak voice repeated, and then the cultist burst into a dry cough.
Calreath steeled himself and approached the cell, Politoed by his side. The trapped Infernal cultist was dehydrated: he had sallow skin and cracked, peeling lips.
The Gym Leader and the cultist recognized each other. This was the cultist that Manaphy's Heart Swap had switched his position for. In a sense, Calreath had doomed him, forcing him to stay trapped in the cell while the earthquake ravaged the base. It was a miracle the cultist was still alive, given how badly damaged the walls and floor were, and how the ceiling was almost non-existent, most of it fallen to rubble around him. And it was an equally improbable but unfortunate outcome that none of the damage had broken the bars of the cell so the cultist could be free.
"You!" the cultist snarled. Actually, he looked nothing like an Infernal cultist anymore. He'd lost the dazed expression most of Zenith's pawns had worn, and had ripped his uniform to shreds. He must have grabbed the carpet by the threads, pulled it into the cell, and then fashioned it into a simple but hideous orange robe.
Calreath supposed that to someone forced into a cult, anything was better than the cult uniform.
He stared at the cultist for several long seconds while the old man foamed at the mouth and cussed at him for "trapping him in this sorry cage".
Manaphy trapped you, you fool, he wanted to retort, but Manaphy had done it for him.
More importantly, the more the old man ranted, the raspier his voice became. He needed water.
Calreath activated his mega glove so Politoed would mega evolve. Rainclouds gathered and poured onto them. To Calreath, the water was soothing, but it only seemed to further enrage the prisoner.
"Shut up and drink," Calreath said, backing away to give him space. Drinking rainwater without a cup or bottle could be messy, especially for someone desperate.
His leather shoe crunched on the remains of the prisoner's Infernal uniform, including the golden bangle. Calreath picked up the bracelet, which had a name engraved inside: Rathai.
"I'm not drinking that!" Rathai declared. "Your Pokémon summoned it out of nowhere! Where did it come from? How do I know it's not poisonous or dirty?"
Politoed glared at the cranky old man, but Calreath said in an even tone, "Of course it came from somewhere, Rathai. Rain comes from clouds, and clouds form from condensation. This water is as clean as the air in this base, and I know Zenith kept it immaculate. An earthquake isn't going to contaminate your drinking water."
Rathai spluttered. "Lies! Zenith is a filthy child! Everything in this base is filthy, filthy, filthy, but not as much as wherever your Arceus-forsaken Mega Politoed conjured up this sketchy water!"
Calreath lunged at the bars, and Rathai stumbled back when he slammed his hands on the metal. It was weak, shaken up by the earthquake; if Rathai was a stronger man, he could have broken out. "Listen here, you stupid old man, my Mega Politoed is one of the finest Pokémon that Torren has to offer, and more than that, she's my best friend. Insult her again and I'll leave you in your sorry cage." When Rathai's eyes bulged, he smirked and said, "I was planning on busting you out of this hellhole, but I'd be wasting my Pokémon's energy saving you if you'll just die of dehydration."
Rathai hesitated. "But where did the water come from?"
Calreath threw his arms into the air. Beside him, Politoed seemed to have given up on the prisoner, her back turned and her short arms crossed as she sat like a vexed queen on her stormcloud. "I thought Infernal was supposed to be the most educated of the Cults—except maybe Perfection."
Rathai shrugged. "I'm just the bitter part-timer who served Devon Corp employees equally bitter coffee."
But he drank. He tipped his head back, opened his mouth, and took in the rainwater. It dribbled from his jaws and darkened his scratchy orange robe, but already, his pale lips were becoming pink. If he had been tottering to the grave minutes ago, Calreath and Politoed had brought him back.
"Alright, Kabutops, let's break him out!"
Kabutops emerged from his Pokéball, ready for action.
"Stand back, Rathai," Calreath instructed as Kabutops took up his position. "Now, Kabutops, use Swords Dance and follow it up with Low Kick!"
The blades on Kabutops's arms sharpened before them, and with one clean sweep, the bars bent out of shape. There was enough space for Rathai to crawl out.
Calreath returned Kabutops to its Pokéball and then the three of them—him, Politoed, and Rathai—began walking around the ravaged base, searching for an exit. Rathai complained at every step: now that he wasn't thirsty, he was hungry, and his clothes were itchy, and his feet hurt, and his back ached.
Calreath had never met someone who could whine so much, but he heard Diana's voice telling him to be kind.