Pokemon: The Legacy of Dragons

Amid the nightmarish hellscape of fire and shattered steel, a final barrier still held fast—a three-dimensional electromagnetic net formed by four Magnemite.

Suspended midair in the inferno, surrounded by their shielding field, lay Surge's last trump card—Logan's most formidable enemy: the man known as Lieutenant Surge.

It was only Surge's battle-hardened instincts, honed through years of dancing with death, that had saved him in the last moment. Rather than attempting a desperate escape, he had chosen to preserve his life—abandoning offense for defense before the Electrode and Voltorb detonated.

The simultaneous self-destruction of dozens of Electrode and Voltorb was like multiple tons of TNT igniting at once. To still be alive, even barely, at the epicenter of that was nothing short of miraculous.

Now, Surge lay motionless within the electromagnetic cocoon, his body scorched black. His skin had erupted into grotesque blisters, and his face looked like it had been melted by acid. Internal organs had ruptured, and blood had boiled away before it could even bleed. One arm was mangled beyond recognition.

The only thing keeping him conscious was sheer, unyielding military willpower.

Raichu and Electabuzz, both critically wounded, had been returned to their Poké Balls. Even the Magnemite forming the barrier were beginning to melt under the heat, their metallic surfaces dripping like candle wax.

Surge himself was incapable of giving any commands. The smoke was too thick to tell which way was up, much less escape.

But for Surge… this was enough.

He could die here.

But his Pokémon would not die with him.

Even as a Rocket executive, he was a real trainer to the core. He could brutalize enemy Pokémon or even wild ones. But his own partners? He would rather sacrifice himself than watch them perish.

"Those two brats... damn strong… no... terrifying…"

His broken voice rasped like a rusted bellows, the sound torn from a throat scorched raw.

As consciousness began to slip, he thought he heard shouting—his subordinates. And with that flicker of hope, his iron grip on awareness finally let go.

He collapsed.

He was barely alive. But in the Pokémon world, where even limbs could be regenerated and mortal wounds reversed, survival was possible—as long as death hadn't already claimed him.

"Commander Surge!"

A team of Rocket grunts pushed through the smoke and flames, shielding their faces. Fire-Type Pokémon with the Flash Fire ability absorbed nearby blazes, while Water-Types doused the rest.

Finally, in a crater at the bottom of the hull, they found him.

Their leader's body looked nearly lifeless.

The Rocket team captain's face darkened. He clenched his jaw and barked an order:

"We split up! You—scatter into the sky on Flying-Types, act as decoys and draw attention from the trainers still onboard. I'll take Commander Surge and escape through the water!"

"And listen—if you get caught, bite your tongues if you have to. Do not reveal Surge's identity. Understood!?"

"YES, SIR!" the team saluted in unison.

Among Rocket's high command, if Sabrina was admired like a goddess, then Surge was respected like a war hero. A former soldier, he had always lived and trained alongside his troops—eating the same meals, enduring the same hardships.

Their bond was more than loyalty. It was brotherhood.

And for Surge, these men would sacrifice everything.

"Move! We're close to the Johto region—the nearest safehouse is there. Leave the cargo behind. This mission is now about one thing only—protecting Commander Surge!"

With a sharp cry, the captain's words spurred the team into action.

Above deck, chaos ruled.

Screams of panic echoed through the air as passengers scrambled, women shrieking, children crying. The flames here were weaker, but the panic was no less real.

Thanks to dozens of trainers unleashing Water-Types, most of the fire was brought under control quickly.

Still, the damage was done.

The entire front half of the S.S. Anne had cracked open. Seawater gushed in like a hungry beast. The 200,000-ton luxury cruiser began to tilt, its balance thrown completely off.

The whole thing looked like it could tip over at any moment.

He knew a ship of this size didn't sink so easily. This wasn't the Bismarck being torpedoed, or some battleship taking a warhead.

Even the original Titanic had taken several hours to sink after hitting the iceberg. The S.S. Anne, four times the Titanic's size and far more advanced, had time left.

Still… the tilt was growing worse.

"Damage control!" a sailor shouted.

"Captain! The Anne's engines are completely offline!"

"We're taking in seawater through the lower hull! It's too hot—we can't reach it!"

"The foredeck is tilting three degrees! The entire structure's integrity is at risk!"

The S.S. Anne's captain, sweat pouring down his face, gripped the bridge console tightly. This ship carried the elites of every region—nobles, business moguls, top-tier trainers.

Even one fatality among them would ruin his life.

He might not just lose his job. He might lose everything.

How had it come to this? A simple exhibition match turned catastrophic explosion?

No matter how powerful Surge or the two young trainers were, they shouldn't have been able to damage the ship this badly—right!?

But one thing was now certain.

Top-tier trainers were terrifying monsters.

Their Pokémon could call storms, command lightning, and create whirlwinds that tore across the sky. Watching them felt like witnessing a battle from ancient mythology.

Still, the captain would fulfill his duty.

The S.S. Anne's alarms blared as he activated the comms system:

"Attention all passengers! Please remain calm. Do not panic or cause a stampede. Our crew is maintaining order and ensuring your safety. The S.S. Anne is built with cutting-edge technology—there is no risk of immediate sinking. Rescue forces from the nearest port have already been notified and will arrive within the hour. I repeat—"

—

Amidst the madness, Logan leaned against a scorched steel wall near the ship's bow.

In his arms, Caitlin was curled up tightly, her trembling body nestled into his chest. Her elegant legs tucked under her, she clung to him, burying her tear-streaked face in his shirt.

Watching the chaotic scene unfold, Logan couldn't help but think of the Titanic.

But he was no Jack.

And Caitlin was no Rose.

They were not destined for tragic romance. Not tonight.

Suddenly, the deck erupted in fresh panic.

A dozen Flying-Types soared into the night, their riders silhouetted against the flame-tinged sky—uniforms emblazoned with the unmistakable red "R."

Rocket grunts!

Logan's eyes narrowed, then he shouted at the top of his lungs:

"This was all Team Rocket's doing! They planted the bombs! They wanted to sink the S.S. Anne and bury us at sea! Commander Surge—he might've already been killed by them!"

Someone had to take the blame.

And Team Rocket was the perfect scapegoat.

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T/N:

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