Pokemon: Reborn as a Pokemon 133. Too Late

Sorry! short chapters, but I am making future chapters bigger and better

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BANG! BANG! BANG!

The corridor shook with each impact. Dust sifted from the ceiling; grit skittered across the floor in nervous little avalanches.

Bert lay sprawled like a corpse, the world blending inside his skull, nausea and darkness, the clash of Pokémon ringing in his ears.

Sowhere beyond the fog, he knew Arbok was still fighting. He, anwhile, was dead weight.

Move.

He scread it in his head. His body wouldn't listen.

MOVE!

Sothing old and stubborn inside him woke panic's last gift. His limbs jerked. Breath sawed into his lungs. The weight of middle age heaved against the floor as his fingers clawed forward, nails splitting on stone. Blood sared. He dragged himself an inch. Another.

There cold tal glinted in the dust.

"Gun..." he rasped.

He dug in again. Fingers shredded. Another inch. His hand closed over the grip at last, trembling, but there. A thin smile cracked the grit on his cheek as he inched the barrel up, eyes slitting open beneath leaden lids.

In the hall, the battle paused for a shared breath, two heavy landings, both fighters panting hard.

Now.

Bert squeezed.

CRACK!

Flare. Smoke. A silver spiral ripped the dark, spinning on the rifling's kiss. It ate the distance faster than sound could warn, a straight line toward a single point.

—

Kael stood hunched, chest heaving, arms scored and bleeding. He'd learned enough: this Arbok wasn't just big it was built like a tank, patterns across its hood shifting buffs and counters in a dizzying dance. Every exchange felt like punching a wall that punched back harder.

He still smiled. The harder the fight, the more certain he felt he'd chosen the right path. If he'd tried to bulldoze the entire base from the start, he'd be digesting in that serpent's gut by now.

Arbok hissed, blood spattering from its own wounds. The war-machine bled, but it would not break.

Kael sank, knees loading, fists kindling with brown-red [Fighting]-aura. The floor cracked under his stance as he coiled to launch—

—and that was when the gun spoke.

Ti knifed thin. The incoming round drew a pale helix in his vision as danger scread through his nerves.

Headshot.

Even with his monstrous reflexes, even with ghostly instinct snapping awake, at still needed ti to move and there wasn't any.

His pupils shrank to pinpoints. Every muscle fired to yank his skull off-line—

But it was too late.

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